Atlantic City Weekly

The Stately Seaview

Where presidents came to call

By Jim Waltzer --> THESE HAVE BEEN THE greatest two days I've ever spent," said the strikingly handsome man with the white hair and thick dark eyebrows.

That was saying something, indeed. The man happened to be president of the United States, and he was completing a two-day idyll of golf and relaxation at Seaview Country Club, north of Atlantic City. It was May of 1922, and though Warren G. Harding's presidency and life would soon unravel, for now he was under the spell of the seashore.

His host had been club founder Clarence Geist, the utility king with a passion for the links and having things his own way. He had carved this resort out of piney woodlands, and it was a perfect retreat for heads of state and men of means. Its golf course contended with the capricious winds off the bay, but Geist believed he could bend nature to his will.

He'd been born in 1866 in Indiana, and tried his hand at railroading and real estate in 19th century Chicago before forming a partnership with Charles Dawes, gas-and-electric tycoon and future U.S. vice president. Geist eventually bought out his mentor, sold the company and, with the proceeds, purchased Atlantic City Gas and Electric Company in 1909. He now had a seashore profile.

It agreed with him. Through the years, Geist would gobble up properties (including the ancestor of Philadelphia-based water giant Aqua America) to create a utility empire in the East and Midwest, but he had his eye on more than just the bottom line. He aspired to society status, one of the trappings being membership at upper-crust clubs. He also enjoyed his leisure, especially the time spent chasing that little white ball across an expanse of green.

The two yearnings collided one day when Geist was waiting to tee off at Atlantic City Country Club in Northfield. The story goes that he grew impatient with the too-long wait and vowed to rectify the problem. The solution: build his own club. An Atlantic City Realtor and fellow ACCC member suggested suitable acreage just outside of Absecon, and in 1912, Seaview Golf Club rose at a cost of $1.5 million. Enveloping a farmhouse site that now houses the resort's pub-like Grille, it boasted a 250-room hotel-clubhouse, an indoor saltwater swimming pool, squash and tennis courts, a trapshooting range, and a French chef. Horses were available for riding, as were uniformed chauffeurs for transporting guests in limousines.

Seaview's raison d'etre, however, was its quirky Bay Course, which hugged the water and, with its numerous mounds and traps, bore the devilish hand of esteemed designer Donald Ross. Now Geist had his playground and reveled in it, sometimes going from hole to hole by limo and playing a hand of poker with cronies while in transit.

In 1929, the nine-hole Pines Course (expanded to 18 in the late 1950s) across Route 9 joined its bayside sister. Both courses hosted the 1942 PGA Championship in which Slammin' Sammy Snead chipped in from 60 feet to birdie the final hole and win his first major tournament. The next day, he entered the U.S. Navy, but he'd be back to build his legend.

Vintage Seaview became a popular spot for political kingpins, captains of industry, and show biz stars. New York Governor Al Smith, the 1928 Democratic presidential nominee, was a regular. Later, the likes of Bing Crosby participated in celebrity tournaments and President Eisenhower, a noted linkster, swung through the bay breezes. Golfing great Ben Hogan placed some of the Bay Course holes among the toughest he'd ever played. By this time, Geist had died and a group of local investors owned the resort.

Today's Seaview, a Marriott property since 1984, retains the graceful look of yesteryear, even after a $4 million makeover. Bay Course hosts LPGA tournies and still plays havoc with many a drive. The greens and fairways still yield to marshes and then the bay waters that stretch to Atlantic City.

The approach from any angle is timeless. Surrounded by manicured lawns, the stately clubhouse still commands the circular driveway. Inside, the main dining room, its centered chandelier winking high above, remains a gracious setting for striking business deals or refueling after 18 holes.

Warren G. never should have left. As for Geist, who found the bluebloods elusive despite his acquired taste and purchasing power, tee time was forever the time of his choosing.

Jim Waltzer's Tales of South Jersey, co-authored by Tom Wilk, is published by Rutgers University Press.