Americans wonder if golf has 'grass ceiling'

Ever since Tiger Woods first won the Masters Tournament six years ago, he has overshadowed the golf world. But Thursday, as the sport's signature event again tees off on the rain-slicked grass of Augusta National, the only way Woods could command America's full golfing attention would be if he were a member - and a woman.

Surely, when Woods uncoils his first bolo-whip drive into the thick Georgia morning, a hush will fall over the gallery assembled to see if he wins an unprecedented third consecutive Masters. Not far away, though, women's rights advocate Martha Burk will be shouting, and cameras will be rolling.

The cause of her protest has become as much a subject of lunch-break conversation as the tournament itself: Augusta National has no women members. The tumult this has created hints at questions that reach beyond the fairways and fringes of Augusta. For the second time in little more than a decade, it has left Americans to wonder whether golf has a grass ceiling.

"It's no secret that country clubs over the years have been bastions of wealthy, mostly white men," says Matt Rudy of Golf Digest magazine. In seeking equity, "there are not many institutions that have farther to come."

Now, as the Masters begins, statistics and anecdotes gathered from across the United States suggest that the progress report for the nation's golf clubs is decidedly mixed.

On one hand, golf has probably never been more open. Augusta is one of only about 20 golf clubs that prohibit female members. Moreover, the recent growth in the number of public clubs - which now make up nearly three-quarters of the more than 15,000 golf clubs nationwide - has allowed more people to pick up a pitching wedge. Also, some private clubs, pinched by the economy, are cutting fees to attract new members.

Yet surveys still show that the overwhelming majority of golfers are white men. And in golf's spiritual homeland - ultraexclusive clubs - change seems to move with the speed of a caddy on the 18th fairway.

At clubs with female members, complaints that women are banned from the best tee times are not uncommon.

The populism of public-course duffers is pitted against the tradition of Augusta's upper-class idyll - a paradox of modern golf as it attempts to at once expand its appeal and keep a sense of continuity with the past.

"There are two worlds in golf," says Rudy, "and those two sides are trying to find a way to coexist."

From his swath of Louisiana grass, Stan Stopa can see both sides. As the head pro of the public Audubon Park Golf Course in New Orleans, he sees all types of golfers spread out among the gentle hills of cypress and live oak. But when talk turns to the Masters, he says he also understands a private club's desire to choose its own members, whether they be white or black, male or female.

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