Dreams Still in Sight for Ken Green

ORMOND BEACH, Fla. -- Ken Green, with the stump that used to be his lower right leg still tender and frail less than five months after the accident, eases himself out of a wheelchair and plops downward onto a mattress that lays flat on the floor. Although a stylish bedroom set fills the guest room, it has been pushed, for good reason, to the side to provide room for Green's ground-level living space.

"You have to pay attention when you get out of bed," Green says. "Because if you are not thinking and you step with the leg that's not there, it's not a good result."

Green allows himself a soft laugh. The RV crash in June took the lives of Green's older brother, Billy, long-time girlfriend, Jeannie Hodgin, and beloved German shepherd, Nip. It took his leg. It will not take his style.

A prosthetic leg sits nearby, the toenails -- if it had toenails -- painted bright green, a subtle reminder of the gaudy-hued golf shoes that were his trademark when winning five times on the PGA Tour. Munch, a 12-week-old German shepherd puppy, having just lost interest in trying to chew Green's cell phone, is curled up next to his new master.

The floor where Green, 51, has reclined is a guest room in the home that belongs to brother-in-law Slugger White and sister Shelley. After being released from the hospital following the accident, this is where Green has come to rehab body and mind.

"It's OK. I have to handle this," Green says. "The loss, as I perceive it, is my three best friends. They are gone. There is no other way around that. Then you throw in the leg on top of that."

How much more can this man take? Green's life odyssey already included an ugly divorce, a bad back, the loss of his golf game, financial troubles and clinical depression. Now, a front-tire blowout on the Monday afternoon of June 8 as Green's 40-foot Holiday Rambler whizzed east on Interstate 20 near Hickory, Miss., has raised the ante.

"I won't argue with you that I've had maybe more than the average share of curveballs," Green says. "You sit here and question it sometimes. Whoa, are you going to be strong enough? Are you going to be able to fight through this one?
"I want to play golf. I don't want to just get back on my feet. It will be an absolute failure if I don't get back. I will be disgusted by myself if I don't. And I mean competitively. I mean playing well, even better."
- Ken Green
"I feel like I am. I do have more faith in God than I did when I went through the depression and some of the other issues. So that helps. But the one thing that scares me is will this set off the depression again?"

Not, not this time, please. By Green's estimation, he has only one thing left that's truly worthy of a fight. Damned if he will lose it, too.

On one leg, he vows to return next year to compete on the Champions Tour.

"I want to play golf," he says. "I don't want to just get back on my feet. It will be an absolute failure if I don't get back. I will be disgusted by myself if I don't. And I mean competitively. I mean playing well, even better.

"Golf is my biggest love on the planet, besides basically those three people I have already lost. I was just starting to get it back. The demons were gone. It was a slow process. It took me almost a year since I turned 50. Things were turning around. They were going really well."


After turning 50 in July of 2008 and becoming eligible to play the Champions Tour, good things finally began to again happen to a hard-luck guy. Mainly, he was playing well.

In 11 events this season there had been $123,906 in earnings, more money than he had earned in about the last 10 years combined. He had finished seventh at the AT&T Championship in March, and, the day before the accident, shot 71-75-72 in Austin, Texas to tie for 37th and collect $8,486.

"I was beating the demons," he says.

Green once had been a marquee name on the PGA Tour, a man with a good game and a smart ass -- both good at drawing attention.

At the 1997 Masters, when paired with Arnold Palmer, he ordered a friend to hand off a beer as they played the 15th hole, so he could forever brag about having a drink with Arnie at Augusta.

He was fined.

When LPGA star Annika Sorenstam received an invitation to play Colonial, Green protested by vowing to "shave my legs and put on a bra," to see if he would get an invitation to play on the women's tour.

He was shushed.

"I still think I didn't even come close to saying everything I wanted to say," Green insists. "I thought I was actually very well mannered. People remember me for saying things that maybe you were not supposed to say, but all I did was try to be truthful."

Unfortunately, Green's life would move from colorful to dark. Between 1998 and 2008 he faced two issues that, even separate, would torture a soul. Together they tormented him to the core.

Along with suddenly being unable to hit even a semi-quality golf shot, he was diagnosed with full-blown, five-alarm depression. He spoke of hearing voices and admits thoughts of suicide.

That's why even the modest success Green was just starting to find on the Champions Tour was so promising.

