MyTURN
by JIM DUCIBELLA
H
er family and friends
received the sad news
several months ago: Lake
Wright Golf Course will
not live to see 50.
Open since 1967, her
cause of death will be the construction of a
90-store outlet mall on the border between
Norfolk and Virginia Beach, expected to
generate annual sales tax revenue of $3.5
million. Actually, the old girl was supposed
to have been plowed under by now, but until
all of the details are ironed out, the course
remains on life support. A handmade sign
beckons those who care to come in and
reminisce or try to make one final memory.
About 100 a day accept.
It must be said that Lake Wright was never
a beauty pageant contestant. Fairways were
wide open. There was a scarcity of rough, if
by scarcity you mean there wasn’t any. The
greens were normally in decent shape and,
yeah, you had a lake to contend with.
It had its moments, hosting three Virginia
PGA Opens, the last won by Bobby Wadkins
way back in 1982. To the outside world, it
had been marking time ever since.
But perhaps one man’s story is more
reflective of what the course has meant to
many in Hampton Roads, and why no one
should be happy to see it go.
Wayne Whitson, a.k.a. The Wayner, joined
Lake Wright in the 60s, and remained a
member until his death in 2011. For most
of his 32 years in the Norfolk Public School
System as a teacher and assistant principal,
The Wayner spent his late afternoons and
summers at the course. He honed his selftaught game there, challenged himself
in matches against, among others, PGA
professional Claude King. He and four
or five groups of buddies, self-annointed
as “The Blitz,” practically lived at that
golf course. After he retired in 1993, The
Wayner even worked the driving range and
as a course marshal.
He passed on his passion for golf to his
son. Brian Whitson grew up not far from
the oceanfront, but went whole summers
“without seeing a grain of sand” because he
spent so much time following in his dad’s
footsteps at Lake Wright.
“We’d get there early in the morning and
40
my friends and I would play until it got dark,”
Brian says. “And that’s what we did nearly
every day.”
Brian’s first shot ever was struck at Lake
Wright when he was about 6 years old