It started as the Styff Country Club — Betty Styff's family club. Tennis, gin, and a membership roster nobody could get on.
Then Robert Dinks arrived from Seattle, where they'd called him Sir Dinks for reasons no one west of the Cascades ever explained. He met Betty at the Club, back when it was still all tennis and cigarettes — and he carried in a strange paddle game almost nobody had heard of. He chalked out a court behind the tennis lawns.
Betty fell for the game and for Bob in the same summer. The club's official position is that no one — Betty included — can say which came first. It remains the central unanswered question of the institution.
Bob became the club's first pickleball pro. Betty ran everything else. They married in 1973, and the membership — who'd been saying "Styff and Dinks" like a punchline for years — made it official: uninvited, and unanimous.
Styff + Dinks → Stiffdinks. The lawns stayed. The martinis stayed. Most of the pretension left.
Six courts, one pool, a bar that has never lost an argument, and a clubhouse that smells faintly of gin and fresh paint.
A member is never more than a corner from a drink. Same bartenders, same gin, but each corner keeps its own creed.
In pickleball, the kitchen is the line you may not step into. Chef Cindy feels the same way about hers.
Founded in the clubhouse basement, 1982. One game at a time. Admitting it is the first step. The second is Thursdays at seven. Everyone welcome.
(The squirrel is the mascot. He has a problem too. Don't ask.)
A paddle and a martini, crossed, with a pickleball where the olive should be — and a blackletter S on the face, for Styff. The name makes the joke. The crest proves it. The spill is on purpose.
Fifty years on, the courts are cracked and the clubhouse is dark — but the storage container behind the lot was still padlocked. This spring, Bob and Betty finally cut the lock.
Everything was in there. The cardigans. The house coupes. Bob's first paddle. A tube of the original balls, gone soft and yellow. A few trophies nobody remembers winning.
They put a couple of pieces up for sale, just to see. Sold out before lunch.
Bob wants to sell the rest. Betty does not. "It's not inventory," she says. "It's our life." Bob notes that their life could use a new roof. They have not resolved this.
So everything below is recovered, not restocked — sold out only because the two of them can't agree to let it go. Check back. One of them usually wins.