I wasn’t much of a golfer before I had polio. I played maybe twice, just trying it. The first Christmas we were married, Judy gave me a starter golf set. I practiced hitting balls in our yard, swinging right-handed and left-handed with my left hand. I realized I couldn’t use two hands except for short chip shots. (My right arm is 95% paralyzed)  I got pretty accurate with one arm. Some of my college friends would come over and we would set up a golf course around the house and over the garage.

Then I went to Indian Canyon, a course in Spokane that’s rated one of the nicest and toughest in the nation. I took on the back nine, dragging myself and my clubs up and down all sorts of hills. As I struggled up and finished the last hole, my score was 72. That’s par for 18 and I had only gone 9 holes! But as I keep saying, If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly at first. I continued golfing in Spokane, but on flatter courses which better suited my weak legs.

My unorthodox swing brings interesting reactions on the courses. One time I was playing in Bellingham, Washington, with my brother-in-law Vaughn Wolfe. It was a cool day and I wore a long-sleeved sweat shirt, which covered up my paralyzed right arm. Vaughn and I sat at a bench where play had stacked up, waiting our turn. As people came in behind us, we decided to have some fun.

I got up and said, "Can’t I hit it with two hands this time? Why do I have to play with one arm?"

"You promised you’d play with one arm," Vaughn replied, enjoying our private joke. "That’s only fair."

We got into a big phony argument and finally I yielded to Vaughn. I stepped up with my driver and popped the ball way out there. It was all Vaughn and I could do to suppress laughter as we saw the astonishment of people behind us!

Something similar happened when I played at Leavenworth with a fellow who had suffered a stroke. He swings left-handed with his left hand and I swing right-handed with my left hand. We called ourselves, "One-armed Bandits." One time we both teed off, driving our balls about 150 yards. A fellow standing nearby took off his hat, threw it down, and said, "That does it, I give up!"

When I golf, I sometimes join up with strangers. I usually don’t say much, but if they look at me strangely, I say, "I have to hit with one arm." One time after I had hit the ball right down the middle of a narrow fairway, a fellow stepped back and whispered to his partner, thinking I couldn’t hear, "I hope I don’t get beaten by a one-armed golfer!" I beat both of them. I guess it was my old competitive spirit.

Often when I play with others, they will complain about having a bad day before we even complete the first few holes. "This is my worst game ever," they’ll say, or, "I have never played this badly before." Sky says it’s the One Arm Factor. They do not want to get beaten by a one-armed golfer, so they let it bother them and end up playing less than their best!

Eventually, golf became a big family thing. When we moved to Leavenworth, we started the tradition of a family golf get-together called The Miller Closed Golf Tournament.

Relatives are invited each year to a family reunion and two-day golf tourney. We get 35 to 40 people to these reunions, some from states halfway across the nation! We have a huge bronze trophy that so far has been won by the young power-hitters (my son Sky, seven times; my son-in-law Brent Harris, and my nephew Damon Sams). We also have trophies for the ladies and grandchildren. I  added  a new trophy called "Papa’s Cup" for the grandkids, to encourage them to practice to play well for this family event.

During this family reunion tournament we build a campfire and sing fun songs and tell stories about the past year. We also have what we call the Miller A-Fair to show off our best photos or items made or constructed that year. It’s a chance to share our successes and keep our bonds strong as a family.

Although I haven’t been able to win the Miller Closed, I have done fairly well for a "one-armed bandit." My balance is poor and my legs are weak, but my short game is very good. I use lighter-weight women’s clubs (Ping irons and Callaway Big Bertha woods). I also have a special putter with a shaft high enough to rest my chin on while lining up a putt. A fellow who works on clubs as a hobby designed it and gave it to me. It is long, black and ugly—I call it my "Black and Decker, the Green Wrecker"! Sky says he would rather 3-putt than use that ugly thing! My putting has helped me score well despite my short drives of l00-l50 yards. On two occasions in l996, I had only ten putts on nine holes and  needed only nine putts for nine holes (seven for pars) in 1997. That year my handicap dropped to thirteen.

At Leavenworth (Washington) Golf Club, a regulation course, I scored 38 (including six pars) for nine holes and 83 for l8 holes. My other memorable scores were a par 27 at the Par 3 Pine Acres in Spokane, and a one-over-par 29 on the front and one over par 31 on the back at Village Greens Golf Course in Port Orchard, Washington.

I have fun golfing. Once I played in an administrators’ golf tournament called the "Open Minded Golf Tournament." I won the biggest trophy called "Best One-Armed Golfer" (I ordered the trophies that year— sometimes you have to look out for yourself!)

In the summer, when I golf in shorts and a tank top, I’m a sight to behold. Polio doesn’t leave you with a body-builder physique. I would make a good "before" picture for those muscle-builder advertisements, but I don’t care. I am there to relax, enjoy and surprise myself. Like the day in April, 1996, when I took my friend Mike Lyon golfing at the Village Greens Golf Club. On the 135-yard Hole #3, I chose a 7 wood. We watched my drive roll down the hill, bounce onto the green, and then disappear into the cup. It was a hole-in-one! Talk about dreams coming true. I will do it again, too—just you wait. I’m so positive about another one, I’ve chosen not to play alone, so I will always have a witness!

Due to Post Polio Syndrome, my legs will not support me to play golf anymore. I could invent a support to hold me up during a swing, so maybe.......Never give up! -DAN