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What
Golf's
Race
Problem
Looks
Like
From the
Inside |
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By Jenny
Vrentas
si.com
The PGA
of
America
hired
Wendell
Haskins
to make
golf "a
game for
all."
Instead,
he says
his
efforts
were cut
off and
undermined.
Former
President
Barack
Obama
leaned
over and
gently
fastened
the blue
ribbon
around
the
92-year-old
man’s
neck.
This was
November
2014,
and
Charlie
Sifford,
who was
once
denied
the
opportunity
to
compete
on the
tour of
the
Professional
Golfers’
Association
because
of his
skin
color,
was at
the
White
House.
Wendell
Haskins
successfully
pushed
for
Charlie Sifford
to
receive
the
Presidential
Medal of
Freedom
in 2014,
but the
PGA of
America
did not
want to
claim
any
credit
for his
efforts.
(Photo
by
Christy
Bowe - ImageCatcher
News)
Alongside
the
family
members
and
dignitaries
in the
East
Room
that day
was a
man
named
Wendell
J.
Haskins.
This was
the
moment
Haskins
had been
intent
on
making
happen
since he
was
hired
earlier
that
year as
the PGA
of
America’s
new
senior
director
of
diversity.
It was
not
easy: He
had
worked a
connection
with
Alonzo
Mourning,
who he
knew
occasionally
golfed
with the
president,
asking
the
former
NBA
All-Star
to plant
the seed
during a
round
with
Obama.
Haskins
then
spent
months
collecting
dozens
letters
of
support
for
Sifford
from the
likes of
Arnold
Palmer;
Jim
Brown;
Samuel
L.
Jackson;
South
Carolina
Rep.
James E.
Clyburn
and 63
other
bipartisan
members
of
Congress;
and
Tiger
Woods,
who
wrote
that
Sifford
“helped
pave the
way for
players
like
me.”
Now, the
nation’s
first
Black
president
was
awarding
the
Jackie
Robinson
of
golf—the
first
Black
man to
compete
on the
PGA
Tour—the
Presidential
Medal of
Freedom.
Robinson’s
widow,
Rachel,
had been
among
the
letter
writers.
Sifford,
who once
said he
rarely
smiled
as a
result
of the
discrimination
he’d
endured
through
his
life,
beamed.
But
there
was just
one
problem:
None of
the PGA
of
America’s
senior
leaders
had come
to
Washington
to
celebrate
Sifford.
When it
came to
bringing
racial
awareness
to
golf—and
reckoning
with the
sport’s
racist
and
exclusionary
history—Haskins
had
found it
easier
to get
the ear
of the
President
of the
United
States
than the
people
he
worked
with at
PGA
headquarters.
In a
July
2014
email,
then PGA
of
America
chief
administrative
officer
Christine
Garrity
wrote
that it
was not
appropriate
for the
group to
“take
credit”
for the
Sifford
initiative
“as it
should
be
postured
as a
collective
movement
of many
organization[s]
and
people.”
She
additionally
cited
the PGA
of
America’s
history
of
racism
and
Sifford’s
assumed
but
unconfirmed
bitterness
toward
the
organization
as a
reason
to not
acknowledge
the
efforts.
“It’s
also
important
to
remember
history,
and it
was the
PGA that
denied
Mr.
Sifford
membership
in the
organization
until
1962, so
there is
bitterness
from Mr.
Sifford
toward
the PGA
and the
PGA TOUR
(rightfully
so) that
is still
palpable
for Mr.
Sifford,”
she
continued
in the
message,
reviewed
by
Sports
Illustrated.
(Garrity
left the
PGA of
America
in 2015;
she did
not
respond
to
requests
for
comment.)
Even if
Garrity’s
goal was
to share
credit,
though,
Haskins
says the
upshot
was a
missed
opportunity
to make
amends
for the
PGA of
America’s
history
of
mistreating
Sifford.
Haskins
had
wanted
to plan
a
reception
around
the
medal
ceremony,
which he
saw as
an
opportunity
for the
PGA of
America
to forge
a
stronger
connection
with the
Black
community,
but was
restricted
in his
efforts.
He says
that
another
PGA
colleague,
Sandy
Cross,
now the
organization’s
chief
people
officer,
told him
that
this was
not the
time to
be
planning
a party
for his
friends.
(The PGA
of
America
did not
make
Cross
available
for an
interview.)
Meanwhile,
Haskins
says the
board
also
denied
his
petition
to
expedite
Sifford’s
candidacy
for the
PGA of
America
Hall of
Fame.
Sifford,
who died
two
months
after
the
medal
ceremony,
was
inducted
into the
Hall
posthumously.
