Several years ago, I had become frustrated or even lost patience with trying to get Masters practice round tickets as well as tickets to the Augusta National Women’s Amateur preceding it. That is, even though I had been to some enjoyable practice rounds at the historic Augusta National course back in the 1980s and ‘90s when all comers were still welcome.
So, somehow finding myself on the email list for another major championship – the PGA Championship – I ordered a ticket for the 2022 PGA at Southern Hills in Tulsa. It was a long drive, but I enjoyed seeing the course and top golfers and passing through Memphis and the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville for a few days on the way.
I had been unable to go back to the PGA since then, but last summer after seeing the order opportunity for last week’s PGA at Quail Hollow Club in Charlotte, I decided to go again, knowing it was only five or six hours away.
While my wife, Laura, did not want to go, saying she did not want to trample around a hot golf course for a good part of a day or have to stay in a hotel room for the same amount of time, I enjoyed it and Charlotte as a whole. I even opted to stay in a historic hotel in downtown instead of a generic motel on the interstate closer to the course but with zero atmosphere.
And this was actually the first time I had ever spent any time in Charlotte, other than stopping at an old gas station seemingly near downtown back in 1975, when my father, Dr. Wayne Shearer, was asking directions on our way to play golf at the Pinehurst resort when I was 15. Remember when people stopped and asked directions?
So, exactly 50 years later, no longer a young man, I headed east. I left my home a little after 9 a.m. on Wednesday, May 14, and headed to Atlanta to catch Interstate 85 up to Charlotte. I was going through two dynamic cities – both with plenty of traffic – but was up for the task, or at least I thought I was.
While my old Honda Accord was ready to make it almost into South Carolina fuel-wise, I was not. I was starving by the time I got to Allatoona, so I stopped at a Chick-fil-A, even though it was not quite 11 a.m. I actually stopped at that exit to see if the somewhat new Varsity was open, but it did not open until 11. However, I knew I was going to get to enjoy the Varsity later in the trip, so I did not worry.
After thinking about getting the seemingly healthier meal of chicken nuggets and a garden salad, I opted instead for the regular fried chicken sandwich, waffle fries and a Coca-Cola. When I am on vacation, I don’t feel as guilty at what I eat in terms of calories, so I was taking advantage of that.
Soon on my way, I was pleased at how easily I got through Atlanta at mid-day by staying on Interstate 75 and then quickly getting on I-85 by downtown.
After a stop for gas – and a visit to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard after seeing one conveniently located where I stopped --- I continued into South Carolina and eventually Charlotte just across the line in North Carolina. Although I had no traffic issues, it was seemingly taking me perhaps an hour longer to get there than I envisioned.
Finally, though, I was on the outskirts of town and saw the Charlotte skyline a few miles away. As a result, I started getting a little emotional, knowing I was almost to my new destination.
I had not set any GPS program in my car but had checked an online map and assumed Interstate 85 went right by downtown, so I knew I was getting ready to exit and was feeling satisfied. However, I kept looking for the exit I had written down the night before, but it was nowhere to be found.
But I patiently kept driving and driving, and seemingly after just a few minutes, I saw a sign that said the next few exits were Concord, which I knew was a suburb. Oops. I had gone too far.
I then pulled off, asked Siri on my iPhone for directions, and was suddenly taken back on some side roads. I figured maybe I had been put on side roads to avoid any Interstate traffic, but as I got closer to town and by luck got around an accident on a main road, the directions told me to get on a greenway path I was approaching.
I started getting a little suspicious, but it would correct me when I stayed on the main road. Thankfully, I finally arrived OK at the Dunhill Hotel on North Tryon Street in what they call the Uptown section of Charlotte. It was about 45 minutes later than I would have arrived by knowing the correct directions from the start, but I am not that demanding while on an adventure.
While I did get to see interesting parts of Charlotte I would not have from the interstate, only the next day did I realize what was up.