"When I first started playing professionally again, as a number, let's say I had a hundred demons that were influencing all the shots," he says. "By the end of last year, I had gotten it down to maybe 80 -- nothing great.

"Just evil thoughts you have before you hit a shot. The fear, the anxiety.

"Then, starting out this year, it just kept getting better and better. And I know this is going to sound like it's a fish story, but I literally had told Jeannie and Billy, out there after we left Austin, that it was down to zero. They were all gone."

The RV, basically Green's home when parked on a friend's empty lot in West Palm Beach, pulled out of Austin, Texas, shortly after Sunday's tournament finish and rolled into Louisiana for the night. The ultimate destination was a week-long break in North Carolina, where Hodgin had family, before driving on to New York for another tournament.

It was quite a crew. Billy, 57, had caddied for his younger brother four years on the PGA Tour and had come back this year to lend his support. Jeannie, "far more than a girlfriend," by Green's account, had been with him for 10 years, through ups and much of the downs.

"I used to beat Billy up unmercifully," Green says. "That's just my style. I beat my friends up. That's my humor. So that part now sucks.

"And Jeannie was Jeannie. She was great."

Then there was Nip, the dog Green loved so much he fought an alligator to save.

Chasing a ball, Nip jumped into a South Florida canal six years ago and was suddenly chomped and pulled under by a gator judged to be seven feet long. Green dove in and swam into the fight, finally freeing the dog and then rushing it to the veterinarian.

"Everybody thinks they have the best relationship with their dogs and all that," Green says. "But this dog and I were kind of psychotic in some respects. She was everything.

"This is going to sound absolutely awful, but there are times I miss her more than I do Jeannie and Billy. Billy and Jeannie I know can understand. Nip, I don't know if she understands why I'm here and she's not. I know only dog people can understand what I'm talking about. People who are not dog people are going to look at me like an idiot."


Green says he does not remember anything about the crash that took place near Mississippi mile marker 118 of Interstate 20, about 40 miles west of the Alabama state line.

According to the police report, the right-front tire blew as the camper was traveling approximately 70 mph. A witness reported seeing the vehicle swerve, then go off the road and down a steep embankment before colliding with a large oak tree.

The front of the vehicle was totally destroyed. Billy, Jeannie and Nip were most likely killed instantly. Green, who was thrown through the windshield, believes he survived because he had been laying down in the back while Billy drove.

All he remembers is waking up in a Jackson, Miss., hospital and seeing his sister standing bedside.
"I don't even have a memory of the two hours or so we drove before the accident," he says. "I only remember waking up and seeing Shelley -- 'What are you doing here?' ''

Multiple surgeries were performed as doctors tried the save the mangled leg. But even if they could, Green was told several days later when more lucid, it would require many more surgeries and the limb would never work properly.

"I just remember saying, 'Will I be able to play golf?' '' Green says. "He told me, 'Certainly never again like a professional.' "

With a prosthesis, however, he would have a chance.

"Well then, cut it off."


For a guy remembered for ruffling so many feathers, it turns out a lot of people seem to think the world of Ken Green.

Last month a fundraiser in Green's native hometown of Danbury, Conn., drew golf celebrities like Mark Calcavecchia, Greg Kraft, Andy Bean, Fred Funk, Curtis Strange and David Feherty. About $120,000 was raised for the "Ken Green Living Expenses Trust Fund." A similar event has been scheduled Nov. 23 at West Palm Beach.

"I'm certainly concerned for him," Bean said, a regular practice-round partner with Green during their young days on the PGA Tour. "I truly can not imagine.

"The good part is he's channeling a lot of energy that's going to make him better and get him through these next couple of years."

Friends and strangers alike have been touched by Green's plight and have reached out.

One in particular made an impact.

"I played with a man in a Dallas pro-am probably 20 years ago," Green said. "I remember because he had a love of shepherds, also. He read about my accident and knew the lady he had gotten his dog from just had a litter. So he called and wanted to give me a shepherd. As it turns out, a descendant of Rin Tin Tin.

"I actually turned him down at first but a couple of days later I called him back. Something just told me to go."

The day after the Danbury fundraiser, Green flew to Dallas to accept the new puppy.

"Technically, I'm probably not ready for a dog," Green says. "If I didn't have my sister or somebody helping me, it probably wouldn't be the cleanest of houses. But something just told me this was right. And he's perfect. He's incredibly calm. He's incredibly smart.

