Brian Manzella
Administrator
I have played Pebble Beach and Cypress Point, and it's hard to find any golf course prettier than those.
I have played Old Memorial, Caves Valley, and Oakmont, and it would be hard to find any courses run better than they are.
I have hit balls at Quail Lodge, the PGA Learning Center, and Big Horn, and ranges don't come any better than those.
But the most fun I have ever had in golf was at "Da Pawk" when I was a young man.
The New Orleans City Park Golf Complex—back in the day—had it all. 81 holes, including the 75-cent Junior Course where I cut my golfing teeth without having to worry about holding any adults up. It had a covered Driving Range where unless it rained sideways or it was 110-degrees in the shade, you could hit balls comfortably.
If you wanted or needed equipment, Henry Thomas, the pro there for 53 years, had a golf shop that carried every worthwhile product at bargain basement prices. And Mr. Thomas was the easiest person to trade golf equipment with in the history of the business. Lord only knows how much better my equipment was when I was coming up, because of his generous trade-up policy.
My Mom and Dad bought me a yearly pass to all 81-holes each year for Christmas. $320.
You could show up any day of the year, go to the first tee of any of the courses, and find a "game."
You could also get a real game for any amount of money, with any level of golfer, all the way up to PGA Tour caliber.
For the ball beaters, there were several places you could hit your own balls, from the "triangle" between numbers #13, #14 and #15, where you could hit shots up to 175 yards. Or, the area next to Wisner Blvd. where you could hit Driver if you wished.
I filmed "Confessions of a Former Flipper" in that "triangle."
If you were an up and comer, you could find plenty of good players to play with. Stan Stopa and Carl Poche were world-class ball strikers, and Archie Gonzales who should have been better than both. Maynard Garrett, John Schnieder, Gary Shultz, Ernie Makepeace, Jimmy Self III, and Brad Petrie, could play average and shoot under par. They'd also put up with you if you kept up and shot 80.
Jimmy Cole, Walter Pryor, George (Jelly) Reno, Tank, Toy, and George Airline—the good playing African-American golfers—would let you play for some cash, even the small amounts a broke little Italian boy from Chalmette had to lose. But the best thing about the "Black" golfers were how encouraging they were. And helpful.
Without those those guys as my big "brothers" so-to-speak, I never get good enough to turn pro.
You could play up to a sixsome on the East Course, and often we'd play more in the late afternoons.
My Dad played City Park every single open day of his life from the time he "got the bug" at age 30, to the day he passed away with a tee time on the books.
He went to work happily everyday, because he knew that every day of work got him one day closer to retirement at age 62, where he vowed to play "everyday."
He would have, no doubt.
Because of the easy access of "Da Pawk," I became a regular golfer who loved the game. Because of City Park golfers, I became a golf pro. Because of the City Park pro, I became a teacher. Because City Park allowed anyone who qualified under their guidelines to teach for a living, I became a full-time teacher with a dream to be the best.
No way I become one one-hundredth as good as teacher as I have without the opportunity to be a totally independent teacher, who could change what they taught tomorrow, and then back again the next day, if I was teaching "for" somebody.
No way.
It was the best place to grow up a golfer that I ever heard of, but it all began to change for the worse in 1987.
The Park Board unceremoniously pushed Henry Thomas aside and hired former Thomas assistant Frank Mackel to succeed him as "Director of Golf."
Mackel, who grew up a "pawker," had spent time at country clubs and wanted to put his own stamp on 1040 Filmore Avenue.
He did.
It became a money-making machine.
Eventually golfers had no place hit their own practice balls. Prices doubled and five and sixsomes were no more. Many of the gamblers and African-American golfers started playing other courses.
At least you could still afford to play City Park, and you could still teach there if you were qualified.
Year later, City Park hired a management company to run the courses, and they did very little "managing." After three years the park upgraded to a better Head Pro and things got a little better.
Then came Katrina.
It took six months to re-open the Driving Range, and three years to open one course. The slightly renovated North Course is in always pretty good shape, and the Range has good mats and balls.
Believe it or not, City Park has still not opened any of the other courses.
Lots of politics, and a lots of time wasted.
The plan for now is one more 18-hole course worthy of the local PGA Tour event, and a new clubhouse for that course.
There was hope among long-time City "Parkers" that a renovation could return the Park to the good old days.
It won't.
