He Was the Same, Up, Close and Personable

I was at the Olympic Club covering my first U.S. Open for my magazine this year when I got the guts to approach Jim Murray. I nervously introduced myself and became the 10 millionth person to tell him, “I’m a huge fan.” A friend I had sneaked into the press room sidled up to me, and I could see he was trying to hide the same look of shock I had on my face as Murray began chatting with us like we were old friends.

He talked about past U.S. Opens at Olympic and how the current setup of the course took the drivers out of the hands of many of the longer hitters.

“It’s like making Babe Ruth bunt,” he said.

As my friend and I walked away a few minutes later, we must have looked like two kids who just scored candy at Halloween.

“He talks,” I said giddily, “just like he writes.”

Neither of us will ever forget it.

ADAM BRADY

Salinas

*

While my friends traded baseball cards after school, I went home to read Jim Murray. It was his style, wit and use of the metaphor that, in part, inspired me to follow my dream of becoming the next Jim Murray.

One day while covering the Bob Hope Desert Classic in the early ‘80s, I saw my idol in the press tent having lunch with some friends. I remarked to one of them later how much I would love to meet Jim Murray.

While filing a story, I felt the shadow of a man hovering behind me. I turned around to see an extended hand. “Hi, I’m Jim Murray. I heard you wanted to meet me.” What transpired was my stumbling over the next five sentences to the point where he had to ask my name. I had forgotten to introduce myself.

RON YUKELSON

Santa Monica

*

Just over a year ago, as a 17-year-old intern with the Long Beach Press-Telegram, I was on assignment at the Infiniti Open tennis tournament. During the post-match player interviews, I struggled to get my questions in and pretty much flubbed them when I did. Flustered in a room with more seasoned tennis journalists, I cowered deeper into my cub-reporter shell when I recognized Jim Murray’s face behind a cluster of admirers.

The crowd slowly scattered, and when I looked up I saw Mr. Murray, suddenly alone, smiling at me.

“Not a bad job for a young man, is it?” he asked. I may have mouthed, “No.” He extended his hand and introduced himself, which was entirely unnecessary, and then floored me with a kind look and these priceless words: “Nice questions, kid.”

He then turned to the writer next to him and traded what could have been some barbs about American tennis. But I, still stunned by this legend’s attention and seeming approval, for the first time wasn’t listening to his jokes. There always was something more meaningful behind those inimitable words.

SHASHANK BENGALI

Cerritos

*

In 1993, I attended the Jim Thorpe Awards and noticed Jim Murray sitting a few seats away from me. I had just purchased two copies of his autobiography, one for myself and one for my mother, who loved his columns. I approached Mr. Murray, told him I had just bought the books and asked if I mailed them to the L.A. Times with a return envelope, would he autograph them? He said that if I mailed them to The Times they probably would get lost. He took out one of his business cards, wrote his home address on it and handed it to me. I mailed the books to his home and received them back two days later with a personal message to my mother and me.

A year later, I saw Mr. Murray at the same event, thanked him for being so thoughtful and asked him if all Pulitzer Prize-winning authors give their home address to strangers. He said, “I knew I could trust you and it looks like I was right.”

BILL CURTIS

Beverly Hills

*

About 27 years ago, I arranged an interview for Jim with my boss, C.V. Whitney, the millionaire racehorse owner. It took place on a small plane bound for Cody, Wyo., but we hit terrible winds over the Rockies. The calmest voice among about 40 of us was Jim’s.

“Nothing will happen,” he said. “Tomorrow at Hollywood Park Sonny’s filly runs in the big race and he’s arranged for us to be there.”

ARTHUR L. WILDE

Beverly Hills

*

I had the privilege of interviewing Jim Murray after his autobiography was published in 1993 for a now-defunct weekly newspaper in Los Angeles. Spending 90 minutes with him--hearing his great tales, taking in his incredible wit--was an extraordinary experience beyond my wildest expectations.

After reading my highly flattering article, he sent me a note that said, “Thanks for the well-written piece on our hero here. I just wish I were that good!”

You were, Mr. Murray, you were.

JAMES SOGG

Los Angeles