Military Links

Those golfers were part of a long tradition of military personnel playing golf in danger zones, even in combat zones. A paratrooper packed a club with his equipment on D-Day in order to be the first to drive a golf ball in liberated Normandy. In Operations Desert Storm and Desert Shield, soldiers created courses in the desert by oiling down sand to form black "greens." And during the peacekeeping mission in Somalia, soldiers prided themselves on having played the course of the former Mogadishu Golf and Tennis Club, whose hazards at the time included barbed wire and land mines.

But the most hazardous aspect of military golf may be trying to open the Defense Department's courses to the public. Several years ago, then-Sen. Dennis DeConcini, D-Ariz., introduced a bill to do just that, arguing that many of the courses are underused at a time of overcrowding on public links. A House counterpart bill attracted a dozen sponsors. Even with guarantees that military personnel would continue to get priority for tee times and enjoy lower fees, the bills went nowhere.

"The military really hated me for it. All we wanted to do was open the courses to a limited amount of public play. You'd think we were trying to take away uniform allowances or housing allowances or something," says DeConcini, now an associate with the Washington consulting firm Parry and Romani Associates. "I had some heated discussions with some generals. I had one who just took after me. He came in and said, 'Do you realize what you're doing to morale?' and on and on. I said, 'General, I really admire you for coming here and telling me that with a straight face.'"

Teed Off

The words "military golf" conjure images of officers leaving the public's business unattended and national security at risk while playing on underused, immaculate courses at taxpayers' expense. The military's courses are constant fodder for investigative reporters, radio talk shows, online discussions and other forums where defense spending is debated, often by people who learned most of what they know about military golf by watching Beetle Bailey's Gen. Halftrack sneak out of the office, clubs in tow, day after day.

Military golfers are more than a little teed off about the criticism. No conversation with one proceeds far before it's pointed out that the courses pay for themselves, with money left over to subsidize other morale-boosting activities that taxpayers otherwise would finance. Overuse of the courses is a bigger problem than underuse, they say. The courses are open to both officers and enlisted alike, and, in some situations, to civilians too. City, county and state governments own golf courses, as does the National Park Service, they argue, so why shouldn't the Defense Department?

"It's a fringe benefit that keeps the soldiers busy and it makes money to pay for other benefits," says Will Cofer, former staff director of the special House panel that oversees Defense Department morale, welfare and recreation activities. "That doesn't mean it's all good. There has been waste, there's no doubt about that. But the concept is sound. Go to Norfolk sometime when the ships come in. The first thing these guys do after eight months at sea is get a hamburger, call Mom and head for the golf course. That says it all right there."

Sacred Ground

The military values golf highly up and down the ranks. When the Presidio in San Francisco was chosen to be mostly closed, the Army went ballistic-not over feared loss of fighting effectiveness of the Sixth U.S. Army headquartered there, but over who would control the base's golf course with its grand vistas of the San Francisco Bay, Pacific Ocean and Golden Gate Bridge. Military officials insisted that they needed to keep the course to maintain the morale of the service personnel staying behind. Eventually the Interior Department, which took over most of the base, agreed to allow the Army to keep the course for five years and gradually open it to the public. But the agreement was won only after a fight that brought in environmental and community groups who called the course "welfare" for generals.

A similar battle occurred during the closing of Fort Ord, in the Monterey area. During a 1995 appearance in Monterey, one of President Clinton's biggest applause lines was his endorsement of turning over the courses to local control.

DoD has courses in every state. There's even one in the District of Columbia-nine short holes wedged into little Fort McNair. Alaska boasts four military courses, open virtually around the clock in the summer and known for their mid-winter tournaments during which players use orange balls and scan the horizon for moose and fast-arriving blizzards. The golf course at Elmendorf Air Force Base is generally rated the best in the state.

But like golf courses in general, military courses are concentrated in the South and in California. Military retirees don't flock to warm weather states just for the sunshine, they also go for the golf-so much so that some courses have had to set policies giving active duty personnel priority over retirees for tee times.

Active duty personnel are rarely far from the game, not even aboard ship or at remote outposts, where teaching or touring pros sometimes drop in to give pointers. There are about 180 full-sized military courses in the United States, plus another 40 overseas. Some bases lacking full courses have driving ranges, pitch-and-putt courses, practice putting greens or miniature golf.

Golf courses started appearing on U.S. military bases around World War I and new construction continued steadily afterward-until the defense slowdown of recent years. A boom occurred during the 1950s, with the ultimate combination of military and golf, Dwight Eisenhower, in the White House.

Due to recent base closings the military has lost about 30 courses, including some of its best, such as the one at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Ind., in addition to those at Fort Ord and the Presidio.

The Air Force Academy course in Colorado, with a magnificent Rocky Mountain setting, and the course at McChord Air Force Base in Washington state, with Mount Rainier in the background, are perhaps the most beautiful. The worst military course probably is the one at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The layout is largely sand and rocks because water can be spared only for the tees and greens; everywhere else, golfers hit from pieces of artificial turf they carry with them.