Seth
Waugh,
who
became
the PGA
of
America’s
CEO in
2018,
said he
could
not
comment
on the
handling
of
specific
incidents
or
decisions
that
were
made
before
he
joined
the
organization.
(The PGA
of
America
is a
separate
entity
from the
PGA
Tour; it
oversees
the
29,000
golf
professionals
who work
at
courses
across
the
country
while
pursuing
its
mission
to grow
the
game.
The PGA
of
America
also
hosts
and
organizes
some
tournaments,
including
the PGA
Championship.)
This
summer,
as sport
after
sport
went
through
some
form of
racial
reckoning
in the
wake of
George
Floyd’s
killing,
Haskins
watched
as golf
barely
took the
time for
a glance
in the
clubhouse
mirror.
What he
did see
from the
PGA of
America
seemed
like it
was only
surface-level.
It
brought
him back
to the
neglect
and
disinterest
he says
he
experienced
in his
nearly
four
years
working
there,
and he
felt
compelled
to lay
it out
on
paper.
On June
12, he
wrote a
letter
to Waugh
and the
association’s
president,
Suzy
Whaley.
I find
it
necessary
to share
this
with you
in the
hope
that it
will
help you
in
understanding
the
culture
of your
company
and
taking
the
courageous
and
necessary
actions
to make
the PGA
of
America
a truly
diverse
and
inclusive
organization.
Haskins’s
letter,
which he
also
posted
publicly,
sent
waves
through
the golf
world.
Over six
pages,
he laid
out a
detailed
list of
issues
and
hurdles
he says
he faced
while
with the
PGA,
which he
elaborated
on to
SI,
providing
emails
and
other
documentation
to back
his
claims.
“This
isn't
just a
PGA of
America
problem,”
says
Haskins,
53.
“I've
worked
at the
PGA of
America,
but it's
the golf
industry
that has
a
problem.
My
experiences
were a
reflection
of a
larger
issue.”
All of
which
raises
the
central
question,
as the
golf
world
once
again
descends
on the
famously
restrictive
Augusta
National:
Is golf
finally
ready to
reckon
with
racism
within
the
sport?
More
than any
other
tournament,
the
Masters
reminds
us that
golf’s
history
cannot
be
separated
from its
present.
Its
legend
is
largely
built on
the
exclusivity
of a
club
that did
not
admit a
Black
member
until
1990 and
a female
member
until
2012.
Sifford
was
never
invited
to play
in the
tournament,
despite
his two
PGA Tour
victories
after
breaking
the
color
barrier
in 1961;
not
until
1975 did
Lee
Elder
become
the
first
Black
golfer
to
compete
at
Augusta
National.
Woods
has more
than
made his
mark at
Augusta,
but his
ascension
to the
top of
the
sport
hasn’t
created
the
pipeline
of Black
golfers
that
many had
hoped.
He and
Cameron
Champ
are the
only two
Black
competitors
in this
year’s
Masters
field,
joining
Harold
Varner
III and
Joseph
Bramlett
as the
only
four
Black
full-time
PGA Tour
members;
Mariah
Stackhouse
is the
only
Black
full-time
LPGA
Tour
member.
Renee
Powell,
who in
1967
became
the
second
Black
woman to
play on
the LPGA
Tour,
describes
a
“regressive”
trend,
recalling
there
being
about a
dozen
Black
golfers
playing
the Tour
in the
’70s,
many of
whom
entered
the game
as
caddies.
The PGA
of
America
has
similar
representation
issues:
Only 174
of its
29,000
golf
pros are
Black—about
half of
a
percent—per
the
association.
“Not a
good
number,”
Waugh
says.
The
association
also
says it
does not
currently
have any
Black
C-suite-level
executives
working
at its
headquarters.
Haskins
believes
the
experiences
he has
shared,
as one
of the
few
Black
executives
to work
for the
PGA of
America,
are not
specific
to one
workplace
or
entity—rather,
they are
common
to the
culture
of the
sport he
loves.
But they
stood
out at a
governing
body
with a
stated
mission
of
growing
and
advancing
the
game.
After
growing
up in
northern
New
Jersey,
Haskins
began
playing
golf in
the late
’90s,
when he
was a
young
professional
living
in
Brooklyn
and
working
as a
director
of
artist
development
for
Island
Black
Music.
His
father
gifted
him a
used set
of Ben
Hogan
graphite
shaft
irons,
and he
started
going to
Chelsea
Piers’
driving
range to
learn
how to
play in
time to
join a
golf
trip
with a
mentor,
Michael
Vann, an
entrepreneur
who
owned a
popular
New York
soul
food
restaurant
called
Shark
Bar.
