Pinehurst Welcomes Winter Folk, Joins Peace Celebration in Carthage, 1918

From The Pinehurst Outlook, Nov. 16, 1918

The Village Gossip

To the best of my knowledge and belief the thing to do is strike out for Pinehurst in a Rolls-Royce. Failing that you can follow my humble example and pack your old kit bag in a tin Lizzie in Boston. It’s a simple trick. Get an amiable freebooter like Clyde Davis to do the singing and the cussing. And it is an easy four days’ run from New York. Hitting by way of Washington, Fredericksburg, Richmond and Raleigh, there is nothing to hinder or debate but the open road, except for the notorious swamp near Fredericksburg. I will for the first time give a truthful account of that. If the weather is dry it is no barrier at all. We went through the whole slough of despond at 15 miles an hour. It is all boarded about in bad spots, and the road has been built up out of the wet. However, it still looks as if it would be a trap in a storm.

We came rattling in here on November 3d thinking to rush the season and have a fussed made over us in the roll of Early Birds. No luck. For all we could tell, the old reliables had been here all summer. The fairways, still flush with the green of summer, were covered with the seried ranks of the midiron offensive, and Wilson, as always, was on hand to soberly tell us that the fairways wee beyond all compare better than ever before, being in fact somewhat of an improvement over Rana-aleigh, and if anything a bit too thick for heavy approaching.

Investigation disclosed that when C.B. Hudson came into the Dogwood expecting as usual to be a lap or two ahead of the bunch, he found Mrs. W.H. Lloyd already encamped in the Craddock with her children, which she will make her retreat until the return of her husband from the front, where he is surgeon, with the army of occupation. She is a daughter of Benjamin F. Butler of Eagle Springs, and although for the first time living in Pinehurst is well known in the Sandhills.

Mrs. Homan and her son Charlie Horton have been staying in Mrs. Spencer Waters’ Cotton Cottage for the month of October and November, and will remain there until the arrival of Mrs. John List Crawford of New York, who has rented it for the season. The whole village shares with Mrs. Homan the keenest sense of loss and sorrow for her heroic son Gifford, who met his fate like McConnell and Quentin Roosevelt in single combat over the Heathen Lines.

The most apalling racket and hubbub ever chronicled in the annals of Pinehurst brought the people rushing into the streets and parkways last Monday. I went out by the roof expecting nothing less than conflagration or invasion. And then everyone fell to adding to the din. It was the official requiem to William the Conquered. A thousand flags appear from God knows where. The blinds in the stores went up, the children poured from the schools, and placards hopped into place bearing the legend:

“Gone to Bad Bill’s Funeral”

By one accord the whole populace of the county took to the road. From every quarter the sound of hors and sirens, the trebble yells of the youngsters and the hum of motors heralded the coming of squadrons of trucks and cars loaded to the gunwale with the entire population. Bedecked and festooned and covered with mottoes with one accord, they made through Pinehurst on the way to Carthage. This outpouring revealed to what extent the colony had been arriving this October. A prominent place was occupied in the line by Miss Bruce’s big car. She and Mr. Frederick Bruce were in line, leading a merry overflow of children who almost completely swamped the chariot piloted by the Rev. T.A. Cheathem, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong sprang from the “Orange” and joined the glad throng.

On every hand the greeting and rejoicing was almost pandemonium. Colonel and Mrs. Swigert and Stuyvesant LeRoy, Mrs. Z.R. Bliss, who has opened the Cherokee for the season, Mrs. Donald Ross, Mr. and Mrs. P.B. O’Brien and the children,--who came down in a car, Mrs. Dana and Mrs. Eric Parson, the Warings and the Newcombs—most of the familiar faces were in evidence in the amazing interlude. Eric of course was not on hand. Like Achilles he couldn’t abide in school when the great expedition was afoot, and he followed the Red Cross to France and is doing his celebration in the Place de Concorde. The same is true of a host of the boys for years the prevailing figures on the links of Pinehurst. Paul Dana is with the 302d Field Artillery, presumably at the moment firing the last mammoth salvo over the grave of Kultur. Bob Jewett is running an ambulance in the Champaign. Henry Seggerman is toting a musket in the great advance. Phil Robeson is behind the lines camouflaged to resemble a poilu with a dashing mustache. Julian Bishop, after his tenth try, got into the army in spite of his lack of ears, and spends his time on fatigue for not obeying orders he doesn’t hear. But he is happy. He got into the game. And he got there over the dead bodies of half the enlistment corps of the United States army. Trumbull Dana is wearing the uniform at the training camp Kearney in California.

We have become hardened to the inevitable changes and improvements which greet the visitor each year in the colony. In spite of the laws of the War which forbade the erection of any new buildings, there were sufficient and impressive changes just the same. The completion of the derelicts which littered the offing last spring, and their transformation into some of the most stately and attractive places in the whole region has worked a charm. I don’t know whether the most striking is Henry Hornblower’s brick masterpiece, now all ready and furnished, and awaiting only the expected arrival of its master to be christened, or James Barber’s new chateau. Every year Barber builds him a finer and a more beautiful place. This year’s location has all the new places beat on grounds.

We found Wiswell, the putting course designer and miniature golf maniac in the last stages of executing a most ingenious, complicated and beautiful little course of 18 holes there. It reduces putting to a science and an art, and adds interest and variety to the landscape design.  Jimmy Barber himself put in an early appearance to view the handiwork and take a hand in the Carolina tournament pulled off on the 11^th.

To our mind the most attractive design of all is shown in Mrs. A.C. Spring’s new residence, which also only lacks Mrs. Spring to be complete.

