Remembering Eddie Merrins, the legendary Little Pro from Merion

Word that Eddie Merrins had died on Thanksgiving Eve hit me like a cold bucket of water as I gathered in the kitchen with family and monitored the making of the next day’s feast.

Merrins, who died at 91 in Los Angeles, was one of golf’s most respected professionals, a championship-winning coach at UCLA, a beloved figure and an institution at Bel-Air Country Club. In recent years, as pro emeritus, he could still be found there impeccably dressed in a coat and tie and white-knit tam o’shanter, ready to impart his wisdom to another golfer desperate for help.

I had the privilege of writing a story for the 2013 U.S. Open print preview issue on the 5-foot-7 Merrins, affectionately known as The Little Pro, and it was the start of a beautiful friendship. Without fail, he’d seek me out at every Masters, U.S. Open and PGA Championship he attended – add me to the list who received an impromptu lesson from Merrins, who advised me to start my swing in New York, flow through Chicago on the way to Los Angeles. I’d be called to the front desk of the media center at the Masters or come back to my desk and find a note that I could come to find him setting up shop on the range. One year, I dressed to the nines in a tuxedo for the Ben Hogan Award as his guest at the ceremony held annually on the Monday of the PGA Tour stop at Colonial. He’d often welcome me to Bel-Air for a get-together when I was in town for Riviera, including one time when he walked all 18 as I played.

We last spoke on June 9 and I could tell his health had deteriorated and his son, Michael, who was often by his side during his travels, complained that he wasn’t getting the care he needed. We made plans to meet up at the U.S. Open but it never came to be. Little Pro kept his word and made it to the course for the final round but I was out on the sixth tee watching Rory McIlroy play. Ten minutes later, I texted him and his son that I’d be back at the media center shortly but we never connected. Regrets, I have a few.

After getting home from the holidays, I dug up my copy from that Merion story and I’m borrowing liberally from it here because it tells the story about how for more than five decades, Merrins gave lessons to everyone from Bing Crosby to Arnold Palmer to Celine Dion and Rickie Fowler to a fellow groomsman at a wedding as the bride walked down the aisle.

“He said he was having a problem with his balance,” Merrins recalled. “What was I supposed to do?”

The man was…