KEEPING UP TRIBAL LINKS

By Steve Wulf

With its rolling fairways, long grass and open invitation to the elements, Shinnecock Hills Golf Club has been called the most Scottish of all American golf courses. In truth, though, the site of the centennial U.S. Open that begins this week is the most American of all American courses.

The past century of this nation's history is as much a part of Shinnecock Hills as the diabolical rough. The club began to take shape in 1891 thanks to the money of William K. Vanderbilt and his wealthy friends, and the sweat equity of the Shinnecock Indians who once inhabited this land on the eastern end of Long Island. The original clubhouse-the original American golf clubhouse-still stands sentinel over the course, a tribute to the genius of architect Stanford White. J.P. Morgan regularly challenged the links, as did Andrew Mellon.

Yet there is an egalitarian spirit to Shinnecock that few other famed courses can claim. Women have always been encouraged to play. The first American-born club pro was John Shippen, an African American who learned his golf at Shinnecock Hills while growing up on the nearby reservation. Even though the Shinnecocks sold the tract to the English in the 18th century, the land still belongs to them in spirit.

Shinnecock Hills' superintendent, responsible for one of the world's greatest courses and the world's most prestigious tournament, is 41-year-old Peter Smith, the son of former superintendent Elmer Smith, who was the son of George Smith, one of the Shinnecocks who helped maintain the original course. In fact, of the 18 men on Peter Smith's regular crew, 16 are Native Americans, including his son, 20-year-old Brian. "By keeping the tradition of this course," says Peter, "we are keeping the tradition of our tribe."

Hanging up in his office in the maintenance shed is a souvenir print of an Indian in a headdress with this legend underneath: around this camp, there's only one chief. Smith, whose tribal name is Running Bear, is a benevolent chief. He is unfailingly considerate of his crew members, making sure they have enough money for lunch, enough passes for the Open, enough rest for what he calls "the war" -- when 156 golfers and 30,000 fans a day invade Shinnecock. A 1975 Dartmouth graduate, Smith thought he might become a teacher or a banker. "My father never meant for me to inherit his job. He sent me to Dartmouth to see the world. I saw it, then realized this is what I love."

At Dartmouth Smith took part in some of the student protests that helped persuade the college to shed its nickname, the Indians. "The nickname didn't bother me as much as the guys running around whooping and hollering," says Smith. Nowadays his politics concern his position as chairman of the tribal trustees for the 400 Shinnecocks living on the 800-acre reservation.

When Shinnecock Hills was last host to the Open, in 1986, Smith was new to the job and nervous. But his course produced one of the most exciting Opens in history, with Ray Floyd emerging from a pack of 10 golfers. This time, Smith is a little more confident. "Jack Nicklaus was here the other day, and he said, 'Pete, I can't wait to get back here next week.' That made me feel a lot better."

In Smith's office is a meticulously detailed desk calendar. But one day remains strangely empty. The only notation for Saturday, June 17-when the crowd will be at its peak-is this: ba da boom! An old Shinnecock expression, no doubt.