Haskins
struck
up a
friendship
with a
Black
teaching
professional
at the
driving
range,
trading
CDs for
extra
time in
one of
the
hitting
stalls.
Later,
as he
mastered
the
game’s
fundamentals,
he’d
play
Brooklyn’s
Dyker
Beach
Golf
Course
early on
weekday
mornings
before
heading
into
Manhattan
for
work.
SI Daily
Cover
Haskins
fell in
love
with how
the
sport
presented
endless
playing
possibilities
at
courses
all over
the
world.
It
wasn’t
until he
read the
book
Forbidden
Fairways,
though,
that he
began to
understand
the
depths
of the
game’s
complicated
history.
The
author,
Calvin
Sinnette,
opens by
explaining
how a
Black
dentist
named
George
F. Grant
patented
the
first
wooden
golf tee
in 1899.
His
invention
came a
quarter-century
before
that of
William
Lowell,
the
white
dentist
in New
Jersey
who was
for
decades
recognized
as the
tee’s
inventor.
This
moved
Haskins
to
create,
in 2000,
a golf
tournament
celebrating
the
unheralded
history
of Black
golfers.
He named
it the
Original
Tee. He
started
consulting
for the
NBA
around
this
time,
helping
produce
commercials
and the
All-Star
Game
halftime
show,
which
connected
him with
greats
like
Julius
Erving
and
George
Gervin,
who
loved to
play
golf.
These
connections
in
sports
and
entertainment
helped
the
Original
Tee grow
into an
annual
gathering
of
influential
members
of the
Black
community,
where
emerging
Black
golfers
had the
rare
chance
to play
in front
of a
mostly
Black
gallery
at New
Jersey’s
Crystal
Springs
Resort.
He drew
Erving,
Doug
Williams,
Anthony
Anderson
and
Luther
Campbell;
he
honored
Sifford
and
Elder
years
before
he
pushed
golf’s
establishment
to do
so. “We
have to
stop,
particularly
white
people
in golf,
seeing
this as
Black
golf
history,”
Haskins
says.
“It’s
American
history.”
All of
this led
to
Haskins’s
being
hired by
the PGA
of
America
in 2014.
Then CEO
Pete
Bevacqua
said at
the time
he
wanted
Haskins
to use
his
connections
“to make
golf a
game for
all.”
But
working
on
diversity
and
inclusion
efforts
for a
governing
body
that
held a
“Caucasian-only
clause”
as part
of its
bylaws
for
membership
until
1961, 14
years
after
Robinson
took the
field
for the
Brooklyn
Dodgers,
posed
challenges
that
Haskins
did not
need to
explain
when he
described
the
opportunity
to
people
close to
him.
“Are you
ready to
be part
of
firsts?”
Erving
says he
asked
him. “If
you’re
not,
step
back and
let
someone
else do
it. But
if you
are
ready,
then go
after
it.”
In many
ways,
Haskins
had been
preparing
for this
role for
most of
his
life.
His
father,
Bill
Haskins,
was one
of the
first
Black
football
players
at
Syracuse,
suiting
up at
running
back a
few
years
before
Jim
Brown
arrived.
Haskins
recalls
his
father
recounting
to him
what
happened
when he
arrived
at his
dormitory,
trunk in
tow, as
a
college
freshman
in the
late
1940s:
“Nobody
told me
a
[n-word]
was
going to
be
staying
in this
dorm,”
the
resident
adviser
said to
him.
William
later
went on
to be an
executive
for the
National
Urban
League,
where
Wendell
grew up
playing
under
the desk
of civil
rights
activist
Vernon
Jordan.
All of
this was
on
Haskins’s
mind
this
summer,
in the
days
following
the
release
of video
of a
white
Minneapolis
police
officer
kneeling
on a
Black
man’s
neck
until
well
after he
stopped
breathing.
During
the days
of
protests
that
followed
Floyd’s
killing,
millions
of
Americans
demanded
that our
country,
and its
institutions,
confront
racism.
Haskins
thought
about
what his
father
told him
when he
took the
job at
the PGA
of
America,
drawing
on his
own
experience
fighting
for
Black
Americans:
Don’t be
scared.
Bill,
who had
had
Alzheimer’s,
died
three
months
later,
leaving
these
words as
an
enduring
directive
for his
son. And
so,
Haskins
opened
his
Original
Tee
letterhead,
and he
began
typing.
* * *
It was
only in
1975
that Lee
Elder
became
the
first
Black
golfer
to
compete
in the
Masters.
