Coyne’s career has long centered on access to elite golf destinations. As editor of *The Golfer’s Journal* and a bestselling author, he has frequented the world’s most prestigious courses, including St. Andrews, Pebble Beach, and Augusta National. His ability to navigate these high-profile venues has shaped his perspective on the sport’s duality—between exclusivity and accessibility.
Yet his recent involvement with the Sullivan County Golf Club represents a stark departure. Unlike the meticulously maintained greens and rigid protocols of top-tier clubs, this Catskills course faces practical hurdles: leaky roofs, aging equipment, and a landscape where overgrowth often outpaces maintenance. The rough isn’t merely dense—it frequently battles mold and encroaching vegetation, a far cry from the manicured standards of his usual haunts.
The Divide Between Exclusive and Accessible Golf
The contrast between Coyne’s professional background and his current project underscores a fundamental tension in modern golf. On one side are the ultra-exclusive resorts, where amenities like valets, pools, and dress codes set the tone. On the other, community-driven courses like Sullivan County operate with minimal infrastructure—no tee times, no pro shops, and no barriers to entry beyond a set of clubs and a willingness to play.
Coyne’s transition to ownership began unexpectedly. After the course was listed for sale in 2023 due to financial struggles—its 170 acres increasingly overtaken by wildlife rather than golfers—Shaun Smith, the sole remaining greenskeeper, reached out for help. Smith, described by local officials as a dedicated turf specialist, feared the sale would erase a venue that had long served as a public resource for the town. Without intervention, the land risked being repurposed or abandoned, leaving the community without a recreational anchor.
Coyne’s initial visit confirmed what many in the area already knew: the course’s survival depended on redefining its purpose. Unlike elite clubs, Sullivan County thrives on informality. There are no membership fees, no dress codes, and no pressure to conform. As Coyne observed, the environment is intentionally unpretentious—players arrive as they are, often with dogs in tow, to enjoy a game without frills.
This approach resonates with Coyne, who has spent years navigating the rigid hierarchies of the sport’s upper echelon. The lack of formality at Sullivan County represents a refreshing alternative—a reminder that golf can be a democratic pursuit, accessible to anyone willing to step onto the course.
Aviation History and the Borscht Belt Legacy
The Sullivan County Golf Club is more than a course; it’s a living piece of regional history. Established in 1925 in the Catskill Mountains, it flourished during the Borscht Belt era, when the area was a magnet for tourism and leisure. The course benefited from the influx of visitors drawn to the resorts that once dotted the landscape, providing both revenue and a steady stream of players.
One of the club’s most enduring legacies ties back to aviation history. In 1931, a local pilot used the 8th fairway as a makeshift runway for a daring transatlantic flight to Denmark. The event left a lasting mark on the club, which later incorporated the flight’s story into its branding—a nod to the intersection of golf and early aviation.
Yet as tourism patterns evolved, the course’s fortunes waned. The Borscht Belt’s golden age faded, and visitors increasingly favored modern, high-end destinations. Without the economic support of tourists, Sullivan County became reliant on the local community for survival. Figures like Dan Yaun embody this connection; he began caddying at the club as a teenager, and his family’s name appears on the championship board across decades. A local street also bears their name, reflecting their deep roots in the area.
Yaun has noted the course’s decline over time, describing it as gradually slipping into disrepair while the community took on maintenance responsibilities. This volunteer-driven preservation is common among rural courses facing financial strain. Without outside investment, many such venues risk being sold for development or left to revert to wilderness—a fate that has already claimed numerous historic courses.
The Economics of Rural Course Preservation
The 2023 sale listing of Sullivan County’s 170 acres exposed a broader challenge in rural golf: when a course becomes unprofitable, the land’s development potential often outweighs its value as a recreational space. For Smith, the prospect of closure wasn’t just professional—it threatened a community asset that had long been open to all. As he described it, the course had always been “for everybody,” a local gathering place rather than an exclusive retreat.
Coyne’s decision to take on the project—documented in his book, *A Course Called Home*—serves as a case study in heritage preservation. His goal isn’t financial gain but a test of whether a struggling rural course can be revived while retaining its defining characteristics: accessibility, simplicity, and community ties. The challenge lies in balancing modern demands with the course’s grassroots identity, ensuring it doesn’t succumb to the pressures of commercialization.
The effort to sustain Sullivan County challenges the industry’s trend toward exclusivity. While membership fees and restrictive access dominate the sport’s elite circles, the course’s existence proves that golf can thrive in a different form—a place where players simply show up, bring their dogs, and enjoy the game without pretension.
The course’s current state—marked by its battle against neglect and encroaching nature—reflects the broader decline of the Borscht Belt’s influence. Once a bustling tourist hub, the region now relies on local passion to keep its golfing history alive. Coyne’s involvement raises a critical question: Can rural courses survive in an era dominated by elite golf, or are they doomed to fade into obscurity?
His work at Sullivan County suggests that a course’s value isn’t measured by its bunkers or membership prestige alone. Instead, its worth may lie in its role as a community anchor—a place where the spirit of the game remains unfiltered, accessible, and deeply rooted in local tradition. By attempting to revive a venue others saw as a liability, Coyne is exploring whether the grassroots of golf can endure in a landscape increasingly shaped by exclusivity.
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