"Dogs are the best to me. There's dogs and golf. It's not even close what comes third."

The addition, however, presented yet another challenge.

"I don't believe in putting a dog on a plane," Green said. "I just don't."

The answer was having a friend meet him in Dallas four weeks ago and drive back to Florida. On Interstate 20. Through Mississippi. Past mile marker 118.

"Yeah, drove right by it," he says. "I really intended to stop and see the spot. But there were like three things that happened that day that cost us about a hour, and by the time we got there it was too dark.

"Missed it probably by no more than 20 minutes -- seeing the tree and everything that would have still been down. It's probably better I didn't. But I'm sure one day I will. That's just my nature for whatever reason."
"What (people) are failing to understand is our level is nowhere near their level. There are a lot of wonderful, really good golfers who are amputees. But going out and having to shoot 5 under each day for 54 holes is a big difference than going out and playing with your friends."
- Ken Green
"Have you ever seen a movie where people say, 'I have to do this, or see that?' I've always wondered what the hell are they thinking? That makes no sense. You would never do that. Yet, here I was trying to do the same thing."


The timeline Green imagines will have him back to tournament golf by next summer.

Already he is playing, going out six weeks ago for the first time, and, albeit from the red tees, has broken par a couple of times.

Still, let's be realistic.

"Everyone who has had the amputation and goes out and plays golf says it's not a problem: You will be able to play." Green says. "What they are failing to understand is our level is nowhere near their level. There are a lot of wonderful, really good golfers who are amputees. But going out and having to shoot 5 under each day for 54 holes is a big difference than going out and playing with your friends."

On the first Wednesday of November Green took his initial serious step back to competition, returning to West Palm Beach to work with teacher Peter Kostis for the first time since the accident.

"I wanted to get him going in stages," said Kostis, also a CBS golf analysis. "Get him a foundation to start building on. I think he had a good start."

Green was optimistic.

"He knows I desperately want to come back and play," Green said. "We've talked a little about what he thinks some of the things we want to do, but he had to show me.

"There's going to be chances. I'm never going to be able to fire hard. Probably going to be all upper body. I'm going to lose some distance.

"Whether I get back or not, I have no ideal. But I don't want to succeed or do this just to be the first guy without a let to play. That means nothing to me.

"It's about me coming back and doing it. To win the battle. Jeannie was in that battle with me. Billy was part of that battle. They went through all of it with me. So it's more about that than trying to do something special."

Kostis, who has known and worked with Green since the golfer's early days on tour, picked up immediately on a different passion.

"As long as I have known Kenny, I'm not sure I have ever seen him as single-minded, committed and so totally believing in what he's doing as right now," Kostis said. "He showed me a purpose that I had not seen before.

"And I want to tell you. I'm as committed to this as he is. It's going to happen."


As Green sits and talks he rubs the gnarly stump that comes to a point just below the knee with a crisscross of stitch marks. It's not nervous habit. It's a necessity.

"I've had what I'd call a decent amount of pain with my back problems, my shoulder problems," he says. "So I thought I was pretty good at tolerating stuff. But this has been bizarre. It has different levels but it's constantly there. I've never experience anything like this."

Green likens it to an electric shock that seems to spin around the stump. And strange things dial up the voltage. An electrical storm. Getting near a computer. Going to the bathroom. Spicy foods. They all cause nerve surges.

"It's awful sometimes," he says. "I literally just cry. It's just the nerves. Maybe it's because of all the surgeries. Because of an infection they had to go in there about seven times. So maybe the nerves just got slammed around.

"I'd be lying if I didn't admit, I ask the Big Guy, like, I'm OK handling everything else, but is there really a reason we have to have this pain, too? OK, enough is enough."

He will not, however, even mention the idea of being deterred.

After two hours with his visitor -- a time during which not once did he use the phrase "Why me?'' -- Green announces the desire for a soft drink and pulls himself up and into the wheel chair. Around the corner and down the hall he rolls. Munch trots behind.

"Kenny's motivation has just been insane," Shelley says. "He has come a long way in a short amount of time.

"He's going to get back out there. I have no doubt. And I promised, I'll caddie for him when he first goes back out. Yeah, I'm going to caddie."

Green nail polish for everybody.