For some reason my directions had accidentally been programmed for the bike route instead of the automobile, so I ended up having a good laugh with myself. Only I would have something like that happen.
I checked into this hotel that has historically been part apartments and advertises itself as the only historic boutique hotel in downtown Charlotte. While not as ornate as the Read House in Chattanooga, it was still nice and adequate.
I was also pleased to see that the area around my hotel was still more to scale with smaller buildings like in the Charlotte of old, although that quickly changed about three or four blocks away.
After relaxing in my hotel room for maybe a half hour or so, and being thankful I was finally there after taking a Lance Armstrong-like tour, I decided to walk to get some supper. It looked like plenty of chain and local restaurants were around my hotel, and for some reason I was craving pizza. So, I stopped at Portofino’s. I could not tell if it was a chain or local place, but I ordered a New York-style slice of pepperoni pizza and a salad from the line, and I enjoyed it.
It was neat sitting and relaxing in a big city for a few moments.
I then walked back to the hotel a block or two away, and part of me wished I could have just lounged around my hotel room for the rest of the night, or maybe casually circled on foot a couple more blocks around the hotel.
But the hotel website when I was looking at it a few days before coming mentioned that it was right across the street from the Carolina Theatre. I also realized there was a bluegrass-inspired band called the Punch Brothers playing that night, so I got a ticket in the balcony.
I figured I could go to that for an hour or two and still have some time to go back in my hotel and relax. After all, it was right across the street.
At 7:30 p.m., I went into a big glass-covered lobby but then walked up into a simply beautiful and historic theater that sat back from North Tryon Street. It looked a lot like the Tivoli, but with some nice murals on the interior sides. I could not figure the theater out. But a look online revealed the theater had opened in 1927 for silent movies and even hosted Elvis Presley in 1956.
However, it evidently sat closed for decades before the city took it over and completed the renovation of the damaged facility apparently just weeks before I arrived. How is that for good timing for this lover of old theaters? It was evidently designed by some other architects besides the ones involved in the Tivoli.
A new glass entrance front was also part of the new work.
I thoroughly enjoying sitting in this theater that was about 75 percent full, but with little leg room in front of you in the balcony, kind of like the Tivoli has been. However, I had moved down to the front row of a balcony level where a crossing aisle was.
The Punch Brothers were simply amazing. Although I am not overly crazy about bluegrass music like some people are, they were wonderful. They had an appealing-to-me sound that mixed bluegrass, pop, classical and their own unique kind of music. I could quickly tell that the genius in the group was evidently lead singer Chris Thile, but they were all wonderful.
They also had a female fiddle player, Brittany Haas, despite their name, and had some nice and humorous banter with the audience.
They had come out at 7:35 and played for almost two hours, counting their encore. It was a lot nicer than the Jeremy Camp Christian concert I had seen at Memorial Auditorium a few weeks earlier, primarily because at the Camp event, the headliner did not come out until more than an hour later and they had an unannounced warmup act and a charity fund-raising pitch that also took a few minutes. Of course, that concert had been almost worth it just to hear Mr. Camp play his classic hit, “I Still Believe,” on the piano.
But I was happy at what went on at this concert just a few days before the Punch Brothers also appeared at the Caverns in Pelham not too far from Chattanooga.
After it was over, I went back to the hotel and looked at my laptop in the lobby for a few minutes before going up to my second-floor room for the night.
The next morning, I woke up early, got dressed and went down to the Asbury restaurant in the lobby for a 7 a.m. breakfast when they opened. I wanted to get out to course for the PGA as early as I could, and I figured this would be easier.
I was the only diner in the restaurant when I arrived, but a friendly young woman waited on me. I ordered a breakfast that included cheese-covered scrambled eggs, cheese grits, a link sausage, a hot biscuit and a glass of cold milk. While not great, it was adequate for a hurried breakfast and might have been greatly improved without all the cheese.
But I tried to leave the young woman a generous tip and soon got in my car in the parking garage adjacent to the building and headed for the Carowinds amusement park. There, I was to park and be shuttled to the Quail Hollow course.
