Pat Bell, a member of the group, was having trouble with his game. As the holes went by, he developed the countenance of a basset hound.
"O.K., Patrick," Spencer-Devlin said as Bell addressed a shot on the fairway. "Now imagine you're the bank president and you don't have a care in the world. Just relax and think of being the head honcho."
Bell nodded, swung and watched in fascination as his ball soared straight and true.
Spencer-Devlin nodded her head. "See how easy it is?"
She has not forgotten where she came from. At tournaments, she is warm and friendly, no matter what her score, and when kids ask her for golf balls, she passes them out like jelly beans. A few years ago at the LPGA Championship, she noticed two little girls, Amy and Megan Staurovsky, wearing junior golf program T shirts. She walked with them and had them demonstrate their golf swings. Later she gave them autographs and balls. The next year, their father, Ron, sent her a letter. Spencer-Devlin wrote back. A friendship developed. "Every year we go out and watch Muffin," says Ron Staurovsky. "She's special to us, not because she's a great golfer but because she's the same with everyone. In this age, all you read about athletes are drugs, holdouts and strikes. It's nice to meet someone who acts so human."
As a little girl, Muffin went on a trip to New York City with her mother. Muffin loved it. They stayed at The Plaza, and that night, while her mother went to dinner, Muffin ran around the hotel room, chasing her babysitter with a child's rubber bow and arrow. Recently, Spencer-Devlin was in the 30th Street station in Philadelphia, wearing a white dress and looking very sophisticated, on her way to meet with executives of the United Jersey Bank, who wanted her to do some promotional work. The station has slick marble floors. She took off running, then skidded about 15 feet before stopping with a flourish. She may have come a long way, but she'll always be just a little Muffin.