Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photos By Eric Larson September 2005

Age 64 • Executive director, National Amputee Golf Association • Amherst, New Hampshire

I asked the shoe attendant at the club if my loafers were shined and ready.

"Which ones are yours?" he asked.

"The ones that don't stink," I said.

Playing with me has its upsides and downsides. If your ball plunges into shallow water, I'll get it for you. If your ball stops near a rattlesnake, or if the cigar you tossed on the ground starts a small brush fire that needs stomping out, I'm your man. But if we're playing a scramble and we've got a sidehill or downhill lie, don't count on me to come through.

I was in line at a supermarket one day, and behind me is a mother and 5-year-old child. I was wearing shorts, and the child, of course, had his eyes riveted on my prosthetics. Now, instead of covering the kid's eyes and hissing that he shouldn't stare, she let him look for a full minute. Then she leaned down and said in a stage whisper, "Isn't that cool?" The child looked a bit longer, then nodded. "That's real cool. Can I have some?" That just made my day. And it helped shape that kid's view of amputees for the rest of his life.

Here's how it happened. In 1974 I was a lieutenant commander in the Navy, in charge of the flight deck on the USS Kitty Hawk. We were running routine takeoff and landing exercises in the South China Sea. Anything that moved on the deck was my responsibility. I was a nut for safety and a hard-ass about it—I once grabbed a guy and ordered him to put on a vest and helmet, not knowing it was Red Dog Davis, the admiral of the fleet. But that's another story.

One day we were particularly active. F-4 jets were coming in every two to three minutes. After a plane lands, it's vital that you get them out of the way quickly to make room for the other incoming planes. One pilot who'd just landed wasn't following the director's signals to pivot his aircraft and clear out. I quickly stepped forward and took over because I knew the pilot and knew he would recognize me in my bright yellow flight-deck officer's shirt. You're supposed to maintain eye contact with the pilot as you move him around. In doing that, I inadvertently took three steps backward and stepped over the "foul deck line," the painted line that marks the area occupied by the large cables that grab the tailhooks on the aircraft and bring them to a stop. When a jet hits the deck, it's traveling 170 miles per hour—and so is the cable when it catches the jet. Within two seconds of stepping over the foul deck line, in came a jet, and off went my legs. Clean, just below the knees.

I came to in a hospital in the Philippines five days later. Being delirious, I started ripping the tubes out of my body. A nurse rushed in and said, "What are you doing?" I told her, "I'm going swimming. It's too damned hot in here." Another shot of morphine, and bam, I was out again. Next thing I know, I'm in a Naval hospital in Philadelphia.

My first thought—every amputee's first thought—was, What do I do now? How do I provide for my family? I had a degree in economics from Fairleigh Dickinson, but I had no experience at it. Hell, I was a Navy guy. I was also old school. I had a wife, and my second child was born three weeks before the accident. My job is to provide. How do I support them? I ended up staying in the Navy. There was a lot of stress, a lot of worry and, of course, indescribable pain physically. But I knew I would make it, because my family was there for me. Other guys, they had divorce papers waiting for them when they got home. I'll tell you, golf was way down the list.

But it was on the list. I had taken up the game at 17 and was a 4-handicap player. I'd played all over Hawaii and the Philippines. My clubs were on the carrier the day I lost my legs. In the hospital one day, I pick up a copy of Golf World, and on the cover was a photograph of Bic Long, who had just won the National Amputee Golf Association championship at Pinehurst. Man, did that give me a spark. I won't horrify you with details of my recovery, but the bottom line is, I played my first round of golf that June.