Little Pro, Big Shadow

On the wall of the checker-carpeted cubbyhole that houses Bel-Air’s rarest treasure, there hangs a cartoon.

It is of a golfer wearing glasses, a cap, a tie, a glove and spikes while holding a driver.

The golfer has everything but a body. The clothing and equipment seemingly float in mid-air. The golfer is a ghost.

The cartoon was drawn for Eddie Merrins, the giant Little Pro, and anybody who has felt his gentle touch understands why.

For 40 years at the Bel-Air Country Club, Merrins has been the quiet, dignified teacher of golfers not only rich and famous, but those who long to be.

Giving lessons to everyone from Fred Astaire and Arnold Palmer to Annie In The Beverage Cart, Merrins has established himself as a 5-foot-7 city landmark and one of the most beloved club pros in the country.

The cartoon, penned by a friend, was meant to serve as a logo.

But next month, to the amazement of many, it will become a portrait.

Eddie Merrins, on his 70th birthday Aug. 4, will disappear from the office as Bel-Air’s golf pro, being moved to who-knows-where, being given an “Emeritus” title that means who-knows-what.

“Emeritus,” says Merrins, chuckling, his soft Mississippi accent rising. “I’ll gladly do whatever the club wants me to do, so I’ll have to get out my Thorndike for that one.”

After 40 years, Merrins is being put out to teaching pasture to make room for a younger pro, a move that has stirred deep pockets of outrage among a 540-person membership that pays dearly for tradition.

He will continue to give lessons but will be forced to move out of his office and give up the daily control that has allowed him to help shape Bel-Air into one of the nation’s most respected clubs.

“It is a terrible situation,” said Ed Steidle, longtime member. “In my opinion, they have treated him very badly.”

In the genteel confines of a club renowned for its politeness almost as much as its discretion, there have been mumblings at cloth-napkined lunches, discussions on manicured fairways, creating a buzz that has spilled on to the surrounding starry streets.

After one Hollywood event, an actor member walked up to another member and announced, “They can’t do this. Eddie is Bel-Air!”

Against Merrin’s wishes, and without his knowledge, members are circulating a petition to have him reinstated.

“This thing has taken on a life of its own,” said Richard Crane, another longtime member who also serves as Merrins’ attorney.

It’s about a life that was once thought to be immune to age, a golfing world that is sadly changing as fast as Augusta boss Hootie Johnson was able to ship those you’re-too-old-for-the-Masters letters this spring to three elderly former champions.

But it’s also about the life of a club whose changing membership is trying to brace for the future while still respecting the past.

“The Little Pro represents all that is great about this game, that’s why we want him around forever,” said Anthony Chidoni, president of Bel-Air. “But there were some who thought the timing was right to put him on emeritus now so he can work with the new pro.”

Mostly, though, this is about the life of a gentleman golfer so braced in decorum, he still gives lessons in a coat and tie, he has still never cursed in public, and he still attends daily morning Mass.

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this,” Merrins said last week, looking around at a lifetime of photos and awards that will soon be dumped into boxes. “The club is a special place, and I would never do anything to tarnish that.”

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The first thing you need to know about Eddie Merrins is that he once gave a golf lesson at a wedding.

Standing at the altar, with the bride having just entered the church, Merrins was nudged by a fellow groomsman.

“He said he was having the dreaded balance problem,” Merrins recalled. “What was I supposed to do?”

Of course. Anyone in that situation would have, as Merrins did, stick out his hands and bounce on his feet and explain balance just as the bride was wobbling up the aisle.

Merrins has given a golf lesson in an airport with an umbrella, and a golf lesson in an airplane above the ocean.

“Right outside the bathroom,” his wife, Lisa, recalled with a sigh.

He has given golf lessons during El Nino (he was wet for two months), during an earthquake (“We played through”) and even at night.

“You don’t have to see to play golf,” he said. “You play golf by feel.”

As if proving that theory, he has given lessons to blind entertainer Tom Sullivan, and to foreign prodigies who don’t understand one word he is speaking.

Merrins once gave a lesson to Alvin Dark in foul territory before a baseball game, and this year gave lessons to marshals standing inside the ropes at the U.S. Open.

This spring Merrins was even in Augusta, Ga., giving a lesson to Arnold Palmer on the practice tee moments before Palmer began his final Masters.

Yep, Palmer went directly from the Little Pro to last place, shooting a first-round 89 before announcing his retirement from the tournament.

“If he wants to blame that 89 on me, I’ll take full credit,” Merrins said.

Merrins once gave a lesson to a 5-year-old, shortly after giving a lesson to a 90-year-old.

This kid from Meridian, Miss., who began playing with borrowed clubs and was given his diminutive nickname by fellow touring pros in the late 1950s, has never forgotten that golf is a sport for everyone.

“The man is like a father figure to me,” said Andy Schaefer.

Pro? Captain of industry? Rich Hollywood guy?

Bel-Air caddymaster.