It was
only in
1975
that Lee
Elder
became
the
first
Black
golfer
to
compete
in the
Masters.
Neil
Leifer/Sports
Illustrated
Haskins
wrote
his
letter
just a
couple
of miles
from the
PGA of
America
headquarters
in Palm
Beach
Gardens,
Fla.,
where he
still
lives
with his
wife and
three
sons.
Now the
chief
marketing
officer
of the
Professional
Collegiate
League,
he never
intended
to share
publicly
the
details
of his
tenure
at the
PGA from
January
2014 to
September
2017.
But as
he
encountered
what he
describes
as
resistance
to doing
the job
he was
brought
in to
do, he
started
filling
a
notebook
and
keeping
printouts
of
emails
in a
desk
drawer.
He drew
from
this
record
of his
experiences
as he
sat down
to write
his
letter.
There
were
myriad
microaggressions,
unscrupulous
practices
and
instances
where
the PGA
could
have
stepped
up,
stepped
in or
merely
showed
up to
improve
race
relations
and did
not.
Haskins’s
Original
Tee Golf
Classic
paved
his
opportunity
with the
PGA of
America,
and, by
the time
he
arrived,
the
tournament
was a
well-oiled
machine.
But a
few
months
after he
started
at the
association,
Garrity,
the
chief
administrative
officer
and his
supervisor
at the
time,
advised
him to
postpone
or
cancel
that
year’s
event,
suggesting
it could
be held
in
conjunction
with the
PGA’s
Minority
Collegiate
Championship
the
following
year,
subject
to the
association’s
approval
of his
business
plan. In
an email
reviewed
by SI,
Garrity
wrote
that
planning
had
started
too late
to meet
the
PGA’s
“quality
standards,”
and, if
Haskins
did go
forward,
he must
not use
any PGA
affiliation
or
collaborate
with PGA
staff
for the
event.
“These
are all
busy
people
and it’s
important
for them
to
disengage
from the
event
this
year and
focus on
other
matters
at this
point,”
she
wrote.
Haskins
continued
on his
own with
the 14th
year of
his
tournament,
which
that
year
honored
Powell
and
counted
the NBA
and
Mercedes-Benz
among
its
sponsors.
During
his
first
year at
the PGA
of
America,
Haskins
connected
through
a mutual
friend
with
Kevin
Clayton,
the
former
chief
diversity
officer
of the
USTA, to
seek his
input on
developing
a
diversity
and
inclusion
plan for
the PGA
of
America,
designed
to
position
these
efforts
as also
good for
business.
But
Clayton
soon
became
alarmed
by what
he saw
as a
lack of
support
for
Haskins,
who did
not
control
a
budget.
“I have
never
seen the
blatant
sabotage
that
Wendell
went
through,”
says
Clayton,
now the
VP of
diversity
and
inclusion
for the
Cleveland
Cavaliers.
In July
2014,
another
executive,
Cross,
was
appointed
to the
same
role
Haskins
was
hired
for and
designated
to be
what he
describes
as his
“peer
supervisor.”
Despite
early
hurdles,
Haskins
hoped
his work
to honor
Sifford
would be
a
turning
point
for the
PGA of
America
with the
Black
community.
He
emailed
Garrity
suggesting
the
association
hold a
reception
the day
of the
White
House
ceremony
and
invite
the
people
who
penned
letters
of
support
for
Sifford,
describing
this as
“a key
opportunity
to
message
this
very
influential
group
and
establish
deeper
relationships
with
them
that can
help
drive
the
mission
of the
department.”
Garrity
replied,
in an
exchange
read by
SI, that
she did
not
think
guests
would be
motivated
to
travel
for a
reception,
“unless
I’m
missing
something.”
Haskins
says
Cross,
who was
the
person
who told
him it
was not
the time
to plan
a party
for his
friends,
instructed
him to
return
travel
vouchers
he’d
secured
from
Delta
for this
purpose.
“I had
always
envisioned
this
would be
a
watershed
moment
for
golf,
where
people
would
recognize
this
Black
man for
his
contributions
to the
game,”
Haskins
says.
“The PGA
of
America
president
and CEO
would
come and
shake
his hand
and tell
him,
Thank
you for
what you
did for
golf. …
I've
seen the
things
they do
and how
they
celebrate
their
successes
at the
PGA. If
it was
Jack
Nicklaus,
or
somebody
like
that,
the
budget
would
have
been
wide
open.”
Ultimately,
Haskins
organized
a small
private
dinner
for
Sifford
the
night
before
the
White
House
ceremony.