I did not have any GPS but luckily had researched online the night before how to get there. And in contrast to the previous day, when I had also researched the directions but still met disaster, I easily got on I-77 a few blocks from the hotel and then went south. I knew I was going in the right direction because all the roller coasters were quite visible from the freeway as I got closer. The exit was also called Carowinds! Yes, even someone like me challenged with knowing directions could figure it out.
I was surprised at how many cars were there at around 8 a.m. But after I got through the line and figured out how to upload the parking ticket on my app with the help of a patient parking attendant, I was parked and soon climbing aboard one of the big shuttle buses.
Surprisingly, it took maybe 45 minutes or longer to ride to the course that was apparently several miles – and several left turns – away. Yes, the second half of the trip was somewhat like sitting on Highway 153 in Chattanooga near the Hamill Road intersection. And the bus driver seemed ever careful not to go through a yellow-turning traffic signal.
Regardless of the delays, I started feeling excitement as it became obvious that we were getting closer to the course. We finally went in past one or two guards like at an Army base and were soon let off by the friendly bus driver.
I then went through the gate with my ticket working OK and suddenly feeling even more excitement, knowing I had reached my destination. It was a special moment for this worry wart who wonders if I will get where I want to go.
I excitedly took pictures of the various “Welcome to the PGA Championship” or “Welcome to Quail Hollow” signs. I even got someone to take a picture of me to send to family and friends after I texted them that I had arrived, and they insisted on a photo.
I then found a nearby hole to watch some golfers. As someone who does not know most of the touring pros like I once did as an aspiring teenage golfer in the 1970s, I saw a lot of unfamiliar names. But they all had good swings, although one pro came up a little short of the green on a 50-yard chip, reminding me of myself over the years.
But with the help of my PGA Championship app, I realized where the well-known threesome of recent Masters champion Rory McIlroy, Scott Scheffler and Xander Schaufele were playing, and I found them on No. 2 fairway. As fate would have it, Rory hit his tee shot to the right side of the rough, so he came over near where I was. But he was obviously focused on his game and did not say hi to me or anyone else.
I followed them for another hole or two, and then caught them as they came down No. 9, which was their last hole of the day. I waited about 100 yards off No. 9 tee, and it was interesting to watch all the TVA and PGA officials come in front of them as they were finishing up on No. 8 green. You knew some important people in the world of sports were behind them and on their way toward where you were.
Scottie seemed to have the most appealing manner of the three on the course with a slight swagger. He also had the best score of the day, although I had no idea he would win the tournament for his third major. But all three were basically stoic.
And as they walked off No. 9 green as their round concluded after they started on No. 10, and several dozen others and I watched them walk through the ropes held up by the marshals moments before, they hardly acknowledged the crowd.
That is one aspect of professional golf that seems different from the 1970s when I followed the sport more closely. These days, there is not much rapport with the crowd – or at least gestures like putting your hand up in the air in appreciation after a made putt -- as maybe there used to be. The lone exception was Bryson DeChambeau, who high-fived quite a few people as he walked to the first tee, where the Wanamaker Trophy was on display.
I did also see former Baylor School golfers Keith Mitchell (who seems to always wear a 1970s-style visor), Harris English and Stephan Jaeger, with Mr. English eventually finishing three days later in an impressive second-place tie. I did not shout “Go Baylor” or “Chattanooga” to any of them for fear of distracting their games.
There seemed to be a good crowd on hand, and the vast majority of the fans seemed to likely hold professional jobs, although I am bad sometimes about stereotyping. But that makes sense, as golf is still a somewhat expensive leisure hobby, whether you want to belong to a club or pay to play and ride a cart at a public facility.
The ticket into the tournament cost a little over $200, and I had to pay about $20 to park at the Carowinds. When I went to the PGA in Southern Hills in 2022, the tournament cost was close to that, but they had an old, abandoned mall parking garage where you could park for free and be bussed to the site.