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The second thing you need to know about Eddie Merrins is that he understands slices and hooks and shanks.

Because he understands failure.

In 1950, at 18, he beat Gay Brewer to win the national junior championship and figured he was headed for a long career.

Yet in the NCAA finals for Louisiana State two years later, he was leading with four holes to play and lost.

And in the Beaumont Open in Texas nine years later, his first attempt at becoming a tour regular after several teaching stints, he was leading with nine holes remaining and finished fourth.

In 200 ensuing PGA tour events, Eddie Merrins never finished higher than that fourth place.

Yet his teaching has produced many championships because he has apparently understood why.

Simplicity. Basics. Touch.

The likes of Greg Norman and Fred Couples have spoken as if Merrins doesn’t share wisdom about golf as much as he shares himself.

“In the end, it’s all about your ability to give,” Merrins said. “Being a pro golfer, you only care about yourself. It seemed like a selfish existence to me. I wanted to do more.”

When there was an opening at Bel-Air in 1962, and officials heard about this calm southerner with a resume that included a stint at Philadelphia’s prestigious Merion Golf Club, Merrins was hired.

Despite his posh surroundings, the simple approach never changed. It is no coincidence that two of his most famous students were once public-course hackers who set the mark for mental toughness.

The only guy to have stared down Tiger Woods in a major championship?

A Merrins student by the name of Bob May, a kid who used to drive up from Orange County every Sunday for lessons.

May would calmly toss a ball in his hand while waiting to tee off during his playoff loss to Woods in the 2000 PGA Championships. Indeed, Merrins taught him that as a sort of hypnosis.

Sitting in his little office that August Sunday, watching May compete in the finals, Merrins wept.

And the only caddie from East Los Angeles to ever compete in the Masters?

Another Merrins student by the name of Greg Puga, a Bel-Air caddie whom Merrins nurtured while he was becoming good enough to win the amateur tournament that guaranteed him a berth.

Sort of like the caddie whom Merrins supported while he lived in his car. Or the penniless caddie named Lloyd whom Merrins used as his personal bag-carrier.

“Eddie is very protective of the caddies,” said caddiemaster Schaefer. “He makes it like a family around here.”

A diverse family, for sure.

He has taught basketball stars (Jerry West), baseball stars (Tommy John) and football stars (Jerry Rice).

He has taught numerous Hollywood stars, of course, everyone from James Woods to Robert Goulet to Craig T. Nelson.

And, yes, he has taught a Ringo Starr.

“Eddie!” said Starr during their memorable lesson, grabbing his tie in the middle of a 90-degree afternoon. “You’ve got to lighten up a little bit.”

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The third and final thing you need to know about Eddie Merrins is that he hates this fuss.

He was informed of his demotion a year ago. He said nothing.

The members received a letter about the demotion this May. They were upset. He still said little.

Reportedly, the board of directors voted, 5-4, to change his job status for reasons that involve both age and compatibility.

“I want Eddie to stay forever,” said Jim Mahoney, a member who joined the club the same year Merrins arrived. “But this is a normal and natural thing that will happen. Sooner or later, we’re all going to have to back off a bit.”

By all accounts, however, Merrins is healthy and active and has slowed little. A cynic might say that the only thing foggy is the perspective of those younger members who want him to reduce his load.

They weren’t there, perhaps, when Merrins brought Jack Nicklaus to the club and introduced him to a teenaged Tiger Woods.

They didn’t see how he became so close to such a wide variety of patrons, he was a pallbearer at the funerals for Ray Bolger and Jim Murray.

They didn’t see him win a national golf championship as UCLA’s coach in 1988.

And they had no idea that, for daily exercise, he used to walk around the UCLA track with John Wooden, two teachers talking about teaching.

Universally, it seems, everyone at Bel-Air loves Eddie Merrins.

But not everyone there seems to believe that, in the eternal sport of golf, his message of yesterday can still work today.

Because nearly everyone in the business knows the Little Pro, his phone calls can still land the members a tee time at nearly any course in the world.

His new video series, “Swing The Handle,” is selling worldwide from www.swingthehandle.com.

Spend a day with him, and count the number of phone calls he receives from all over the country, desperate golfers looking for help.

Forty years later, 70 years old, the coat is still on, the tie is still tight.

“For those of us for whom golf is a meaningful part of our life, Eddie has added to every single fact of that life,” said John Marin, another longtime member. “You can be anywhere in the world and they’ll ask, ‘Do you know the Little Pro?’ His impact on Bel Air is immeasurable.”

That said ...

“This is as good of a circumstance as could possibly be for everyone,” Marin said. “Everybody wins.”

Although it’s Merrins who is losing his old office, his old job, his old salary.

“Yes, I’ve had a lot of anxious moments about this,” Eddie Merrins allowed recently, lowering his voice as if not to insult even the club furniture. “It’s like walking across a darkened room. I’m not really sure what I’ll stumble over.”

Whatever it is, the Little Pro will no doubt apologize, then softly play through.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.