![]() Perhaps it was craziness – for a man to toil year after year, to labor day after day doing work that might break a lesser person. “It didn’t make any sense to do this on two hours’ sleep.” “I must have been crazy,” he said, taking a short break from the hard, grinding work he still does to keep the course green. Postal Service, got by on two hours’ sleep. Often, Larry Powell, who would work an eight-hour shift first with the U.S. The course is his link to his past, a tie that will bind Bill Powell’s progeny for as long as Clearview stands. Nor has he forsaken Clearview, where he tends the grounds still. “You just start doing a lot of things at an early age.”Įven now, he hasn’t forgotten the hard work. “It was like being raised on a farm – a youngster on a farm,” Larry Powell said. In his boyhood, he was growing up with the course, which he, his father, his mother and his two siblings built, as he puts it, “piece by piece by piece by piece by piece.” He moved his wife Marcella and their children into a house he built there – a house with no electricity or plumbing.Īs he sits inside the clubhouse, Larry Powell remembers those Spartan times well. Standing on a hill above the expanse of land he purchased in 1946, Bill Powell, then 28, got a “clear view” of what his dream could be. Powell, who paid his family’s bills with a security guard’s job at a bearing-and-steel company in Canton, used the loans to buy 78 acres from a dairy farmer. Turned down for a GI loan, he borrowed money from two black physicians and coaxed his brother into taking a second mortgage. Upon discovering that those limitations remained once he returned to Ohio, he decided to build a course. His homeland, however, had been less accommodating. Stationed in Europe during the war, Powell had been able to play golf courses there. He was a black man in the pre- and post-World War II period, and aside from caddying for whites, he and other golfers of color could find little inside the sport that welcomed them. Matt Sullivan/Getty Images for PGA of Americaīill Powell should have fulfilled his golf dream earlier, but segregation meant his reality took a while to unfold. “They’d walk out onto the course, find the ball and hit it again.”Ī view of the clubhouse at Clearview Golf Club on Jin East Canton, Ohio. “He saw them hitting a ball with a stick, as if trying to lose it,” said Renee Powell, a steward of the course along with her brother Larry. When he was 9 years old, he would climb over or crawl under fences to sneak onto courses near his hometown of Minerva, Ohio, about 20 miles from Canton, and watch white men play. P builtīill Powell’s passion for golf began as a youthful fascination. “He wanted this golf club opened to the people who denied him access to their courses.” The course Mr. “He called it ‘America’s course’ because he wanted it opened to everyone,” said Ramona Harriet, a sports historian who has written about blacks in golf. From nearby and beyond, golfers have come to play the par-72 course, golf pros such as Calvin Peete, Homero Blancas and Charlie Sifford Hall of Famers such as Jim Brown, Leroy Kelly, Henry Aaron and more and ordinary folk too – blacks and whites, any man or woman who liked striking golf balls for the joy of it as much as Bill Powell did. The place has survived in the face of Jim Crow segregation – a black-owned, black-built course that has earned a spot on the National Register of Historic Places. They’ve been playing Clearview ever since. ![]() P,” believed he believed not only that could he build the course, but that if he did, by God, golfers would surely come and play on it.Īnd Mr. But Bill Powell, whom friends called “Mr. “Crazy” is an apt word, because Clearview, a nonprofit foundation, was built 70 years ago with shovelfuls of crazy.įor nothing was crazier back then the notion a black man, her father Bill Powell, would take his hands and sculpt a golf course from farmland he bought in the heart of Ohio. “Maybe five,” she replies, holding up her right hand, her fingers spread. “Can we get 15 minutes?” someone asks her. ![]() On this saunalike Saturday afternoon in late August, Powell is seeking relief inside this dimly lit, air-conditioned building. Head pro Renee Powell hurries into the brownish-gray, wood-framed clubhouse at Clearview Golf Course.
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