And the food and soft drink beverage concessions were free at both places and were part of your ticket. This year, they had them in big tents and set up for people to simply grab an item and exit. I think at Southern Hills, you had to show your band to someone at the checkout place. As a result, everything moved quickly there.
But you could only get like maybe one beverage and one food item at a time. So, I must confess that I ended up with two lunches – a hot dog one time and a cheeseburger the next. I also got a cookie and some chips and a Pepsi each time. And this was all before 11:30 a.m.
I actually got about four canned Pepsis during the day but would usually only drink about half of them, as they were not super cold when I got them, and they warmed up fast in the sun. I also had a couple of water bottles.
So, while the golfers were experiencing bogies and birdies, I was enjoying burgers and dogs.
As one other footnote to my visit that lasted less than six hours before I headed for the shuttle bus about 3 to beat any rush hour back to downtown Charlotte, I decided to walk around the back nine in the afternoon. And lo and behold, there was a giant lake there that most of the holes passed and was kind of the signature landmark of the course. I had not realized that previously.
This area also had some nice homes that were built years after the course opened, and I tried to get a picture or two of them. But my phone for some reason ran out of power about that time. I also read that golfer and tournament competitor Webb Simpson, who is the son-in-law of former McCallie School basketball star Greg Keith, also lives somewhere near the course.
The course, I understand, opened in 1961 and was designed by George Cobb, who about a year earlier had designed the par 3 course at Augusta National. I also learned that the name Quail Hollow came because the land where the course is was part of the largest dairy farm in North Carolina, and it had an abundance of quail.
I was actually familiar with Quail Hollow dating back to the 1970s, when they used to have the Kemper Open there before it morphed into other sponsorship names. I have not forgotten in 1974, when longtime junior golf teacher and next-door neighbor Jack McKenna passed us somewhere on the Valleybrook course near our houses while we were playing and told the story of an unknown named Bob Menne winning the Kemper Open in a playoff that day.
Only when I looked in the Chattanooga Times sports pages the next day did I see the interesting story of his journeyman existence and rags-to-riches story. I think the newspaper had a headline saying something like he now had money to buy lettuce for his wife’s sandwiches.
After getting back to the Carowinds parking lot and luckily finding my car still near sign No. 37, I figured I could easily get back to my hotel. I decided to try my GPS again with the help of Siri and while it was plugged into the charger. But instead of having me turn back on I-77 a few hundred yards from the amusement park entrance and exit, she/it told me to keep going and turn on a small road. That road, by the way, was backed up.
I decided to turn around and take my chances on the interstate, and about that time was when I realized my phone’s navigation system had somehow been set on the bike route and not the automobile route.
Sorry Siri, after walking for several hours, I was not ready to pedal home like I was training for the Tour de France. Siri did get me home by even coming in behind the Uptown area in a way I would not have visualized, so we were back in good graces.
Glad to be back in my hotel room and, after catching my breath, I actually did decide before showering to take a short jog in a small, nearby park I had seen while I was driving out to catch I-77 that morning. No, I am not Kip Keino or an Olympic marathoner, either.
But since I was excited to have enjoyed the tournament, gotten back OK, and also because I did not get a chance to jog the day before, I decided to go out and run for a few minutes. I also still had plenty of stored energy after enjoying the protein-filled hot dog and cheeseburger.
The park was called Fourth Ward Park and was quite neat looking. It was an L-shaped park a couple hundred yards long and wide and featured grass that I like to run on and some trees. As pretty as it was to look at as I jogged among several people walking their dogs, though, the surrounding apartment buildings of old and Victorian houses were just as interesting.
This was an obviously renewed or continuously nice area, and I enjoyed it as I rejuvenated myself with the exercise.
The day before, I had actually emailed 1978 Baylor classmate Thornton Withers, who I knew lived in Charlotte now, and let him know I was in town for the tournament. In his kindness, he called me back while I was jogging and said he would come to the downtown area where I was and meet me for dinner.
