You want sensitive hands for golf, only not in the way Cathy Gerring’s hands are sensitive. Her fingers are affected by paresthesia, the nerve damage which has been her unlucky lot since she was the victim of a raging fire at the 1992 Sara Lee Classic at Hermitage Golf Club in Nashville, Tennessee.
Gerring, now 59, had won three times in 1990 and was two shots off the pace at the Sara Lee when she went to meet her husband, Jim, for Saturday lunch in the tournament’s hospitality tent. “Try the chicken,” recommended Jim, then the head professional at Muirfield Village.
When it was Cathy’s turn to be served, the chef said that his burner had switched off a few minutes earlier. Would she mind waiting a moment? Alas, the man who came to remedy the situation failed to notice that the flame was still lit before he started to top-up the fuel supply. Barely had he begun than a blue flame spiraled sky high. As he leapt back, some of the fluid cascaded over Cathy, whose face promptly caught fire.
When she put her hands up to save her face, her hands caught fire, only it did not stop at that. The flames engulfed her. Her husband ripped a tablecloth from one of the tables and smothered her with the linen while someone called the emergency services.
Gerring remembers a paramedic having a radio mike on his shoulder. And, to this day, she can hear him saying, “I need a life-flight right now.”
Cathy’s reaction was to wonder why they were calling a helicopter instead of driving her the 40 minutes it would take to get to the nearest hospital in an ambulance. Then what she felt to be the truth dawned: “Oh my God, I’m going to die.”
With the tournament in full swing, the helicopter landed on the highway outside. Cathy was stretchered on board. Fifteen minutes later, when it parked on the roof of the Vanderbilt University Hospital, 10 members of the staff were on hand with bottles of saline solution to pour over her.
Cathy’s father, Bill Kratzert – the head professional at the Fort Wayne Country Club and Cathy’s first teacher – heard the news over the phone. His work done he raced the 400 miles to the hospital. He walked into Cathy’s room and, having stayed for a minute or so, he left.
“At that point,” said Gerring, “I didn’t know what to make of it.” Later, she realised that the father who had coached her and shared so many golf dreams must have taken one look at the extent of her injuries and been unable to cope: “Like me, he sensed my career was over, and in all the years that followed, he never brought the subject up.”
Her hands said it all. “They weren’t my hands,” she says. “My left thumb was burnt to the bone and, though my fingers were not as bad as that, they were never the same again.
Her father, who died in 2016, had been the wisest of teachers, just as he had been for Cathy’s older brother, Billy, who won four times on the PGA Tour. Indeed, something I remember vividly from a conversation we had in 1990, which I think took place after she had defeated Helen Alfredsson at the inaugural Solheim Cup, was about the optimum way to win.
“The best way,” he told her, “is to beat someone playing at her best.” When we caught up recently, Cathy added that Bill never did as other fathers in watching her hit every practice and competitive shot. He wanted her to be able to sort out her own flaws. She was never less than grateful for that.
There were several occasions when Gerring tried to play golf again but, though she managed to qualify for the US Open of 1996, her old game was little more than a distant memory.
Cathy’s mother, Joanne Kratzert, received word of the accident later than Bill. A friend had rung to ask, “How’s Cathy?” and Joanne had replied, “She’s doing well, thank you, she’s two shots off the lead.”
The friend, who knew that she should not be the one to deliver the awful news, rang an LPGA official, who in turn called Juli Inkster, Cathy’s best friend. Inkster took care of Zach, Jim’s and Cathy’s 3-year-old son, while a tournament official drove her mother to the hospital. Inkster followed later that evening.
“My mother was wonderful,” said Gerring. “The one thing which hit me all along was that she never did what she normally did when one of us (there were six brothers and sisters) had some kind of an accident. Usually, she would say, ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’ This time she knew not to say it. Things were not going to be all right.”
Over the days that followed, Jim Gerring stayed in the hospital as often as he could whilst sharing the childcare with Joanne.
“It was a devastating time for all of us,” says Cathy.
She had been thinking ahead to the second Solheim Cup – it was at Dalmahoy in Scotland – when her world was turned upside down.
That Saturday lunch at the Sara Lee Classic was not the first time that the kind of fire-shooting stove responsible for Gerring’s accident had played havoc with someone’s life. It took forever to get things sorted out in the courts but, eventually, Gerring ended up with the compensation figure she laid down.
Nothing though could make up for the all-round trauma ahead. Indeed, the doctors suggested that her injuries could have been responsible for the three miscarriages she suffered before giving birth to Jayme six years after Zach.
There were several occasions when Gerring tried to play golf again but, though she managed to qualify for the US Open of 1996, her old game was little more than a distant memory.
The one thing which has never gone away is her competitive spirit and, in recent years, she has found an outlet for that in buying racehorses, studying the form books and placing a few bets. “To me, it’s another kind of competition,” she says.
Today, the family home is only five minutes from Gulfstream Park racetrack in Florida.
Along with that competitive spirit, it is the love of her family which has done so much to contribute to her happier times. That and a piece of advice she received from the doctor who came and sat on her bed when she had moved from Vanderbilt to the burn unit at Ohio State University.
“He told me that I had every right to be bitter,” she said. “But he cautioned me that the bitterness would eat me alive. I sincerely took that to heart. Many, many people suffer way more suffering than I did – and do.”
Gerring will have the TV turned on for the Memorial Tournament at Muirfield Village and she will watch the Ryder Cup.
The Solheim Cup is on her list, too. She no longer wonders how many of those matches she might have played. Instead, she reflects on what an honour it was to have played in that winning side of 1990.