PLAYING THROUGH A LIFE LESSON LEARNED ON THE GREENS.

Byline: DENNIS McCARTHY 

I played golf the other day with retired Los Angeles County Fire Capt. Don Kanallakan, who lost his eyesight to macular degeneration six years ago.

Before that, Don was a solid 7-handicap golfer, which means he was very good. On a par 72 course, Don was shooting an average 79 - a neighborhood I haven't even got close to.

I'm a 25- or 26-handicap golfer, which means on any given day, I shoot somewhere in the high 80s or low 90s, depending on how much I choose to cheat.

If you're not a golfer and are a little confused, just remember this: The lower the handicap and score, the better the golfer. If you're shooting in my neighborhood, the standing joke is, don't quit your day job.

But Don's handicap has gone up these days. At age 72, he is legally blind, and can only make out contrasting colors a few feet way.

On the golf course, that means trying to hit a little white ball on green grass with golf clubs painted black for contrast.

He can't see down the fairway to where the ball is supposed to go. Can't see the trees, sand traps, water hazards, or any of the other obstacles that lousy golfers like me consistently find with two good eyes.

Now you'd figure that, seeing everything, I had at least a halfway decent chance of beating a guy who couldn't see much of anything.

Wrong - Don killed me. Left me for dead behind trees and in sand traps, lofting perfect 220-yard drives down the middle of the fairway and sinking 20-foot putts.

All the while, sitting in our golf cart - smiling and enjoying every second of this massacre - was Don's best friend, Kojak. His guide dog.

Kojak is the real story here. Without the 4-year-old black Labrador in his life, this gentle man, who spent more than 30 years rescuing people and their pets from fires, would be sitting at home, depressed.

Instead, he's out on the golf course giving me a lesson in something much more important than golf: life.

``That little dog saved my life,'' Don said, standing on the first tee of the Guide Dogs of America annual golf tournament Monday, directing me to drop another ball a couple of feet in front of his golf ball so he could line up what direction to hit in.

On the greens, I would kneel behind Don as he stood over his putt, giving him the distance and telling him to move the club head left or right to line the putt up. He may not be able to see the flag or cup anymore, but he can sure find it.

``When I lost my sight, I was too embarrassed to use a cane, so I used a sand wedge to feel my way around whenever I went out in public,'' he said, laughing.

``People would wonder who's this crazy guy carrying a sand wedge wherever he goes?''

The laughs helped hide the depression, he said. He couldn't do the simple things in life anymore - plug an electrical cord into a wall socket or read the morning paper. Just crossing the street became petrifying.

Then one day the phone rang in the home in Mazatlan, Mexico, where Don and his wife, Jessie, now live after moving from Thousand Oaks.

Andi Krusoe, the admissions and graduate services manager for Guide Dogs of America Foundation in Sylmar, said someone had dropped out and there was an opening available in the 28-day training class starting that week.

Was Don interested, Krusoe asked? They thought they had the perfect dog for his lifestyle - a dog named Kojak who loved to walk along the beach and tag along on a golf course.

``I caught the next plane out of Mazatlan,'' Don said.

``I was scared to death he wouldn't like me, but when (Kojak) walked into the room he came over and put his head on my thigh,'' he said. ``It was unconditional love for both of us from that day on.''

Kojak's trainers, Maria and Alan Michaelson of Long Beach, invited Don, Jessie, and Kojak to their wedding in Santa Barbara a few weeks ago.

``Kojak was our first puppy to train, and it was sad to let him go,'' Maria said Wednesday. ``But it gives you an incredibly wonderful feeling to see how he has changed Don's life.

``When Kojak saw us at the wedding, his tail started wagging but he wouldn't leave Don's side until Don released him,'' she said. ``He knew Don was his owner now.''

At every hole we played Monday, puppy trainers would stop and thank Don for inspiring them because it takes hard work and a lot of dedication to train a guide dog for two years, only to let it go.

``Getting to know Don and Kojak has been an incredibly inspiring experience for all of us,'' said Mary-Ann Martin, a volunteer and board member at the Sylmar organization.

``Our most important goal is to make the public aware of the impact guide dogs, like Kojak, make in the life of a blind person - how it literally changes their world,'' she said.

It cost Guide Dogs of America $38,000 to breed, raise and train a guide dog, which is then given free to a blind person.

The charitable organization's annual golf tournament is its biggest fund raiser, and it's no secret nonprofit organizations are having a tough time raising money in today's tight economy.

Guide Dogs of America is no different. It could use some additional sponsors for the tournament next year and is looking for a corporate sponsor as well. It could also use more volunteers, including puppy raisers.

In more than 30 years of playing golf with his buddies from the fire department, he never made a hole-in-one until after he lost his sight, Don said, hitting a beautiful drive down the middle of the fairway.

``And then I couldn't see it,'' he added, laughing.

In the cart, Kojak's tail wagged as he followed the arc of his best friend's golf ball. When I hit my drive into the trees, I could swear I heard the dog laugh.

For more information on Guide Dogs of America, log onto www.guidedogsofamerica.org; or call [phone], Ext. 0.

Dennis McCarthy, [phone]

dennis.mccarthy(at)dailynews.com

CAPTION(S):

2 photos

Photo:

(1) Retired L.A. County Fire Capt. Don Kanallakan says that in 30-plus years of playing golf, he made a hole-in-one only after he lost his sight to macular degeneration.

(2) Golfer Don Kanallakan takes Kojak, his trusty guide dog, whenever he goes on the links.

Evan Yee/Staff Photographer