I'll be nice, I bet. But it won't be "Da Pawk."
Long live "Da Pawk."
I have played Old Memorial, Caves Valley, and Oakmont, and it would be hard to find any courses run better than they are.
I have hit balls at Quail Lodge, the PGA Learning Center, and Big Horn, and ranges don't come any better than those.
But the most fun I have ever had in golf was at "Da Pawk" when I was a young man.
The New Orleans City Park Golf Complex—back in the day—had it all. 81 holes, including the 75-cent Junior Course where I cut my golfing teeth without having to worry about holding any adults up. It had a covered Driving Range where unless it rained sideways or it was 110-degrees in the shade, you could hit balls comfortably.
If you wanted or needed equipment, Henry Thomas, the pro there for 53 years, had a golf shop that carried every worthwhile product at bargain basement prices. And Mr. Thomas was the easiest person to trade golf equipment with in the history of the business. Lord only knows how much better my equipment was when I was coming up, because of his generous trade-up policy.
My Mom and Dad bought me a yearly pass to all 81-holes each year for Christmas. $320.
You could show up any day of the year, go to the first tee of any of the courses, and find a "game."
You could also get a real game for any amount of money, with any level of golfer, all the way up to PGA Tour caliber.
For the ball beaters, there were several places you could hit your own balls, from the "triangle" between numbers #13, #14 and #15, where you could hit shots up to 175 yards. Or, the area next to Wisner Blvd. where you could hit Driver if you wished.
I filmed "Confessions of a Former Flipper" in that "triangle."
If you were an up and comer, you could find plenty of good players to play with. Stan Stopa and Carl Poche were world-class ball strikers, and Archie Gonzales who should have been better than both. Maynard Garrett, John Schnieder, Gary Shultz, Ernie Makepeace, Jimmy Self III, and Brad Petrie, could play average and shoot under par. They'd also put up with you if you kept up and shot 80.
Jimmy Cole, Walter Pryor, George (Jelly) Reno, Tank, Toy, and George Airline—the good playing African-American golfers—would let you play for some cash, even the small amounts a broke little Italian boy from Chalmette had to lose. But the best thing about the "Black" golfers were how encouraging they were. And helpful.
Without those those guys as my big "brothers" so-to-speak, I never get good enough to turn pro.
You could play up to a sixsome on the East Course, and often we'd play more in the late afternoons.
My Dad played City Park every single open day of his life from the time he "got the bug" at age 30, to the day he passed away with a tee time on the books.
He went to work happily everyday, because he knew that every day of work got him one day closer to retirement at age 62, where he vowed to play "everyday."
He would have, no doubt.
Because of the easy access of "Da Pawk," I became a regular golfer who loved the game. Because of City Park golfers, I became a golf pro. Because of the City Park pro, I became a teacher. Because City Park allowed anyone who qualified under their guidelines to teach for a living, I became a full-time teacher with a dream to be the best.
No way I become one one-hundredth as good as teacher as I have without the opportunity to be a totally independent teacher, who could change what they taught tomorrow, and then back again the next day, if I was teaching "for" somebody.
No way.
It was the best place to grow up a golfer that I ever heard of, but it all began to change for the worse in 1987.
The Park Board unceremoniously pushed Henry Thomas aside and hired former Thomas assistant Frank Mackel to succeed him as "Director of Golf."
Mackel, who grew up a "pawker," had spent time at country clubs and wanted to put his own stamp on 1040 Filmore Avenue.
He did.
It became a money-making machine.
Eventually golfers had no place hit their own practice balls. Prices doubled and five and sixsomes were no more. Many of the gamblers and African-American golfers started playing other courses.
At least you could still afford to play City Park, and you could still teach there if you were qualified.
Year later, City Park hired a management company to run the courses, and they did very little "managing." After three years the park upgraded to a better Head Pro and things got a little better.
Then came Katrina.
It took six months to re-open the Driving Range, and three years to open one course. The slightly renovated North Course is in always pretty good shape, and the Range has good mats and balls.
Believe it or not, City Park has still not opened any of the other courses.
Lots of politics, and a lots of time wasted.
The plan for now is one more 18-hole course worthy of the local PGA Tour event, and a new clubhouse for that course.
There was hope among long-time City "Parkers" that a renovation could return the Park to the good old days.
It won't.
I'll be nice, I bet. But it won't be "Da Pawk."
Long live "Da Pawk."
