I first met Mal Strange in the fall of 1960, nearly 65 years ago. He was the 26-year-old golf pro at the Brunswick Golf Club. I was a 17-year-old Bowdoin College freshman.

The Brunswick Golf Club was slightly different back then. The course consisted of only nine holes. The “menu” featured one option: steamed hot dogs. In fairness, they were damn good.

Mal has become a legend in Maine golfing circles since he became the pro at Brunswick in 1959. He served as head pro for 37 years, an amazing feat, considering that few head pros last longer than six or seven years at a course. Moreover, he served as the golf coach at Brunswick High School for 20 years, right into his late 70s. And he has given thousands of golf lessons. He knows the game, and he knows how to teach it. Not surprisingly, he was inducted into the Maine Golf Hall of Fame in 1976.

I started playing golf at age 11 in Parkersburg, West Virginia. Our family lived right beside the second fairway of a nine-hole golf course. Let’s just say Worthington Golf Course wasn’t Pebble Beach or Augusta National or Saint Andrews. When I first started playing at Worthington, two of the greens were sand greens. There were no sand traps. Crabgrass infested the fairways. A smelly, cloudy creek ran throughout the course. My younger brother Tony and I would play for hours and hours, often accompanied by our two beagles (Salt and Pepper). They eventually got banned from the course because of their tendency to snatch golf balls from other golfers and deposit them in the smelly creek.

Despite that inauspicious start, Tony and I became pretty good golfers. Tony got down to a plus-two handicap; he even took a shot at making the Senior Tour when he turned 50. I got down to a three handicap, and even made it into the semifinals of the Maine State Amateur one year. If you saw me play today, you’d say I was lying.

I’ve played very little golf over the last 20 years and none over the last five years. There’s the time factor. Tony and I used to whip around 18 holes in three hours or less. Golfers today often take five hours to play, even when using golf carts. Also, it’s frustrating to struggle around a course playing poorly a game that I used to love. Finally, Tina doesn’t play.

A few months ago, a guy at Thornton Oaks asked me to play on the Thornton Oaks golf foursome at a fundraising event in September. He’d heard I used to be good, and they needed a fourth player. I agreed, although I faced some hurdles. I’d given away my clubs. My body had become very stiff, which is not helpful in playing a sport that demands flexibility. And I didn’t want to be a drag on the team.

So, I’ve begun to prepare. Bought new, lighter clubs that are better for senior golfers and a new bag. Started doing stretching exercises. Found some good tips on YouTube. Spent some time on the range. And then Lady Luck came and sat on my lap. I was sitting near a woman at a Mains State Music Theatre production who told me she was married to Mal Strange. She told me he still gives lessons. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “there might still be hope for this old hacker.”

I contacted Mal, and he agreed to give me a lesson. He said he wouldn’t charge me, because he so appreciated the article I’d written about him several years ago.

We met at Brunswick Golf Club at the appointed time. He told me to just bring a driver and a seven iron. He took me to a section of the course where one could hit off the grass, not a mat. He told me to get the seven iron and take a stance. Within 30 seconds, he gave me two key tips: You need to close your grip and you need to widen your stance. “It will feel funny, at first,” he said, “but you’ll get use to it.” He was right. Immediate results.

As we were heading back to the parking lot, Mal said, “I’m glad you’re getting back into the game. You were too good a golfer not to be playing now.” I appreciated his vote of confidence. And, of course, his great tips.

Thanks, Mal, for the lesson. You still know the game and you’ve helped spark my interest in getting back out there. And that, my friend, was a huge gift.

David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.