But many other military courses will never vie to host a U.S. Open, either. "Most bases don't have the resources to put back into the course, and each course today must pay its own way and no longer receives subsidies from post funds. Unless the commander is a golfer, they really don't get the attention they deserve," says one 25-year veteran military golfer.

Other courses suffer location problems. At Fort McNair, the player's main challenge isn't breaking par but not breaking the windows of cars on the streets crossing some holes or of the National Defense University buildings that loom over several fairways. Many bases put their courses out by the flight line, leaving players trying to concentrate through the roar and fumes of passing jets. At the Marine Memorial Golf Course at Marine Corps Air Station El Toro, Santa Ana, Calif., one fairway is "so close to the north-south runway that one might think a good banana hook could take down an occasional F-18," by one description.

On balance, military courses may be more on par with public courses than with private clubs. Some are exceptionally good in terms of design, amenities and condition, some poor, but most are about equal to fair-to-good public courses.

Perk or Pork?

Still, the image of a country club military is persistent. One of the first targets of the congressional "Porkbuster Coalition" in 1995 was the proposal to build a new golf course at Andrews Air Force Base, its third. The project ultimately stayed on track, but opponents in Congress presented the issue as a choice between golf and child-care facilities, of which many bases have a shortage. Child-care facilities are built with money appropriated directly from the Treasury while golf courses are built with nonappropriated funds, which are off-budget and self-replenishing. However, child-care centers do use nonappropriated funds for operating expenses.

Military golfers wonder what all the fuss is about. They see their courses as just one benefit of uniformed life promised to them when they signed up. Bases duplicate cities, right down to gas stations, sub shops and movie theaters, so why not golf courses? If the courses are used by only a certain segment of the troops, they argue, the same can be said of the skeet ranges, fishing ponds, batting cages, stables, ceramics shops, model airplane fields, campsites and other amenities found at bases.

When critics look at military golf courses, though, they see green-not only grass, but money. A 1994 audit found that courses at each of the 10 bases examined produced at least $650,000 in gross revenue a year, counting greens fees, pro shops and restaurants. The courses at San Diego Naval Station, with 45 holes, reaped $665,000 in net profits in 1992, although several nine-hole courses barely broke even and one-at Nellis Air Force Base, Nev.-lost $223,000 that year.

Profits are used to support programs such as softball, youth activities, libraries and other "morale, recreation and welfare" services. Golf is the only activity that consistently puts money into those funds.

That's not to say military golf costs taxpayers nothing. Regularly appropriated funds paid for the land the courses cover and, in the past, to build courses. General base operating funds indirectly support the courses through fire and police protection, some maintenance to structures and other costs that are virtually impossible to quantify. Some courses overseas are directly subsidized with appropriated funds because they don't get enough play. Critics believe the same to be true of less-used stateside courses.

Underuse of courses has some civilians seeing green in another way-with envy.

Golf is booming in popularity, with the golfing population growing by about a third to 25 million in the last decade. Many golfers, especially in urban areas, can get on courses only with difficulty or not at all. Public course greens fees have risen along with the demand, with many well above the charges at military courses, typically about $20 a round with some as low as $10 or less.

Proponents of opening the courses to more civilian players say more play would mean more profits that could be shared by the Treasury and the military's morale fund. "I think that properly managed, the military could have its golf courses with preference for its people and not have it look like a great big perk," says DeConcini.

But the Professional Golfers Association's latest study of golf course use, in 1990, found that military courses have the heaviest play of any type, with an average of more than 44,000 rounds played per year-slightly above that of municipal courses and nearly twice the level of play of private country clubs.

"They're not underused," says Henry Thrower, PGA director of human resources and special programs, who coordinates visits by teaching pros at military courses. "You will find one underused here and there, just like civilian courses. But for the most part they are used to the maximum."

More civilian play may be inevitable, though. Courses are being forced to consider other sources of income because of pressure to stay profitable and justify their existence during a drawdown of military personnel that is cutting their core market.

"As long as there is excess capacity I strongly feel they ought to allow civilians. That's the only way to maintain some of the facilities," says Stetz, head of the Military Golf Association and author of a guide to military courses, In Search of Eagles. "The problem the bases run into is that if there are public courses in the area, they complain that the government is competing with them."

All sides of the issue seem to agree on only one thing: Until that unforeseeable day when all military courses are open equally to everyone, they will remain controversial.

"Whether it's an officer's club with cheap drinks, or golf, or free rides on an airplane, that resentment is always there," says Stetz. "I tell my friends when I go off to play a military course that it's all self-funding, that the taxpayers aren't paying for it. They say, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah.' I just can't seem to convince them of it."

Eric Yoder is a Washington-based journalist.