Inside the U.S. Golf Association Experience and World Golf Hall of Fame, my dad and I are staring at the most glorious hat either of us has seen in our years as a well-dressed golfer and style-conscious daughter, respectively. Here, each of the 170 hall of famers has their own “locker,” a display of donated items that represents their legacy. The locker room holds some of the first golf balls — which were handsewn and stuffed with feathers — carved wooden clubs, trophies, scorecards, photos, and plenty of standout headwear. We were making our way through the memorabilia of the titans that comprise golf history when a moss-green fur fedora belonging to 1958 U.S. Open winner Tommy Bolt stopped us in our tracks. “That,” my dad says, “is no joke!”

If your name is Brian Kane — or as I call him, Dad — there are a lot of things in the WGHOF that are “no joke.” There’s the scorecard from the final round of Payne Stewart’s 1999 U.S. Open, a victory clinched just a few hundred yards from where we’re standing. There’s the straw hat and childhood lunch box belonging to eight-time Greater Greensboro Open winner Sam Snead. The Wake Forest cap sitting in Arnold Palmer’s locker earned an exclamation, too.

The author Katie Kane Reynolds and her dad Brian. Photography courtesy of Katie Kane Reynolds

When I point out a photo of Richard Tufts with his grandfather, Pinehurst Resort founder James Walker Tufts, I hear a faint “That’s no joke” from another aisle. I look around and realize my dad is already at the next row of legends. Daughters, keep an eye on your dads at the WGHOF.

My father and I have always been an inquisitive duo. We stop at museums whenever we travel and send each other videos and stories almost every day on whatever we find most interesting. So when the USGA moved the WGHOF back to Pinehurst from Florida last year — it was first located here in 1974, behind the fourth green on Pinehurst No. 2 — and it was only about five minutes from my dad’s house, I knew we’d be planning a father-daughter outing soon.

Tommy Bolt’s green fedora can be viewed in the World Golf Hall of Fame. photograph by Charles Harris

As we walk along the lockers, I’m surprised by how personal this exhibit feels. I expected to see golf clubs and bags and medals, of which there are plenty, but I wasn’t expecting to see a player’s personal Bible, empty perfume bottles, fishing hooks, Andy Griffith recordings, novels that were read on tour. The things these legendary golfers carried on their way to greatness.

Dad and I notice the large silver trophies in the locker belonging to Lloyd Mangrum, a top player in the 1940s and ’50s, which tell the story of a decorated sportsman. As we linger, our eyes catch the locker’s smallest item, half of an old dollar bill. Mangrum left the PGA Tour to serve in World War II. He split this bill with his best friend, Robert Green, before they went into battle on the shores of Normandy. Green died in action. A purple heart and a good conduct medal lie beside the bill, telling another story — one of sacrifice and bravery. We stand in silence as we realize that these men and women weren’t just star athletes; many were heroes on and off the course.

• • •

I can’t remember a time when my dad didn’t play golf. When I was growing up, he’d play on courses by our home in New Jersey. In Pinehurst, while visiting his in-laws or me in college. And on courses across the country on work trips. When he isn’t playing, he’s watching tournaments on TV or videos on golf history and technique.

For me, golf has always been about the stuff rather than the sport. Golf was never about skill because, well, I never had any. The extent of my golf exploits exist in the passenger seat of a cart with my dad, hitting a few putts nowhere near the hole and sharing a well-deserved basket of fried pickles to end the day.

When I was little and began picking out presents for my dad, I came to the same realization as many daughters before me have: I could lean on golf for every birthday, Father’s Day, and Christmas. What do you get the man who has everything? Golf shirts, golf ties, golf butter knives, golf ball cuff links, kitschy Caddyshack merchandise — I’m still looking for Rodney Dangerfield’s tricked-out golf bag. And bless my dad’s heart, he’s loved, or at least pretended to love, every one of these sporting trinkets.

The writer (pictured at age 10) and her dad have made many memories both on and off the course. Photography courtesy of Katie Kane Reynolds

My father is a natural athlete. While in grad school, he worked as a tennis pro at a country club. He started playing golf when he moved to New York City and began his career. “It seemed to be all the rage if you were in the business world,” Dad says. “To rent a tennis court for an hour, it was $100, and you could play golf all day for $30 to $35. I’d take my clubs on the subway, usually to the Bronx, and go to a public golf course.”

I inherited my dad’s competitive spirit on the tennis court rather than on the green. He’d often try to get me to watch golf with him at home, attempting to lure me in with breathtaking views from beachside courses or the intensity of a final U.S. Open round, which since 1965, has fallen on Father’s Day each year. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how my dad was so transfixed by something that, to a middle school-aged girl, seemed pretty boring. But after years on the course, my dad’s long game is solid, and his patience unwavering.

One of the favorite memories was seeing tournament trophies at WGHOF. photograph by Charles Harris

When I moved to Greensboro after college, he bought me two tickets to the Wyndham Championship. I took a new friend at the time — now my husband and a player in my dad’s Pinehurst golf group — and we walked alongside the course for hours in the August heat, following players whose composure, grace, and talent were undeniable.

To my disbelief, it was just as memorable as Dad said it would be. Mothers might know best, but fathers know fun.

• • •

After admiring all the flat caps, fedoras, and sun hats that the WGHOF has to offer, my dad and I head to the Roast Office in the village for coffees and to rest our feet. We talk about his favorite players and the courses he’s shared with some of the big names from our morning.

I listen and begin to think about what a Brian Kane locker in the WGHOF would look like. There would be golf items, of course, like the Tito’s golf bag that he won at an auction for his wife, the ceramic putter I got him in Seagrove for Christmas one year, his Elon University golf shirt that he bought when I was a freshman, and one of his favorite tweed flat caps that I begged him not to wear when I was a preteen. Pieces that tell the story of a man dedicated to the love of the game.

What would be in Brian Kane’s locker? Perhaps a Stetson cap, an antique Pepsi bottle, a ball marker, a couple yardage books, a ceramic putter, a tee holder, and a golf shirt. photograph by Matt Hulsman

But there’d be more. An antique Pepsi bottle from his collection to show his love of history. A bottle of Welch’s grape juice, because, according to Dad, every good game of golf should be served with a Transfusion cocktail. A jar of Lutheran peanuts, his go-to snack. A Green Acres DVD, our favorite reruns to watch on Saturday mornings. A pack of Listerine strips and a tube of original Chapstick — I know he wears cologne, but to me, nothing smells more like my dad than mint and lip balm. And the popsicle-stick pen case I crafted him in kindergarten with a matching paper watch so he’d never be late for our dinner dates. Both have sat on his desk for more than 20 years.

These are just some of the things that tell the story of a great man and a great dad. A dad who has always shared his passions with his daughter. A dad who remains, on and off the course, my hero.

The USGA Experience and World Golf Hall of Fame
3 Carolina Vista Drive
Pinehurst, NC 28374
(910) 215-6168
usga.org/content/usga/home-page/golf-house-pinehurst/visitor-information.html