I-69 progress threatens historic Martinsville Golf Club
MARTINSVILLE — It all started with that foul-smelling, bubbling water. It was that mineral water that brought the people in. They came from all over to bathe in the healing waters in one of the 13 resorts in "Martinsville, City of Mineral Water."
Those people needed things to do beyond soaking themselves. So in 1925, Walter A. Kennedy built a golf course. Over time, that golf course created a family.
But the waters can no longer heal, no longer fuel growth. First, the Great Depression hit the resorts. Then, progress in transportation meant people could travel somewhere more exotic than Indiana. The last spa closed in 1971. In 2002, dry-cleaning chemicals were found in the mineral water aquifer.
So what becomes of Martinsville Golf Club and the family that grew up with it? It still stands; they still stand. But it's a struggle.
Golf isn’t as profitable as it used to be, sure, but the course could deal with that. It’s the construction on I-69 that might strike a final blow, the owner says. The final leg from Martinsville to Indianapolis will make it more difficult for customers to get to the course, and an access road is expected to take out the driving range.
It’s that construction that weighs on 78-year-old owner Sam Carmichael’s mind as he mows the greens at 5:30 in the morning. It’s that construction that weighs on his mind as he works the books.
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He was born and raised in the clubhouse. He raised his own family in that clubhouse. Now, all he can do is wait and see what the progress of I-69 construction north from Bloomington does to the course that brought a living for so long.
“I see it coming, and it is going to come," Carmichael said.
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They grew trees here. Children were born here. Life happened here.
Little 12-year-old Don Carmichael was a caddie for Mr. Kennedy — always Mr. Kennedy when Sam says it — as soon as the club opened in 1925. The two became friends over the years, and Don worked at Mr. Kennedy's Home Lawn Mineral Springs in the winter.
Carmichael was a self-made man. He dropped out of high school to start working when times got tough.
When Mr. Kennedy wanted a new superintendent, he picked 20-year-old Carmichael to run the place and be his golf pro.
Carmichael and his wife, Agnes, moved into the upstairs of the clubhouse in 1933. Agnes ran the club kitchen. Ron was born the next year. Sam came five years later, then Ann.
The course was their youth. They woke up in the morning and had nine holes of green to run around on. They began working at a young age, the boys as caddies and Ann helping Agnes.
"That golf course was my playground," Ron Carmichael said.
Then the kids all left the clubhouse and went on their own journeys. Ann worked in insurance, Ron moved to Cincinnati and worked in insurance and Sam played college golf at LSU and played on the PGA Tour.
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While the kids grew up and left, Martinsville was doing well. People could find work at the sanitariums and the brickyards and Old Hickory furniture and the bucket factory.
Over time, the sanitariums all closed, then the brickyards did the same, then Old Hickory furniture, then the bucket factory.
And life happened to the Carmichaels.
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Don Carmichael had cancer — lung cancer — from years of smoking. Sam left the Tour to come back home and help, Ron did the same.
Sam was doing well on the Tour. He played in seven U.S. Opens, and Ron thought Sam was going to really make it out there.
But it had always been a family dream for the boys to come back and run the place. So in 1969, the Carmichaels took out a loan and bought the course from Mr. Kennedy. They were going to build another nine holes.
Don died in 1972. He never got to see the new front nine.
Sam said he loved being on the Tour, and he wished he didn't have to come back. He wished his father hadn't gotten sick. But he also loved that course more than just about anything.
"Responsibility is what it is," Sam said, "and you just go ahead and do it. That's all."
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Sam and his wife, Susan, moved into the clubhouse. Sam was golf pro and Ron was course superintendent. Susan ran the clubhouse and Ron's wife, Marge, worked the books.
They had great years, the four of them, running the new 18-hole course to new heights. Things really peaked, Sam said, in the 1990s and early 2000s. All this while Sam coached women's golf at IU for 23 years and the men for nine of those. He earned Big Ten Women's Coach of the Year eight times.
Sam and Susan had two daughters. They also grew up in that white clubhouse.
Ron and Marge retired in 2000. Ron said he could only work 14-hour days for so long. He still plays the course most days.
Sam didn't — doesn't — see any point in retirement. He likes being out there. He likes to work. Ron admits Sam loves it more than he did.
“He is definitely in love with the whole place," Ron said. "He always has been.”
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Then comes that construction. Sam has already had loyal customers from Bloomington tell him they come up less because of the Bloomington leg of I-69 construction. What will happen when the next leg hits the course?
The state is building an access road right through the property. The driving range will be taken out.
Sam Carmichael isn't one to be dramatic. He's calm. He's accepted many of the possibilities, but he doesn't mince words about those possibilities.
"If I-69 comes and takes more business away from us, then I don't know how we will survive," he said.
Ron believes Sam will be able to fight through this, but Sam sees the problems. He had to take out more money in 2000 when he bought out Ron. He still owes on that.
"Now we just sit here waiting, not really knowing what the future brings for us," Sam said.
As he walked around the lower floor of the clubhouse, looking at the photographs on the wall, looking at the ground where they once had dances, Sam seemed to be feeling a combination of sadness and joy about what happened here.
He was asked if there is anything he wished he could have done differently over the years.
"Well, make a few more putts."
He doesn't have any desire to retire from the course, but it might be forced upon him.
What else would he do? That's what he asks himself. He doesn't have other hobbies. Golf was all that mattered to him. He's a man raised on a course who raised his own family on a course and now the world might be taking that course from him.
So what would he do?
"If I wasn't here, I'd probably be mowing greens for somebody else."
Follow IndyStar reporter Brody Miller on Twitter: @ByBrodyMiller.