412 Meeting Street, Suite 8
A hanging gauge, not a hitting bay
The rail is a brass bar bolted through an oyster-shell wall, with a hosel hook that lets a putter dangle until the toe stops arguing. There is no driver mat. There is a humidity cabinet, a degree card that we recut on Mondays, and a strip of carpet we rake to imitate peninsula grain.
Hardware
How a head hangs in Suite 8
We clamp nothing. The putter hangs from the hosel or from a soft collar behind the face, depending on whether we are reading toe drop or face rest. The brass bar is levelled every morning against a water vial because a half-degree tilt in the rail is a lie in the photograph.
Behind the bar sits a painted arc from 50° of hang down through zero to a slight heel-down rest. We shoot the silhouette against that card, then write the number in graphite — never marker, which smears in June humidity.
Finding Suite 8
The alley door, not the storefront
Meeting Street looks like a row of shutters. Our latch is the iron one in the alley, marked with a small brass toe. If you walk into the coffee counter you have gone past us. Parking is street-side; do not block the carriage stones.
Bring the putter in a cover. Charleston grit in a hosel bore will fake a hang. We wipe the neck before it ever sees the hook.