The Battle for Baton Rouge's Green Heart: Why City Park Golf Course Matters More Than You Think
There’s something deeply human about the way we fight over spaces. Parks, in particular, become battlegrounds for competing visions of community, history, and progress. In Baton Rouge, the latest skirmish is over City Park Golf Course, a century-old fixture that’s now under threat of redevelopment. Personally, I think this isn’t just about golf—it’s about the soul of a city and what we choose to preserve in an era of relentless change.
A Course with Character, Not Just Fairways
Let’s be clear: City Park Golf Course isn’t Augusta National. Its nine holes are scruffy, its greens are humble, and its history is quietly unassuming. But that’s precisely what makes it special. Designed in 1928 by Tom Bendelow, a pioneer of accessible golf architecture, it’s a relic of a time when the sport wasn’t just for the elite. What many people don’t realize is that Bendelow’s courses were meant to be democratic—inexpensive to build, maintain, and play. City Park embodies that spirit, and its inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places isn’t just a bureaucratic stamp; it’s a recognition of its role in making golf a game for everyone.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the course has already been altered. In 2007, two holes were shortened from par 4s to par 3s, chipping away at Bendelow’s original vision. If you take a step back and think about it, further changes would erode not just the course but the very idea it represents—that public spaces can balance accessibility and integrity.
The Shrinking Greens of Public Golf
The closure of LSU’s on-campus course earlier this year was a gut punch for local golfers. If City Park goes, Webb Park will be the only public course left within Baton Rouge’s city limits. From my perspective, this isn’t just about losing a place to play; it’s about losing a public good. Golf, for all its elitist stereotypes, is still a sport that thrives on accessibility. City Park’s affordability and central location make it a lifeline for casual players, beginners, and families.
One thing that immediately stands out is the contrast with New Orleans’ City Park, which is 8.5 times larger and hosts two 18-hole courses without breaking a sweat. Baton Rouge’s park, by comparison, is a patchwork of compromises—tennis courts, dog parks, playgrounds, and yes, a golf course. But that’s the beauty of it. It’s a microcosm of urban life, where different interests coexist. The question isn’t whether golfers deserve their space; it’s whether we can imagine a city where shared spaces aren’t zero-sum games.
Sentimentality vs. Progress: A False Dichotomy
I’ll admit it: City Park holds a sentimental place in my heart. It’s where my dad taught me to play, where I made my first par, and where I learned that sometimes, a hole-in-one might come with a little help from a well-meaning father. But sentimentality isn’t the only reason to save it. What this really suggests is that places like City Park are more than just land—they’re repositories of memory, community, and identity.
Proponents of redevelopment argue that the park could be put to better use. But here’s the thing: it’s already remarkably versatile. Walking paths, fishing spots, soccer fields, and a children’s museum all share space with the golf course. If you ask me, the real challenge isn’t whether to choose between golf and other uses; it’s whether we can resist the urge to constantly optimize and monetize every square inch of public space.
The Bigger Picture: What’s at Stake?
This raises a deeper question: What do we lose when we prioritize redevelopment over preservation? In a city like Baton Rouge, where green spaces are already scarce, the answer isn’t just about golf. It’s about the kind of city we want to live in. Do we want a Baton Rouge that values history, accessibility, and shared spaces? Or do we want one that sees every acre as an opportunity for the next big project?
A detail that I find especially interesting is the course’s rolling terrain—a rarity in this part of the country. Standing on the third tee, with the railroad line cutting through the landscape, you could almost mistake it for a course in coastal California. That sense of escape, of being somewhere else entirely, is priceless. And yet, it’s under threat because someone thinks the land could be more profitable.
Final Thoughts: Why City Park Deserves to Stay
In my opinion, the fight for City Park Golf Course isn’t just about preserving a golf course; it’s about preserving a way of life. It’s about recognizing that not everything needs to be new, shiny, or profitable to be valuable. From my perspective, the real treasure here isn’t the land itself—it’s the community that’s grown around it, the memories it holds, and the lessons it teaches about balance and coexistence.
So, the next time you drive past City Park, don’t just see nine holes of golf. See a century of history, a testament to accessibility, and a reminder that sometimes, the best way to move forward is to hold on to what we already have. Personally, I think that’s a lesson worth preserving—one hole, one fairway, one memory at a time.