Anthony
Stepney,
the
first
Black
golfer
to earn
the
PGA’s
high-ranking
master
professional
status,
worked
with
Clyburn
and
now-late
Rep.
Elijah
Cummings
to host
a larger
reception
of about
150
people
at the
U.S.
Capitol
after
the
medal
ceremony.
This was
funded
by a
private
donations,
Stepney
says;
the PGA
of
America
had no
involvement,
and no
leadership
attended.
Since
the
airline
vouchers
had
already
been
issued,
instead
of
returning
them,
Haskins
passed
them to
Stepney
to
invite a
handful
of
guests,
including
Varner,
then an
up-and-coming
golfer,
and now
one of
the four
Black
full-time
PGA Tour
members.
Stepney
says
that,
had he
not been
so
committed
to his
work in
golf,
the PGA
of
America’s
resistance
during
the
planning
of the
Sifford
festivities
could
have
been
enough
to
discourage
him from
being a
member.
“There
were
some
decision-makers
within
our
association
that
unfortunately
didn’t
understand
the
value of
diversity
and
inclusion
and
equity,”
Stepney
says.
“This is
a great
example
of what
happens
when we
lack
diversity
in
decision-making:
We miss
out on
opportunities,
and we
are
guided
by our
limitations,
our
blind
spots
and
maybe
fear or
lack of
understanding.”
As for
Sifford’s
presumed
bitterness,
cited by
Garrity
in her
email:
Haskins
and
Stepney
say that
no such
feeling
was
conveyed
by
Sifford
or his
family
during
their
efforts
to honor
him. The
92-year-old
mingled
late
into the
evening
with
those
who had
traveled
to D.C.
for him.
In the
final
months
before
he died,
Sifford
woke up
every
Sunday
morning
before
church,
got
dressed
and put
on the
medal
he’d
received
from the
president.
Haskins
later
shifted
to a
different
role
within
the PGA,
director
of
sports
and
entertainment
marketing,
but says
he
continued
to
encounter
roadblocks.
In 2016,
he says
that a
senior
director
of media
was
hesitant
to air a
commercial
he’d
worked
on,
featuring
Chris
Paul and
his
family
playing
golf
with a
PGA pro,
saying
it was
“too
different.”
The
commercial
did
ultimately
air
prominently
during
the Golf
Channel’s
championship
coverage.
The
following
year, in
2017,
Haskins
spent
several
months
building
a
relationship
with
Warriors
star
guard
Steph
Curry.
“The
golf
industry
is so
monolithic
in their
thinking.
They
only
market
the game
for the
most
part
with
professional
golfers,”
Haskins
says. “I
was
trying
to
change
that
with
guys
like
Steph
Curry
and
Chris
Paul,
who love
the game
and have
so much
influence
on a new
demographic
of
people.”
Haskins
leaned
on his
NBA
contacts
to
introduce
him to
Curry
after a
game in
Cleveland
during
the 2017
Finals.
Later,
Haskins
says
Curry’s
camp
offered
a
meeting
with him
in
Oakland
to
discuss
his
becoming
an
ambassador
for PGA
Junior
League
Golf.
But in
August
2017,
while
attending
the PGA
Championship
at Quail
Hollow
Club,
Haskins
received
a
discouraging
phone
call:
PGA
chief
commercial
officer
Jeff
Price,
he says,
told him
to
reschedule
with
Curry
because
Price
couldn’t
make the
meeting.
Haskins
says he
soon
learned
Price
rebooked
through
Curry’s
reps
without
him,
cutting
Haskins
out of a
relationship
he had
initiated.
The
following
year,
Curry
was
announced
with
soccer
star
Alex
Morgan
as the
first
two
ambassadors
who were
not
professional
golfers;
Price
was
quoted
in the
release
saying
that
Curry
would
help
youth
golf
reach a
new
audience.
(The PGA
of
America
did not
make
Price
available
for an
interview.)
Haskins’s
feelings
of being
marginalized
and not
having
the
chance
to close
an
important
deal
rushed
back to
him this
summer.
Amid the
national
calls
for
change
following
Floyd’s
death,
Waugh
and
Whaley
both
wrote
open
letters,
condemning
racism
and
promising
to take
actions
to make
change.
An email
address
for
ideas
was
distributed
to PGA
members:
Inclusion@pgahq.com.
One news
story
Haskins
read, on
Golf
Digest’s
website,
used a
photo of
Waugh
and
Whaley
standing
with
Curry at
a joint
charity
golf
event
between
the PGA
and
Curry’s
foundation.
“It
takes me
back to
a Black
person
doing
the
original
work,
and then
a white
guy
being
able to
get the
credit
for it,”
Haskins
says.