Someone he knew and who was familiar with downtown had suggested to him the Cellar at Duckworth’s, which happened to be only one block away and across the street from my hotel, so I met him there. We put our name on the list for the Cellar, which was a dark room perhaps patterned romantically after the Speakeasys of old, and went into the regular Duckworth’s Grill and Taphouse upstairs to wait for a few minutes.
I had looked at the regular Duckworth’s menu and imagined getting all these tasty-for-me dishes like fish and chips or a Carolina-style barbecue sandwich. Well, guess what? When we went down to the Cellar, it had an entirely different menu, with offerings like boar, steaks of all sizes, market fish and even duck dishes, which you might expect from the name.
We did find a cheeseburger and fries on the menu, and we both ordered that and enjoyed them. After being out on the course and then jogging some, I was starting to get a little hungry as the hour went past 8. Also becoming a little irritable after starting to feel weak, I had even remarked to Thornton something like, “We did order, didn’t we?”
It was probably not the classiest thing to say, and I ended up regretting my obvious lack of patience, because about a minute after I made that remark, a female server walked over and set our dishes down in front of us in a friendly manner.
We enjoyed talking about our old Baylor days, our classmates, the golf tournament and our interest in such college sports teams as North Carolina and Georgia. Thornton has enjoyed a career in insurance, and I had learned in more recent years that his grandfather had been involved in Coca-Cola Bottling in Charlotte.
After 90 minutes or so, we said goodbye to each other and got someone to take our picture, and then he headed back home.
I relaxingly went back to the hotel, went back down to the lobby to look at my laptop, and then went to bed.
The next morning, knowing I would be driving back to Chattanooga, I got up early and went back to take a 20-minute jog at Fourth Ward Park. This time, there was no professional-looking people walking their dogs but instead one or two people who might have been homeless or marginalized in some way. But they did not bother me, so I soaked in the nice little park once more and went back to my hotel.
I had actually looked on my laptop in the lobby the night before for a nearby bakery, and found a place called Amelie’s French Bakery & Café about three or four blocks away from my hotel. I figured it might be better than eating at the hotel restaurant again or stopping at a Bojangle’s or Hardee’s on the road.
Within a couple of blocks of heading down there, taller buildings started to appear, and I knew I was no longer in the more scaled-down area where my hotel was. I also saw a Panera on the way and wished I had known about it for breakfast the day before.
When I walked in Amelie’s, the man and woman at the counter welcomed me in a very friendly manner as I ordered a cinnamon roll for my sweet item and a regular croissant for my savory item. I might have liked a ham and cheese croissant instead, but they did not have it.
They both seemed good, although perhaps not quite to the level of Niedlov’s in Chattanooga or a bakery Laura and I had enjoyed in New York last fall. But it was a better overall breakfast than the day before.
I then got in my car to leave. After worrying while seeing the news on TV about a crash on northbound I-77 that had closed the freeway, I realized later it was way north of where I got on Interstate 85. As a result, I found no traffic at about 8 a.m. and was able to head back to Chattanooga, knowing I could get home without having to ask directions.
I had made plans to stop by and see University of Georgia college friend Dave Williams in Athens a few miles off I-85. He took me to the new Varsity restaurant in nearby Watkinsville, and it was good to visit with him – and to enjoy another hamburger and hot dog (and onion rings) on my apparent Southern binge tour of great American fast food.
Dave has recently retired from working for the University of Georgia athletic department in event management and other areas for several decades and recently took a part-time job doing court security officer-related work in nearby Oglethorpe County.
I enjoyed visiting with him and then headed back toward Chattanooga. Despite having bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-285 for several miles on this Friday afternoon, I did not let it dampen my enjoyment over this trip.
Through my several stops, including when I heard one fan at the PGA yell “Welcome back to Charlotte” to Rory McIlroy, I realized the Queen City – despite its rapid growth over recent decades – still seems to have a sense of community.
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Jcshearer2@comcast.net