The SOCIETY Newsletter #74

The Trees of Oakmont: When Beauty Took Root and Tradition Fought Back

For more than half a century, Oakmont Country Club stood as one of the most authentic expressions of Fownes vision for the future of American golf architecture. Built in 1903 by the visionary Fownes family, Oakmont was carved from a windswept farm plain with no natural trees and a singular goal: to challenge the best golfers in the world. It was, in its essence, America’s first true championship golf course.

For decades, Oakmont held firm to that identity. Bobby Jones once marveled that from the clubhouse, one could see 17 of the 18 flagsticks—an unobstructed landscape that reflected its Scottish links inspiration. But all that changed because of one article—just a few words that would shift Oakmont’s trajectory for decades.

In 1962, as the U.S. Open prepared to return to Oakmont, legendary golf writer Herbert Warren Wind penned a piece in The New Yorker, referring to the course as “the ugly old brute.” The comment was intended to describe Oakmont’s stark, punishing character, but for some, it hit a little too close to home.

Fred Brand Jr., a prominent Oakmont member and influential voice at the club, took offense to Wind’s words. In response, he launched a “beautification” initiative to remake the course’s aesthetics. He enlisted renowned architect Robert Trent Jones to help transform Oakmont from a rugged brute into what Brand envisioned as a “beautiful old brute.”

The prescription? Trees—lots of them. More than 3,500 flowering cherry, crab apple, blue spruce, and oak trees were planted. And with them, the identity of Oakmont began to blur. The once wide, windswept corridors narrowed. Sightlines vanished. And over the next 30 years, Oakmont resembled less a Scottish-inspired links and more a northeastern parkland course.

Then, quietly—and controversially—came the reversal.

Not long after the 1994 U.S. Open, Oakmont’s Board of Directors voted in secret to restore the course’s original character. Without notifying the membership, a covert tree-removal program began. Many of the 3,500 trees disappeared during winter; others were felled under cover of night. According to lore, the membership only discovered the operation when the overtime bills rolled in. Some members were outraged. Lawsuits were threatened. But once the full scope of the restoration was revealed, even the harshest critics softened.

What emerged was not simply a return to form—it was a rebirth. The trees were gone, but Oakmont’s soul had returned. With the club’s corridors reopened, the wind reclaimed its influence, and the Fownes family’s original vision—of a relentless test played across open, unprotected terrain—was once again on full display.

Today, when players walk the fairways of Oakmont, they no longer walk through a forest. They walk through history—a course that lost its way and found it again, all because of one sentence, one reaction, and one daring decision to reclaim what was nearly lost.

Oakmont’s Eighth: A Monster Par Three That Earned Bobby Jones’ Respect

While Bobby Jones never publicly declared his favorite hole at Oakmont Country Club, his reverence for the course was unmistakable. Later in life, when tasked with assembling his “Ideal Course”—an all-star lineup of golf holes from across the globe—Jones chose just one from Oakmont.

It wasn’t the famous par-4 1st. It wasn’t the diabolical 12th green or the fearsome Church Pews. No, Jones chose the 8th hole—a long, brutally honest par three that has humbled some of the greatest players in the game’s history.

In Jones’ era, the 8th stretched out to a jaw-dropping 253 yards. For him, that likely meant a brassie or spoon off the tee—what we’d now call a 2 or 3-wood. For most players of the 1920s and ’30s, it meant pulling driver. Imagine that: a driver on a par three, with no margin for error and a green as well-defended as any on the property.

Fast forward to today, and the hole remains a beast. When the U.S. Open returns to Oakmont in 2025, the 8th could play over 300 yards. And yet, with today’s technology, some players will still find themselves hitting long irons into this historic green—highlighting just how much the game has changed, and how little Oakmont’s challenge has diminished.

Recently, Justin Thomas made headlines with a blunt remark:

“I couldn’t tell you a par three over 250 yards that is good.”

It was a disheartening sentiment for many, especially those who value the strategic and mental demands of championship golf. Because the 8th at Oakmont isn’t just long—it’s legendary. It asks the modern player to do exactly what it asked of Bobby Jones nearly a century ago: stand up, commit to a precise shot, and deliver under pressure.

This isn’t a par three for the faint of heart. It’s a par three that tells the truth—about your swing, your preparation, and your nerve.

So while some may dismiss the hole for its length, the greatest amateur the game has ever known—Bobby Jones—deemed it worthy of his dream course. And that’s a pedigree no passing comment can erase.

As we head into the 2025 U.S. Open, don’t overlook Oakmont’s 8th. It may not charm every player in the field—but it will test every single one of them.