“That’s
really
what
made me
write
that
letter.”
* * *
Haskins
worked
hard to
court
Curry as
a PGA
ambassador,
but
found
himself
squeezed
out of
closing
the
deal.
The
Warriors
star is
pictured
here at
the 2019
Stephen
Curry
Charity
Classic
presented
by
Workday
with
Whaley,
Waugh
and
Workday
CEO
Aneel
Bhusri.
Haskins
worked
hard to
court
Curry as
a PGA
ambassador,
but
found
himself
squeezed
out of
closing
the
deal.
The
Warriors
star is
pictured
here at
the 2019
Stephen
Curry
Charity
Classic
presented
by
Workday
with
Whaley,
Waugh
and
Workday
CEO
Aneel
Bhusri.
Noah
Graham/Getty
Images
for PGA
of
America
One
evening
in 2016,
Haskins
headed
to
Abacoa
Golf
Club, a
public
course
not far
from the
PGA
headquarters,
to play
nine
holes
after
work. A
young
employee
soon
drove up
in his
cart and
asked
whether
he could
join
Haskins.
About
six
holes
in,
Haskins
noticed
a tag on
the golf
bag of
the
staffer,
who was
white:
“Young
N----
Wilson.”
Haskins
says he
asked
about
the
meaning
of the
tag, and
the
employee
explained
he was
given
that
nickname
and the
label by
a PGA
pro at
the
club,
because
he was
the
rookie
in the
cart
barn.
Haskins
quietly
took a
photo of
the tag,
which he
has
shared
with SI,
before
they
parted
ways.
Haskins
says he
sent a
detailed
account
of what
had
happened
to
senior
leadership
at the
PGA of
America,
and they
apologized
and told
him they
would
address
it. As
far as
he
knows,
no
actions
were
taken,
and he
has
never
learned
whether
the
staffer's
explanation
that it
was a
PGA pro
who
affixed
the
label
was
true.
“We were
never
contacted
by PGA
of
America
or
anyone
else,”
says Rob
Young,
the
owner of
the
Jupiter,
Fla.,
course.
“If we
had been
made
aware of
this
incident
at the
time, it
would
have
been
investigated,
as I do
not
condone
the
actions
described
by
Wendell,
nor do
my
business
partners
or the
management
of
Abacoa
Golf
Club.”
Says
Waugh,
“I
certainly
would
have
made a
call if
that had
happened
in my
time.”
Waugh
adds
that he
“explored
as
closely
as
possible”
the
incidents
that
Haskins
wrote
about in
his
letter,
“events
which in
some
cases
may have
happened
five
years
ago.” In
response
to SI’s
sending
a
detailed
list of
Haskins’s
assertions
to the
PGA for
comment,
Waugh
said,
“While
we never
comment
on
employee
issues,
past,
present
or
future,
I can
say that
I am in
full
support
of all
of our
current
employees
and the
work to
make
golf and
the PGA
more
inclusive
and
equitable.”
Haskins
had
hoped to
use his
own
experiences
and
conversations
with
people
working
at the
ground
level of
the game
to
broker
changes
from the
PGA of
America
headquarters.
A
graduate
of
Hampton
himself,
in
December
2015, he
worked
to set
up a
meeting
between
a group
of HBCU
golf
coaches
and the
PGA of
America’s
chief
operating
officer,
Darrell
Crall,
along
with
another
executive.
The
coaches
had
expressed
concerns
to him
regarding
the
direction
of the
PGA’s
Minority
Collegiate
Championship,
which
was
created
in the
1980s to
be a
national
tournament
for HBCU
programs.
Gary
Grandison,
then the
head
golf
coach at
Alabama
State,
hoped to
use the
occasion
to lobby
for more
of the
money
from the
tournament’s
corporate
sponsorships
to be
directed
to
support
HBCU
programs
through
scholarships
and
travel
reimbursements.
Since
HBCUs
often
have
smaller
funding
sources,
Grandison
says the
support
of major
institutions
like the
PGA of
America
is vital
for
young
Black
golfers
to
continue
having
the
opportunity
to both
play and
participate
in the
networking
opportunities
the
sport
provides.
The
meeting
was so
important
to
Grandison
that he
left his
ailing
father
to make
the
daylong
drive to
Palm
Beach
Gardens.
While
the
coaches
were
already
en
route,
though,
Haskins
learned
that
both
executives
had
canceled
on them.
“Why is
it when
all of
these
‘Black’
things
come up,
it's
never a
priority?”
Haskins
asks.
While
Grandison
was
driving
home a
few days
later,
his
father
Johnny,
who had
cancer,
died.
