By Alan M. Watson, President – GOLF+ PCB
Recently, I had the pleasure of meeting a widow. That’s not the setup to a joke. Seriously. I met a wonderful woman named Marilyn, and I got to spend time with her and her family. They told me about Archie. Archie was a diesel mechanic by trade, a one-time golf shop owner, a regular at the local Home Depot, and a golf instructor to many, including at least one current PGA Tour player. I wish I had known Archie. In some ways I feel like I do.
As Marilyn and I spoke, she told me stories. Stories of love, of death, and of business. Archie had seen it all. His first wife passed far too young, leaving him to raise two daughters. When Marilyn married Archie, there was a picture of Archie’s first wife on the wall. When they moved into their next house, Marilyn put that picture right back up on the wall. I wept as she told me this moving and beautiful tribute to a woman she never met but who had loved her husband and would have wanted to be there for her girls.
Archie was a collector. Whether he meant to be or not, I don’t know. But he had many, many things, and as I went through his tools, his workshop, his golf teaching studio, and his storage shed full of clubs, bags, and homemade training aids, I could see that if he liked something, he did it more than once. Marilyn told me that if something he owned, like a drill, were to break, he would buy two more just the same.
Archie was a kind man. And fair. He never raised his lesson rate for 30 years. $50 per hour. Apparently inflation wasn’t his concern. And if a young person couldn’t pay at the time of their lesson, he would tell them to pay later. Some did. Some didn’t. He didn’t mind. Some of his students, grown men with stressful jobs, would often spend fifteen minutes swinging clubs during their lesson and the remainder of the hour just talking, unburdening themselves from the day and their lives. Archie was a great listener.
Archie loved technology. As I went through his things in order to keep his family from having to sort and sell them all, which would have been painful enough on top of not knowing what most of it was, I found not one or two cameras, but fifteen cameras. They’d been used for recording swings and making videos for students to review and learn from. Miles of cables ran through what can best be described as a NORAD-style launch bay with six large televisions, multiple laptops, iPads, and desktop computers. Lighting-he loved lights. And there were at least twenty different light sources that he used to illuminate the workspace where he taught. I have Archie’s main laptop now, and there are so many apps and programs on it. So many files. Years of data were compiled on this machine: His life in golf helped others get better and enjoy the game. He loved using the technology to help them.
Archie and I were connected even though we didn’t know it. His golf shop in Birmingham, AL, in the early 1980s was the inspiration for my father to get into the golf business and ultimately, me. And as luck would have it, I even worked in that same store years later in Birmingham for the owner who bought it from Archie.
As I sat in his home with his wife and one of his daughters and her husband, I was reminded of the fact that life ultimately is about loss and that none of us can escape that. And yet, as we laughed and talked and cried (just me), I felt connected to a man I had never met. We are on the same mission – to help golfers get better and have more fun! I gave golf lessons the day after I met Archie’s family, and I promise you I’m a better instructor now after having been in his home, met his family, and pored over his things. Perhaps I’m crazy, but I know I feel him and I understand him when I think about the golf swing now. I wonder what he would say to my students. I wonder how he would help me with my swing. I wonder about all the many, many kids and adults that he helped with their golf game.
What makes a man go from diesel mechanic to golf shop owner to teacher over a lifetime? The love of the game. And the love of people.
Farewell to Archie Burroughs, even though I never knew you. Thank you for what you gave to the game of golf, to your family, and now to me in so many small ways. You are missed! I promise you that. I know because I have sat at your table and dined with your loved ones and was privileged enough to explore your sacred golf space. I hope one day someone speaks of me even a little bit like you are spoken of. Rest well, Archie. The game of golf will miss you.
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