Alice Dye (born 1927) is an American amateur golfer and golf course designer known as the "First Lady" of golf architecture in the United States.
She was born as Alice Holliday O'Neal in Indianapolis, Indiana and began playing golf at a young age, winning eleven Indianapolis Women's City titles. She graduated from Shortridge High School, and in 1946 won the first of her nine Indiana Women's Golf Association Amateur Championships. While a student at Rollins College in Winter Park, Florida, she was captain of the golf team. At college she met Paul "Pete" Dye, Jr. following his discharge from World War II military service. She graduated in 1948 with a B.S. degree.
In early 1950, she and Pete Dye were married. Their marriage produced two sons, Perry and P.B. (Paul Burke), as well as one of the top design teams of American golf courses, famous for their design of the TPC at Sawgrass (it was Alice who came up with the idea of the Island Green, the signature 17th hole at Sawgrass' Stadium Course). She became the first woman president of the American Society of Golf Course Architects, and the first to serve as an independent director of Professional Golfers' Association of America (PGA).
Slowly moving onwards -
Perceive the light of day
Hazy in the distance -
No need for delay
A piercing ray of sunlight -
The moring will prevail
Horizons getting clearer -
The darkness lifts her veil
A myraid of colours -
A rainbow drop of dew
Scatters iron bridges -
Of thoughts I always knew
A turbulent upheaval -
The water froths and churns
As if the cool surroundings -
Is laughing as it burns
A river flowing to the sea
No way of knowing its destiny
Skipping over stones and telling stories
Of a life carried along
The water making up a song
Settling for the motions -
Of pathways preordained
All must travel onwards -
The riverbed maintained
Delight in our confinement -
Make haste and join the fray
The stone of life is rolling -
No time to halt and play
A river flowing to the sea
No way of knowing its destiny
Skipping over stones and telling stories
Of a life carried along
The water making up a song
A space opens before me -
A journey's at an end
Pain or true salvation -
What's waiting round the bend?
Mingling with the silence -
I hear a distant roar
The end I had imagined -
Is just another door
A river flowing to the sea
No way of knowing its destiny
Skipping over stones and telling stories
Of an end that never is