Grandison,
who now
coaches
at Texas
Southern,
decided
shortly
after
that his
teams
would no
longer
participate
in the
tournament
because
of what
he saw
as a
clear
demonstration
that the
top
leadership
of the
PGA of
America
did not
care
about
HBCU
golf. “I
question
if
growing
the game
is the
real
priority
of some
of our
organizations,”
Grandison
says.
(Crall
was not
made
available
for
comment;
the PGA
of
America
had no
additional
comment
on this
incident.)
Three
years
later,
the PGA
of
America
hired a
former
HBCU
coach,
Scooter
Clark,
to
manage
the
tournament
and
expand
its
support
of HBCU
programs.
The
tournament
is now
run by
an arm
of the
PGA
REACH
foundation,
which
Waugh
says is
also
working
to grow
the
share of
children
of color
participating
in its
Junior
League
program
to close
to 20
percent
and the
share of
girls to
about 35
percent.
Others
in the
game
point to
additional
efforts
across
the
sport:
This
summer,
the LPGA
created
the
Renee
Powell
Grant to
support
youth
golf
programs
serving
Black
girls in
Powell’s
home
state of
Ohio.
And the
Advocates
PGA
Tour, a
grassroots
effort
that is
now
supported
by the
PGA
Tour,
runs
golf
tournaments
and
player
development
programs
to
provide
golfers
from
underrepresented
backgrounds
with the
resources
and the
support
needed
to play
at the
professional
level.
Haskins
had
hoped to
grow the
Original
Tee
under
the PGA
umbrella
as
another
way to
support
rising
Black
golfers.
Wyatt
Worthington
II, who
in 2016
became
the
first
Black
club pro
in 25
years to
qualify
for the
PGA
Championship,
made
more
money
that
year
winning
the
Original
Tee’s
$16,000
purse.
As he
continues
to
pursue
his goal
of
earning
status
on the
Tour,
Worthington
points
out how
this
pursuit
is
expensive,
from
entry
fees to
travel
costs.
“There
needs to
be so
much
more
representation
on
Tour,”
Worthington
says.
“If you
look at
the PGA
Tour, it
kind of
represents
the
United
States
in that
there
are so
many
white
people
that
have
money
and
power. …
I’m just
looking
for an
opportunity
to have
a chance
to make
that
change.”
Worthington
began
playing
golf at
the
public
driving
range in
Columbus,
Ohio,
where
his dad
hit
balls
after
his
shift at
a GMC
plant,
and
received
a lesson
from
Woods at
age 14,
through
an
opportunity
with the
First
Tee of
Columbus.
Years
later,
as his
playing
career
was
taking
off, he
says he
encountered
his own
resistance
at the
local
level.
Worthington
put in
long
hours as
a caddy
at a
country
club in
Ohio,
while
turning
heads at
PGA
section
events,
which he
prepared
for by
chipping
and
putting
at his
old high
school
course.
When
Worthington,
one of a
handful
of Black
PGA
members
in Ohio,
was told
caddying
would
not meet
membership
requirements,
he took
a job as
a
teaching
professional
at The
Golf
Depot.
The year
he
qualified
for the
PGA
Championship,
he says
other
PGA
members
began
showing
up or
calling
his
workplace
to check
whether
he was
meeting
the
weekly
hours
quota
for him
to
compete
as a
club
pro. “It
was such
a tale
of two
sides,
because
at the
same
time I
had all
these
people
reaching
out to
me
saying
you
inspired
me, or
you
helped
me get
back
into the
game,”
Worthington
says.
Haskins
and
Worthington
struck
up a
friendship,
and he
shared
with
Worthington
what
happened
that
evening
at
Abacoa.
Worthington,
who
spends
his
winters
working
at a
golf
club in
Florida,
says he
stopped
giving
Abacoa
his
business.
That led
him to
playing
a
different
course,
about 20
minutes
away, in
early
2017. As
he
walked
over to
put his
clubs on
a cart,
he
passed
another
golf
cart and
did a
double
take:
sticking
out of
the top
of a
pink
golf bag
were two
knit
monkey
club
head
covers,
next to
a
Confederate
flag.
* * *
X163456_TK1_00018
Jeffery
A.
Salter/Sports
Illustrated
In June,
a few
days
after
Haskins
sent his
letter,
he and
Waugh
met for
a video
call
that
lasted
about
two
hours.
Waugh
says he
regrets
that he
had not
followed
through
to
connect
with
Haskins
earlier
that
year,
when a
mutual
connection
tried to
introduce
them.