With pardonable pride, Newcomb managed to get us away from our 12 bore long enough to display and eulogize the two new buildings finished off by the Plateau Company. The Lenoir, the last word in the evolution of the “Perfect Pinehurst Design” over by Pat O’Brien’s and the links, is to be occupied this winter by Mrs. Henry Drinker Riley of Philadelphia. The other one is a white and green creation back of Redfield’s, surnamed the Morganton, and like Barkus, is willing (to be taken).

It was like a return from exile to find Colonel and Mrs. Ormsbee as of old in the Plymouth, the Shannons established for the winter in the Stanwood, and the latch string hanging out at the Pines, where Mrs. Willam Hurd and Mrs. Splane and Lambert had long since opened the shutters.

We were greeted by the Tufts in full force. Miss Esther was on the job racking down the willing victims of the War Work Drive with Mrs. Lloyd and Mrs. J.R. McQueen.

For John McQueen and Miss Annie McNeill were married this summer. Probably nothing imaginable could have astonished the countryside as much as it delighted them.

Mr. Tufts arrived fresh from helping to conduct the Liberty Loan campaign in Massachusetts. Two of the boys—Albert and James—are on hand. Richard is now an ensign in the navy, an expert in radio work, busy all up and down the seaboard with matters he will not divulge.

I tell you it was like a reunion in force. Mr. and Mrs. Homer H. Johnson of Cleveland had the Rosemary under full way, and were making the best of the best possible of seasons in the best possible of places. Mrs. David Johnson, M.B.’s daughter-in-law, is going to spend the winter here too in the Mistletoe.

There is a good deal of humbug about this affection of ours about the beginning of the season. Roger Derby and Mrs. Derby were not moving in. They were moving out of the Robert Hunter’s Dormie cottage, where they had been all summer to make room for Mr. and Mrs. T.A. McGraw of Pittsburgh, who are expected at any minute for the winter. Tom bought him a peach orchard on Blue’s Hill, the other side of Aberdeen, last spring, and all summer has been clearing up the top of the world over here to put in some more this fall.

Another house appearing on the horizon for the first time in its full glory is the Dickinson Bishops’ on the Beulah Hill Road. Bishop is in the government service at Washington, but Mrs. Bishop will open the house and he is expected to return as soon and as often as the unscrambling of Count William Hohenzollern’s mess will allow.

Hard on our heels came Dr. and Mrs. J.S. Brown. The Doctor was in his usual inimitable form. He has the most wonderful letters from the front.

Miss Dorothy has been nursing right under the guns and seeing everything to be seen after the style of an American girl. Jim has been in charge of the reconnaissance photography for the whole 42d division. This is some entertaining proposition. In the main it consists of snooping out ahead of the lines and taking snap shots of the Germans in their positions, their neat little machine gun traps, and other pictorial stunts that make the rattlesnake and African lion photography positively silly. He has been over the top 32 times, been blown bodily into the air by a big shell and seen—and taken—most that there is to see. When the curtain went down he was captain in charge of the work for the whole corps. He will sure have a tale to tell when he gets home.

Over on the hill the lights are shining in the Linden where Mr. and Mrs. H.W. Priest and Miss Lucy Priest have been for some time. Miss Lucy has returned to the charge of the Library, which will open its doors Monday next.

Mrs. George T. Dunlap left town the day we got here to go after Mr. Dunlap. He has been ill at the Battle Creek Sanitarium, but we are glad to learn that he is on the high road to recovery and will return to the Sandhills over the road.

The report of those on their way are legion. Walter H. Page, former ambassador to England, who has been convalescing from a serious illness in New York, is expected shortly at the Currituck, where he will spend the winter with Mrs. Page and his daughter, Mrs. C.G. Loring. Lieutenant Loring is with the big celebration in Sedan.

Coming with them, to occupy the little Brick House, is Mrs. Arthur W. Page and her children. Arthur is a captain in the Intelligence Department stationed in Paris. It is also expected that Major Frank C. Page, who has just returned from active service, will spend a good part of his time under the family roof.

The Albemarle, W.H. Thurston’s residence, will be shortly opened by the J.D. Chapmans, who have taken it for the season. The Watauga, which they lived in last year has been sold to N.B. Hersloff of Nutley, New Jersey, who will we welcomed and initiated into the colony counsels sometime about Christmas.

Mr. and Mrs. H.F. Noyes are reported on their way here now, traveling by the Capitol Highway. Mr. and Mrs. Warren Bicknell and Miss Bicknell are moving into the Warbeck, and a cordial welcome has been extended to Mr. and Mrs. N.A. Rose and their children, of Wellesley Hills, new comers in the Sperry Cottage.

Mrs. J.J. Carter has arranged to take the McKenzie House, last year occupied by Miss Mary V. Healey. Miss Healy has deserted us temporarily for the less luxuriant but more exciting quarters in Flanders.

I presume this epic letter is becoming tedious beyond possible endurance. But the woods are so full of folks and doings that there is no end. Here comes everyone telling about Priscilla Bealls’ wedding to Captain Schofield, and hopes and fears that they will still spend their winters here. Here is the news that Miss Eleanor Abbe has deserted us for the Gilman School in Baltimore, where she is acting as secretary. And here am I this minute greeting Mr. and Mrs. J.D.C. Rumsey, who have apparently spent the summer, they appear so settled. And it is told that Miss Sarah C. Brayton has arrived at the Cypress, and George Doran, the publisher, is coming any minute to invest Commodore Newton’s new cottage, La Cassita.