Richard Michelson - Twice as Good: The Story of William Powell and Clearview, the Only Golf Course Designed, Built, and Owned by an African American

By RICHARD MICHELSON
Illustrated by ERIC VELASQUEZ

THE STORY OF WILLIAM PO WELL AND CLEARVIEW, THE ONLY GOLF COURSE DESIGNED, BUILT, AND OWNED BY AN AFRICAN AMERICAN

Sleeping Bear Press Sleeping Bear Press is an imprint of Gale, 315 East Eisenhower, Suite 200, Ann Arbor, MI 48108 www.sleepingbearpress.com Text Copyright 2012 Richard Michelson Illustration Copyright 2012 Eric Velasquez All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles. Printed and bound in China. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Michelson, Richard Twice as good: the story of William Powell and clearview, the only golf course designed, built and owned by an African-American written by Richard Michelson illustrated by Eric Velasquez p. cm. ISBN 978-1-58536-466-4 1. Powell, William J., 1916- 2. Golf course architectsUnited StatesBiography 3. Golf coursesUnited StatesDesign and constructionHistoryJuvenile literature. 4. African American businesspeople. 5. Discrimination in sports. I. Velasquez, Eric. II. Title. GV964.P69M53 2011 796.352092dc23 [B] 2011029114

For my twice-as-good mom,
Caroline Jacknowitz Michelson.

RICHARD

For Renee Powell, who continues
the legacy of William Powell.

ERIC

W illie Powell was fast.

He was only in third grade, and he could run across the playground faster than most fifth graders. But the new golf course was seven miles outside of town, and hed promised his mother he would be home before dark.

Edgewater Golf Course was the most beautiful sight Willies eyes had ever seen. The lawns were as smooth as carpets.

Willie approached two golfers. Can you teach me to play? he asked the kinder looking of the men.

Son, didnt anyone ever tell you that your kind is not welcome here? the man answered.

Willies eyes wanted to cry, but he wouldnt let them. Of course, Willie knew he was different. He was the only Negro in his class.

It was dark when Willie got home.

He hoped his mother would be asleep, but she was waiting by the door. First she hugged Willie tight. And then she told him, Now you go get me a good whippy switch from one of the willows.

Willie knew he deserved a switchin, but even now he was planning to sneak back to the new golf course every chance he got. Getting in trouble wasnt going to stop Willie.

You back again, son? It was the same man whod mocked Willie weeks before. You may as well learn to caddy. That means you can carry my clubs. He handed Willie a leather bag filled with fourteen sticks carved from thick hickory wood. It was heavy, but Willie already knew hed have to work twice as hard as the other caddies.

His school principal had told him, If you are going to get ahead in this world, Willie, you cant be as good as the white children; you have to be twice as good.

By the following year Willie was being paid 35 cents per bag to caddy. He liked jingling the money in his pocket. Hed caddy every summer day and study how the better players hit the ball. Then hed hike to Dr. Caseys house, where his mother worked answering the phone and writing down the doctors appointments.

One day Dr. Casey called Willie into his office. I hear you like golf, young man, he said.

Yes, sir, Willie answered.

Well then, the doctor said, tomorrow you can play the course with me.

Willie woke up before the sun and raced the whole way to Edgewater. When he saw Dr. Caseys car, he hurried over and swung the doctors golf bag over his shoulder. I asked you to play, young man, not to caddy, Dr. Casey said, and he handed Willie his very own set of clubs.

Willie knew it was rare for a white man to help a colored child, but he couldnt think of a single word to say. Finally, Willie just set his ball on the first tee and took a swing. The ball rose like a shooting star, high into the sky.

Willie practiced every chance he got. By the time he entered Minerva High he was the best golfer in the school. Willie was proud to be named team captain, and he was sure that if he got a chance to compete, he could even win the local junior tournament. So one morning, Willie hitchhiked twenty-one miles to Orchard Hills.

The judges never expected a Negro to enter the competition, so they hadnt forbidden it in the rules. Willie had caddied for many Orchard Hills members and they all liked him. But now they looked away.

Let the boy play, he finally heard one of the men say. It was the man hed first caddied for years before.

Willies hands started to sweat. He was so nervous he could barely hold the club. But he took a deep breath and walked to the first tee.

By the time he got to the fifteenth fairway, Willie was leading the field and it seemed like the whole town was watching. His next drive was heading straight for the pin. But on the way down, his ball nicked the skinniest twig hanging off of a huge maple, and came to rest in the knee-high grass.

Thatll teach his kind to play on our course, he heard someone say.

Willie finished third but he didnt give up. Ill just have to work twice as hard the next time, he promised himself.

And Willie did keep working hard. He went to college, married his sweetheart, Marcella, and went looking for a steady factory job. But America was at war, and soon Willie was drafted into the army.

Willie put on his uniform and hugged Marcella goodbye. He was Sergeant William Powell now, and he had to sail across the ocean to England.