Haskins
told
Waugh
the
story
behind
his
Original
Tee
tournament,
and how
it
helped
lead to
his
writing
an open
letter.
“I'm not
sorry he
wrote
the
letter.
Not at
all,”
Waugh
says.
“It woke
us up on
certain
points,
and a
lot of
them
we're
working
on and
we'll
continue
to work
on.”
The
reaction
to
Haskins’s
letter
varied.
Clayton
told
Haskins
he gave
the PGA
of
America
“a
gift.”
Powell
says
Haskins’s
letter
“caused
a bit of
a stir.”
She
adds,
“It made
people
think
about
not just
the PGA,
but the
entire
golfing
industry.”
Another
person
close to
the PGA
of
America
says
that
some
past and
present
employees
waved
off
Haskins’s
experiences
as that
of a
disgruntled
ex-employee,
but the
person
added
that he
nonetheless
sparked
a
necessary
internal
dialogue.
Haskins
was
surprised
to hear
from Ted
Bishop,
the past
PGA
president
who was
ousted
in
October
2014 for
sexist
comments
made in
social
media
posts.
Bishop
acknowledged
the
roadblocks
Haskins
faced
and the
“good
work”
Haskins
was
trying
to do.
“I'm not
trying
to be
adversarial
to these
governing
bodies
or
trying
to
expose
them,”
Haskins
says.
“But if
this
exposes
what
already
exists
and lets
them
know the
ways
that
they
have to
be
better,
then
that's
what
this is
for.”
He adds:
“You’ve
got
people
who have
been
hurting
over
golf for
years.
Older
men, who
would be
my
father’s
age,
who've
been
excluded
from
public
golf
courses.
Black
people
treated
like
s---
when
they
come to
enjoy a
round of
golf
with
their
kid or
their
friends.
People
love
this
game.
And
unfortunately,
it's not
the game
that
hasn't
loved
them.
It's the
people.”
Making
“atonement”
was one
of the
11
recommendations
included
in the
final
page of
Haskins’s
letter.
Among
the
others:
Establish
a seat
designated
for a
Black
independent
board
member,
named
after
Powell
and her
father,
Bill,
the
first
Black
man to
open and
operate
his own
golf
course;
hire
Black
executives
at PGA
headquarters
who
control
a budget
and have
decision-making
authority,
neither
of which
Haskins
had; and
be
willing
to let
go of
bigots
and
racist
members.
In July,
the PGA
Board of
Directors
voted to
change
the name
of an
award
named
for
Horton
Smith,
the
former
PGA
president
who
defended
the
Caucasian-only
clause.
This was
another
prescription
proposed
by
Haskins,
as well
as
others
within
the PGA.
In July,
after
the
letter,
Waugh
and
Whaley
also
held two
open
forums
with
their
Black
PGA
members—something
that
Powell,
the PGA
of
America’s
only
Black
board
member,
says had
never
been
done
before.
On one
of these
calls,
Stepney
says
concerns
were
raised
about
the 2022
PGA
Championship,
which is
scheduled
to be
held at
Trump
National
Bedminster.
In 2015,
after
Donald
Trump
referred
to
Mexican
immigrants
as
“rapists”
while
announcing
his bid
for the
presidency,
the PGA
of
America
pulled
its
Grand
Slam
tournament
from his
course
in Los
Angeles
but kept
its
other
future
events
at Trump
courses.
That
same
year,
Trump
told
Fortune
magazine:
“Let
golf be
elitist,”
which
some PGA
members
point
out is
antithetical
to the
organization’s
stated
goal of
growing
the
game.
“Here’s
a great
example
of,
listen
to your
Black
PGA
professionals,”
Stepney
says.
Waugh
confirms
these
concerns
were
raised,
and says
the PGA
has
“done
some
thinking
about
it,” but
“we
don’t
have
anything
more to
say
about it
at this
moment.”
Asked
whether
the
input of
Black
PGA
members
will be
considered
in the
decision,
he adds,
“Absolutely.
We want
to hear
all
voices.
But we
have
29,000
of
them.”
This
week,
the
Masters
are
again a
symbol
for how
far golf
still
has to
go in
confronting
and
correcting
its
racist
history.
On
Monday,
though,
there
was a
step in
the
right
direction:
Augusta
National
announced
that Lee
Elder
would be
an
honorary
starter
for the
2021
Masters,
joining
Nicklaus
and Gary
Player.
In Palm
Beach
Gardens,
Haskins
received
the news
with
happiness
and
satisfaction.
He’d
first
suggested
the idea
six
years
ago,
when he
walked
in the
doors of
the PGA
of
America,
not
expecting
how soon
he’d be
walking
back
out.
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