"All I remember about Oakmont the last time I was there was I hit a 1 iron 42 times from the tee.”

-Seve Ballesteros

A conversation between a brand new Assistant Pro at Oakmont CC, Bob Ford and his Head Professional Lew Worsham while watching the final round of the 1973 US Open at Oakmont:

Mr. Ford: “I think they ran out of black numbers, because all they're doing is putting up red numbers for Johnny Miller.”

Mr. Worsham: “Son, I think he's making birdies.”

Mr Ford: “There’s not a chance he is making all those birdies!”

Johnny Miller would hit every green in regulation during that spectacular final round in 1973 on his way to carding a record breaking 63.

“Oakmont takes as much more thinking to play as any course.”

-Ben Hogan during the 1953 US Oakmont

"These greens are so fast, you can hit a good shot and still wind up 50 to 60 feet from the pin. This course is as tough as we see."

-Tom Watson

"The setup is comparable (to other U.S. Open courses) from the tee until you reach the green, but once you hit the green, it's another game."

-Steve Stricker

“Place a golf ball in your bathtub and tap it and you have an idea of how fast the greens are putting.”

-Anonymous US Open Contestant

“They are by far the most difficult greens I have ever played. I thought Winged Foot’s pretty tough, Augusta’s pretty tough. But both golf courses have flat spots. Here I am trying to figure out where a flat shelf is.”

-Tiger Woods

"Well, I guess this is not too bad for a par 78. It's pretty good."

-Sergio Garcia

The words of Bob Green, sports writer as he watched Jack Nicklaus prepare for his practice round at Oakmont in 1983:

“Jack Nicklaus dropped a ball, from shoulder height, at the back of a green at the Oakmont Country Club. The ball rolled. It gathered momentum. It rolled and rolled. It rolled off the front of the green. Nicklaus' raised his eyebrows. Comment on the speed was not necessary.”

A Forgotten U.S. Open Venue

One of the most intriguing quirks in U.S. Open history belongs to Myopia Hunt Club in South Hamilton, Massachusetts—a venue that ranks among the top 10 all-time in hosting the U.S. Open, yet hasn’t welcomed the championship in over a century.

Myopia played host to four U.S. Opens—in 1898, 1901, 1905, and 1908—placing it alongside storied clubs like Inverness, The Country Club, and Pinehurst No. 2 in terms of total championships held. But unlike its peers, Myopia has long since faded from the rotation. In fact, it stands alone in the top 10 as the only club not to host the national championship in 117 years.

Back in its day, Myopia was revered for its stern test of golf—narrow fairways, deep bunkers, and small, canted greens that punished even the slightest miscue. But as the modern game evolved and championship setups demanded greater length, Myopia’s charming but compact layout no longer fit the mold.

Despite its championship pedigree and enduring charm, Myopia Hunt Club remains a relic of U.S. Open history—a once-formidable venue now frozen in time. But to say it has been left behind would miss the point entirely.

In losing the U.S. Open, Myopia won something greater: the preservation of its architectural soul. It hasn’t stretched to modern lengths—barely topping 6,500 yards—yet it continues to challenge even the finest players with its cunning design and devilishly difficult greens, some of the toughest this historian has ever encountered.

A fixture in the Top 100, Myopia isn’t just a great course—it’s a living time capsule. A place where golf’s golden age still echoes across the fairways.

And yet… standing on its windswept fairways, navigating its tilted greens and blind carries, you can’t help but wonder: what if?

What if the championship had never left? What if a course like Myopia—fiercely traditional, defiantly short, but endlessly strategic—was still allowed to test the modern game? In an era where power dominates, Myopia reminds us that golf was once a thinking man’s game, where guile outshone brute strength and every shot demanded imagination.

It may no longer shape champions, but it still shapes perspective—on what golf was, what it is, and what it might still be if we choose to honor its roots.

A Curious Footnote from Myopia’s First U.S. Open – 1898

When Fred Herd captured the 1898 U.S. Open at Myopia Hunt Club, he etched his name into golf history—but not without raising a few eyebrows at the USGA. Herd, a talented player who originally hailed from St. Andrews was known as a heavy drinker—at best—and at worst, something closer to a full-blown alcoholic.

So when the time came to award him the U.S. Open Trophy, the USGA hesitated. Fearing that Herd might pawn the championship hardware in exchange for a few rounds of something stronger than lemonade, the association took an unusual step: they demanded a deposit before releasing the trophy, a sort of early 20th-century insurance policy against a champion’s potential vices.

Herd may have won the title, but it was clear the USGA wasn’t ready to bet the silver on his sobriety.