Golf Association of Philadelphia

frustrations of his golfing compatriots and
urged the low handicappers to “organize into
an energetic, up-to-date working body for
the purposes of managing their own affairs
and promoting such projects as are known to
be necessary for the quick advancement of
the game.” Smith’s rally cry attracted a host of
area club men, universally respected in busi-
ness and social circles, who tapped an energy
that ultimately spread across America.
One can imagine the usual group of men
strategizing aboard a Reading Railway train
car on a return trip from one of their weekend
golf excursions to Atlantic City, N.J.: Crump
agrees to take on the development of the
ultimate championship golf course; Tillinghast
assumes responsibility for promotion and
media, agreeing to write countless articles
for local newspapers and leading sporting
periodicals of the day, such as Country Life
Magazine, The American Cricketer, The
American Golfer and Golf Illustrated; Perrin
handles administration, becoming the presi-
dent of the Pennsylvania Golf Association in
1913 and later rising to the top office of the
USGA. Our friend Ab Smith jumped headlong
into the development of Cobbs Creek Golf
Club, a massive task that took all of the city’s
finest men to serve on committees, to design
and construct the course and to ram public
golf through reams of classic Philly red tape.
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AROUND THE SAME TIME as our fanciful
train trip, another man, Frederick Taylor, con-
ducted pioneering Turfgrass experiments on
the grounds of his 11-acre Chestnut Hill estate,
called Boxley. Taylor was raised in a wealthy
Quaker family, traveled Europe extensively
and trained his superior intellect to help
manufacturers at the height of the machine
age become more efficient and productive.
But the “Father of Scientific Management,”
as he was famously known, wanted nothing
more than to grow lush putting grasses that
rolled fast and true. With the help of his head
gardener, Robert Bender, Taylor scientifically
mapped the contours of his putting surfaces,
which eventually benefitted Merion East,
Philadelphia Country Club, Philadelphia Cricket
Club, Plymouth, Sunnybrook, Whitemarsh
Valley and helped Pine Valley dig its way out
of hopeless infertility. Bender, in turn, having
apprenticed at the foot of the master, carried
on the acclaimed work, becoming highly
sought-after as far south as North Carolina for
his management and construction of Taylor’s
pure “rolling greens.”
Along the Main Line, Hugh Wilson took
time from his busy insurance business to
develop a new course for Merion Cricket Club
on a tiny 117-acre plot that straddled Ardmore
Avenue. To say that Wilson took his role as
designer seriously would be an understate-
ment of epic proportions. He studied the
finest examples of traditional golf architecture
overseas, analyzed core soil samples, calcu-
lated ideal soil-to-manure ratios per acre and
sourced only the finest sand, straw, seed,
humus and equipment. Perhaps more than
any other aspect of his work, Wilson learned
Turfgrass science to such an astounding
degree that he was regarded by a colleague
as the finest agrostologist of the era. Yet, with
his mind so perfectly suited for science, he
Albert Haseltine Smith
The First and Loudest Voice of the Philadelphia School

Albert H. Smith, or “Ab,” as he was known to friends, was part of Philadelphia’s “first family of golf,” which included his brothers William Poultney (W.P.) Smith and H. Pratt Smith. He attended Penn (1890) and worked as an insurance broker in his family’s firm. Smith was a modest man known to be very camera shy, and therefore few images of him exist from newspapers or periodicals of the era. Along with his influential friends, he enjoyed the social and athletic component of club life as a member of Huntingdon Valley, Merion Cricket and Philadelphia Country Club.

Smith was viewed as the top golfer in the city at the turn of the 20th century and the decade or so beyond. He claimed the Golf Association of Philadelphia’s first Amateur title in 1897, and duplicated this feat in 1911.

He was a regular participant in regional team events, a member of the Lesley Cup team in 1912 and a fixture in the prestigious Lynnewood Hall Tournament at Huntingdon Valley. Nationally, he competed in the 1898 U.S. Amateur at Morris County, reaching the final 16, and again found success against high-level competition in 1899 and 1901.

Smith was known among his peers to have a keen understanding of golf course architecture from his efforts at Huntingdon Valley, where he served as the longtime chairman of the greens committee. But this title did not adequately reflect the hands-on approach he took in making revisions to the layout, upgrading conditions of play and maintaining the course as the region’s most challenging test of skill in the early decades of Philadelphia golf.

Smith also vigorously pursued the development of a public golf venue for the city, which he saw as a glaring deficiency when compared to rival golf cities. He championed Cobbs Creek Golf Club in Fairmount Park, organizing committees stacked with his many influential club friends who ushered the concept through the stifling barriers of city government. He is credited with the course’s co-design, although the Cobbs Creek project was not possible without the participation of all the great golfing minds that Philadelphia had to offer.

Along with Hugh Wilson, Smith remained attached to public golf, serving on committees tasked with identifying additional locations for public play. They ultimately recommended the sites of today’s Franklin Roosevelt and Juniata courses. In 1927, Smith designed and constructed Karakung, the second course at Cobbs Creek. This places Smith at the heart of golf in Philadelphia for a 30-year period between 1897 and 1927.

One of Smith’s most enduring contributions to the game is his link to a golfing term known around the world. On one winter excursion in 1899, Smith and his friends were playing the long par- 5 12th hole (as it was then played) at Atlantic City Country Club. He lashed a prodigious shot that ended up six inches or so from the hole, whereupon it was exclaimed, “That’s a bird of a shot!” or words to that effect. Various published accounts of this event helped to popularize the term “birdie” thereafter.