Dermot Gilleece recounts the stories of notable golfers who overcame formidable challenges
Looking towards a new golfing year, I’m struck by the extent to which the game continues to inspire its participants to shake off the cobwebs of winter, very often against the odds. Even in advancing years, plans are made to overcome ongoing disability, while one’s amenable medic can help the process through the latest in anti-inflammatory drugs.
Golfers stubbornly refuse to bow to age or infirmity. And I wonder sometimes as to the extent to which the current generation are influenced by the achievements of their predecessors. I imagine most serious players are familiar with the dogged determination of Ben Hogan and how he overcame horrific injuries sustained in a near-fatal car-accident around this time of year back in 1949.
Even more inspirational for aspirants throughout these islands was the manner in which Douglas Bader experienced a golfing career despite losing both his legs when shot down as an RAF fighter-pilot during World War II. He certainly made an impact on a youthful Norman Drew who watched Bader negotiate Balmoral in the company of Fred Daly.
Douglas Bader experienced a golfing career despite losing both his legs when shot down as an RAF fighter-pilot during World War II
‘He impressed me as a great character,’ Drew told me. ‘I saw him slip on the way down to cross the wee burn at Balmoral’s 10th hole. And when Fred rushed over to help him up, Bader snapped: ‘I can get up my bloody self.’ That heightened my interest in him.’
I happened to cross paths with another inspirational figure on the practice ground at Muirfield during the week of the 2013 Open Championship. Seeing Ken Duke in the flesh for the first time, it struck me that with his receding hairline, greying locks and middle-age paunch, he wouldn’t have been out of place in a Pierce Purcell Shield line-up. But this was the remarkable American journeyman who gladdened many hearts by winning the Travelers Championship earlier that year in his 187th PGA Tour start at the age of 44 years, four months and 25 days. Now 55, he competes on the Champions Tour backed by career earnings of $10 million.
The really fascinating bit, however, is that this has been achieved with two, 16-inch titanium rods bolted to either side of his lower spine. And they’ve been there since he was 15. Known as a Cotrel-Dubousset (C-D) Instrumentation, its function was to correct the effects of scoliosis which caused a 72-degree curvature of his spine.
His superb, 158-yard sand-wedge approach to two-feet to set-up a winning birdie in the play-off in Cromwell Connecticut, had me wondering how a player could overcome such a serious back condition in golf, of all sports.
‘Everyone’s golf swing is different, and my rotational movement is limited in that I only take the club back to a certain point,’ he explained. ‘And I’ve got a physiotherapist for the last two and a half years and she works on my flexibility and rotation.’
Ken Dukes has achieved wide success with two, 16-inch titanium rods bolted to either side of his lower spine. And they’ve been there since he was 15
In the company of leading coach, Pete Cowen, I watched Duke hitting practice shots at Muirfield. ‘That’s a powerful-looking swing,’ said the celebrated Yorkshireman. ‘You’ve got to remember that rotation is not about turning the bones. Do that and you’ll hurt your back. It involves the muscles of your whole body and Ken has obviously found a very effective way of compensating.’
Interestingly, the player saw no connection between his inspirational tenacity and overcoming a potentially debilitating condition. ‘All I can remember is being told by my parents at 14 or 15 that I had to have it done, because that’s what the doctor recommended,’ he said. ‘That’s life. Instead of having bone-chips from my hip inserted between the vertebrae, they used tissue from my lower back.’
I wondered if he had considered having the titanium rods removed, given that they had done their job of medical scaffolding, very effectively. ‘I concentrate on simply doing what my body can do and I’ve never considered having the bars removed,’ he said. ‘No reason. And I do nothing out of the ordinary by way of compensating. I just play the way I’ve learned to play and let the results take care of themselves.’ He had also benefited significantly from sessions with veteran coach, Bob Toski, seven years previously.
Meanwhile, the man who was born in Hope, Arkansas, acknowledged his debt to medicine. ‘I try to make (orthopaedic) hospital visits every chance I get,’ he said. ‘Just to see affected kids, mainly aged from 13 to 16. And I talk to doctors and thank them for all they’re done for scoliosis.’ Which is absolutely admirable, of course, yet the thought persisted that he would make a helluva Pierce Purcell player.
When I talked to Paul McCormack about the professional’s attitude to golf, his vie’s were remarkably forthright. ‘They insist on trusting their swing,’ he said. ‘But if you’re standing over the ball with a blindfold on, all of a sudden the most important sense you have, an asset you take completely for granted, is gone. Trust becomes a far more serious issue when you’re blind.’
McCormack knows about these things. As a blind golfer, he outscored fully sighted opponents in September 2019 to capture the President’s Prize at Portmarnock Links, with the splendid score of 41 points. Playing off 23, he carded six gross pars and a gross birdie on the 10th, for a winning margin of four strokes.
Since then, he has had further successes, most notably in June of last year in the British Blind Open at Massereene GC in Antrim. There, rounds of 82 and 80 over two days captured the title for a third time, adding to his successes in 2016 and 2021. Even more impressive was a cut in handicap to 17, since his triumph at Portmarnock Links.
We met at McCormack’s home in Sutton in north Dublin, where he and his wife Nicola settled with their five children. It was a strange experience for me, in that McCormack looked perfectly normal; there wasn’t even the addition of eye-shades, let alone a white stick or seeing-eye dog. And he appeared admirably fit for his age.
As a blind golfer, Paul McCormack outscored fully sighted opponents in September 2019 to capture the President’s Prize at Portmarnock Links, with the splendid score of 41 points. Playing off 23, he carded six gross pars and a gross birdie on the 10th, for a winning margin of four strokes
He went on to explain the three categories of blindness in golf, starting with B1 which involves those totally blind. ‘B2 is me, pretty badly visually impaired,’ he said. ‘Those in B3 would have much better vision but are still visually impaired.’
How he lost his sight – most notably his central vision, though some peripheral vision remains – is still a painful issue for him. For legal reasons, he declined to deal with it in specific detail, other than recounting his role as an inspector with the New York Police Department in the aftermath of 9/11.
McCormack was born in Philadelphia in 1968 and was a child when his Donegal parents decided to return home, where the family settled in Ballybofey. After his Leaving Certificate in 1986, he headed for New York where he joined the NYPD in 1990. ‘It became a very fulfilling career,’ he said. ‘Having attained the rank of captain, I was promoted to inspector, which meant commanding two precincts.’
Paul McCormack outside Ground Zero
At the time of 9/11, he was commander of the 41st Precinct, immortalised in the Paul Newman movie, Fort Apache. ‘That was when I became involved in the largest mobilisation in the history of the NYPD,’ he continued. ‘I had 250 to 300 cops working for me, including sergeants and lieutenants and I sent a sergeant and a van-load of cops to assist in getting the crowds out of the buildings.’
When it was his own time to head for the disaster area, he was confronted by a breathtaking mountain of rubble. ‘All these years later, there are a lot of people who are dying right now,’ he said. ‘People I worked with in the police and fire departments. People are dying of cancer, respiratory diseases.’ His own experience was diminishing sight, between six months and a year after 9/11. His central vision deteriorated to the extent that he could no longer see a golf-ball.
Meanwhile, his work was being affected to the extent of being forced to accept a stark reality. ‘If you can’t shoot and you can’t drive, you can’t be a cop,’ he accepted bluntly. Which meant retiring from the force in 2010 after being ‘injured in the line of duty.’
On settling in Sutton, he returned remarkably to golf and discovered the caring side of a notoriously demanding game.
