![]() ![]() When he was 9 years old, he would climb over or crawl under fences to sneak onto courses near his hometown of Minerva, Ohio, about 20 miles from Canton, and watch white men play. P builtīill Powell’s passion for golf began as a youthful fascination. “He wanted this golf club opened to the people who denied him access to their courses.” The course Mr. “He called it ‘America’s course’ because he wanted it opened to everyone,” said Ramona Harriet, a sports historian who has written about blacks in golf. From nearby and beyond, golfers have come to play the par-72 course, golf pros such as Calvin Peete, Homero Blancas and Charlie Sifford Hall of Famers such as Jim Brown, Leroy Kelly, Henry Aaron and more and ordinary folk too – blacks and whites, any man or woman who liked striking golf balls for the joy of it as much as Bill Powell did. The place has survived in the face of Jim Crow segregation – a black-owned, black-built course that has earned a spot on the National Register of Historic Places. They’ve been playing Clearview ever since. P,” believed he believed not only that could he build the course, but that if he did, by God, golfers would surely come and play on it.Īnd Mr. ![]() But Bill Powell, whom friends called “Mr. “Crazy” is an apt word, because Clearview, a nonprofit foundation, was built 70 years ago with shovelfuls of crazy.įor nothing was crazier back then the notion a black man, her father Bill Powell, would take his hands and sculpt a golf course from farmland he bought in the heart of Ohio. “Maybe five,” she replies, holding up her right hand, her fingers spread. “Can we get 15 minutes?” someone asks her. On this saunalike Saturday afternoon in late August, Powell is seeking relief inside this dimly lit, air-conditioned building. Head pro Renee Powell hurries into the brownish-gray, wood-framed clubhouse at Clearview Golf Course. ![]()
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