Southern Pines, North Carolina

The danger with places taken to heart is always that they will be smothered, stripped and clear cut. Nothing stings like seeing a landmark suffocated by the kudzu of commercial franchise. There are lines!? Left-turn arrows. Construction delays. The food never tastes the same, and it's no point pretending. Driving through Florida I was once encouraged to look quickly to catch a glimpse of the "old" Florida. Sadly, I didn't turn fast enough. And then, of course, some places are best left to our own colorized memory.

All we ask is to have our tourist portion of endearing civility served up at regular intervals; that they - the resort, the locals, the weather, the help, the food, the Fates, the EXPERIENCE, even the occasional pleasant surprise - reward our choice, and fall somewhere in line with our perceptions, unfair though they may be. It's a tall order. We want everything, through our lens of nostalgia, to be perfect and, if that wasn't enough, so it should remain from one visit to the next.

How many places have been sufficiently able to hold their ground? One of the sad facts of experience is that the number dwindles faster than we can find them.

Those places (nowadays "destinations") that rely on interlopers develop a sheen of resistance. The greater their reliance on the outside world, the harder and more perceptible the reserve. The harder edged and more obvious the distaste for swarming visitors, the less desirable, or at least more challenging, the place becomes. Funny how this works.

Add golf to the mix and the fine line becomes a tight rope. Fountains can always be added, along with plush carpet, new additions to the mini bar, Barbasol in the locker room, and a few golf-themed prints in the lobby, but scratch the surface and only a short list of golf addresses deliver an old-fashioned welcome, élan, service and value.

Pinehurst has managed to stem, or at least channel, the adoration, not without its share of battles, including the ludicrous litigation over the very name itself. (It seems we were this close to a Prince-like scenario: The village formerly known as Pinehurst?). But from the vantage point of an infrequent and reverential tourist, the idealistic image of Pinehurst as a place where golf is something more than an activity appears fully intact. And at these prices, I suppose it had better.

The area is hardly a secret. For those who can appreciate the purity of the golf and, of course, can afford it, this is a very special place indeed. I've only had glimpses: a pleasant dinner at the Pine Crest, a few minutes in the Tuft's Archives, and a sniff driving wide-eyed alongside Number 2, now $275 a round.

It remains, arguably, the closest, classiest landmark American golf has to compare with St. Andrews, a place (as I imagine it) given over to golf, permeated by the goodness of the game; a feeling that here the game is directed by more laudable aims than a buck.

I'll get to Pinehurst proper eventually. For now, my preference is down Midland Road about five miles. The Holly house is a large weather-beaten but comfortable former private home beside the 10th green at Mid Pines. It is as pleasant an outpost in golf in this country as I know.

Mid Pines, which uses the house and several others for larger parties, along with its affiliate Pine Needles, have the pedigree of any golf resort in America. At one time or another, everyone of note passed through. The success of the U.S. Women's Open at Pine Needles resulted in an immediate announcement from the USGA to return. The golf is classic Ross. Mid Pines, I think, is prettier, with fewer homes in evidence, and with more entertaining elevation twists; more manageable for the rest of us, and more fun. Each could be happily played for the rest of one's days without boredom.

According to Lee Pace's Sand Hills Classics, The Stories of Mid Pines and Pine Needles, Donald Ross had his choice of some 5,000 acres to lay out 36-holes, of which 18 were built. New York architect Aymer Embury II designed the three-story Georgian style hotel. I've not seen the rooms but much of the common areas have a softened comfort and informal dignity that one feels in better, older, hotels. Entering such oases, one is subliminally encouraged to take a slow deep exhalation. The gentility that has been leaking from the modern game in buckets seems to be stored here in well-kept vats.

Memorabilia of Julius Boros, whose in-laws once owned the hotel, and of Peggy Kirk Bell, whose presence and enthusiasm permeates these twin resorts, are casually displayed down corridors. There's signed photos of Bobby Locke, Peggy's first set of clubs and the Titleholder's crown. Julius Boros poses with his toddler son Jay standing inside the U.S. Open trophy, and there are many wonderful photos of Babe Didrickson, Peggy's close friend. The main building at Pine Needles reminds me of old Vermont family ski lodges, where everyone was essentially vacationing together; evenings were spent in the game room playing pool and ping pong.

Sleeping near the 10th green, admiring the hole - a long, par five, walking back and forth to the hotel - the approach to the green began to grow on me. For some reason I felt the urge to sketch and remember it. The closer I looked, the more beguiling the approach shot amidst the juxtaposition of the bunkers and the angles of approach. It's not be my favorite hole at Mid Pines - there are many but the simplicity of the strategy, Shaker-style golf design, knocked me out.

From 72 yards away on the right side of the fairway, the green, 28 paces deep, 22 across, appears strongly fortified. The eyes are drawn to retaining bunkers. The steepest face of one bunker, at its highest point, obscures approximately one-sixth of the flagstick - adding a hint of indecision - when placed in the front or middle hole position, and the golfer must hit an exacting shot.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the bunker can in fact be cleared but still not land the ball on the green. A lovely bit of deception hides a small pocket of grass between the lip of the bunker and the green.

From the left side of the fairway, the hole is framed completely differently and there is even a small - 15-yard approach right up the shoot to run the ball between several bunkers of various sizes to the center of the green. The number of shots that can be played from 43 yards out from the advantageous left side of the fairway is, frankly, wonderful.

These courses can and should be walked - and savored. Mid-Pines and Pine Needles are like the books in Fahrenheit 451, the science fiction movie where people dedicate themselves to one book by memorizing it, keeping it alive. To call these courses and these resorts period pieces, in this day and age, may summon notions of cutesy, artificially induced quaintness, but I mean it as the highest compliment.