Buhl Park was built by a wealthy industrialist who wanted everyone to play for free.
Josh Sens
The best things in life are freeexcept for golf.
Golf it costs money.
Unless you find yourself within striking distance of Sharon, Penn., on the western borders of the state where Tom Roskos and Adam Scott (no, no that Adam Scott) were raised.
Born seven years apart, Roskos, 47, and Scott, 40, weren’t childhood friends, but they had a lot in common. Both came from humble homes. Both excelled in sports. And the two were introduced to golf at Buhl Park Golf Course, a leafy course 9-hole layout which was not cheaply priced. It was better than that.
For anyone, at any time, the price of a round was nada. Zilch. It remains so even today.
“When you’re a kid, you don’t know any better, so you don’t know how lucky you are to have a free course in your backyard,” Roskos says. “But now, looking back, we appreciate how lucky we were and realize the importance of keeping a place like this alive.”
How a course that costs nothing (one of only a handful of its kind in the country) came to be is a story of great wealth and generosity. It revolves around 20th-century industrialist Frank H. Buhl, who was born in Detroit but built his life and fortune in Sharon (70 miles north of Pittsburgh), where, in the late 1800s, he established a steel company that bore his name.
Although Buhl and his wife, Julia, resided in a Romanesque castle, they were not one percent oblivious, out of touch with local concerns. They gave generously to the community, funding the construction of the area’s first hospital, as well as a cemetery, a library, and an Episcopal church. Among the Buhls’ other gifts to the public was a 300-acre parcel they purchased and turned into a park, complete with hiking trails, an 11-acre lake, and a 9-hole course that opened in 1914.
Over time, the locals began to call the course “Dum Dum”, although this was not intended to be a derogatory name. More likely, it was an endearing term for a track that was welcoming to all abilities. Elite ability was not required. Money was also not. That part was handled by the Buhls, who endowed the park in perpetuity with the intention of keeping its equipment free.
Details like this, which were lost on Rosko and Scott when they were growing up, are on their minds these days.
In adulthood, as in childhood, they have a lot in common. From their early days on the Dum Dum course, both went on to careers as certified PGA professionals. In those roles, their paths crossed on many occasions. In recent years, they have become more intertwined than ever. Scott is now the director of golf at Buhl Park, and Roskos is the executive director, which technically makes him Scott’s boss. But don’t worry about the headlines. The biggest issue is this: together, they are caretakers of the free 9-hole course that served as their springboard into the game.
Josh Sens
Roskos has been on the job longer, having signed on in 2015, by which time the course had seen better days. For all of Buhl’s greatness, there were limitations to the funding they left behind. Their donation earmarked $650,000 a year for the entire park and all of its facilities, not just the course. This was enough money to keep greens fees at zero, but not enough for proper grounds maintenance.
As conditions fell, the course slid into the kind of death spiral that dooms so many cash-strapped operations. The board of trustees overseeing the donation came within one vote of Dum Dum’s closing.
Recognizing the need for revenue, Roskos led a series of fundraisers, raising the money to reopen a driving range that was added to Buhl Park in the 1990s, only to close in 2010. That was something. Buckets of balls brought some dough. But it hardly reached a long-term solution. The budget remained empty. There was no clubhouse and no pro shop, just a range entry sheet. Course maintenance was minimal. Fairways and greens were mowed only once a week.
The Dum Dum Course was still limping along in 2020 when Roskos and Scott had a chance meeting in an unlikely setting. Scott, who was between golfing jobs, was selling cars at a local dealership, and Roskos was looking for a vehicle. While chatting on the lot, the two started talking about Buhl Park.
“We both agreed that just because a course is free doesn’t mean it has to be dirty,” says Scott. “But if it was sustainable, more parts of it would have to be run as a business.”
In June of that year, Scott came on board to help with that. The timing was right, with golf on the verge of a pandemic boom. Using that momentum, Roskos and Scott beat around the bush for financial support, grabbing money from donations and private grants, which they put towards building a small pro shop with two pay-to-play. simulator the breasts.
More income flowed in, as did donations, giving way to a more ambitious project: a clubhouse, with three simulators and a green space for free use, equipped with high-tech training tools.
Every bit counts. A large bucket of balls at Buhl Park costs $10. Simulators rent for $20 to $40 an hour, depending on the day and time of year. Snacks and drinks can be bought in the pro shop, but a round is still the same as ever: nothing. And a course that once operated at an annual loss of $250,000 is now about to break even. By adding clinics and other offerings, Roskos and Scott envision a day when it could turn a profit, all of which will be poured back into the course.
Josh Sens
Meanwhile, they have added staff and increased maintenance. Freeways are well maintained. Green is now cut five times a week. On a recent fall afternoon in Buhl Park, with leaves appearing in the tree-lined landscape, the impact of these efforts was evident. The range was full. Two of the simulators were busy. And the Dum Dum course was seeing a lot of action.
