He has No Legs, No Hands and No Excuses
Clay Dyer reminds us to never say “I can’t” and inspires us to excel with what we have.
By Jessie States
Clay Dyer would stand up to greet me—he is a Suthun gentleman, after all—but he has no legs. Instead, he reaches out his right arm (which ends at the elbow). I accept, grasping the end of his only limb for an abrupt shake. I later learn he prefers to fist bump his friends.
Clay is a professional angler on the FLW bass fishing tour, in spite—or perhaps because—of his absent limbs. His story is inspiring: a man born with only a partial arm embraces what makes him unique, shoots to the summit of professional angling and then shares himself unselfishly with others. Tomorrow, Clay will inspire children from the Houston Shriners Hospital in town for a CAST for Kids event.
Tonight, though, we meet in the dark community room at the Holiday Inn Express in Conroe, home of this year’s Toyota Texas Bass Classic. I sink into the couch as he negotiates the relocation from electric wheelchair to stationary seat. He’s fascinating, and extremely handsome, punctuating his words with a charming Alabama drawl. His laugh sounds like the quiet hum of a lawn mower two doors down.
“In high school, I had a lot of fishing rods,” he says. “One day, I was looking through my Bass Pro catalogue and saw the greatest rod and reel for US$300. My dad told me, ‘Son, you got 10 of those. You don’t need another one.’ I turned to my mom and said, ‘Yeah, but just think of all the money I’ve saved you by not needing shoes all these years.’”
A week later, he was fishing with a new rod.
Clay has an endearing and light sense of humor. He knows he’s different, but he likes that difference, and so do other people. He was born in May 1978 in the small town of Hamilton, Ala. (population 6,000), where people greet each other with a smile, because they know your grandmother and used to date your uncle in high school.
Beverly and Clarence Dyer were not expecting a baby any different than first-born Christopher. There were no signs of medical challenges and no genetic history of missing limbs, but there was Clay with no legs and only one partial arm. Mom and Dad never once questioned their gift.
Clay was exceptionally intelligent, scooting along the floor on his torso and fending for himself in curious baby ways. Doctors fitted him with a mechanical arm and a torso sway walker, but Clay preferred to make do on his own. At age 5, he mastered a complex motorized wheelchair in minutes (much to the surprise of family and physician).
Clay started fishing with his daddy when he was 3, teaching himself to use a beginner’s Zebco 303 (though he quickly bested a bait-casting reel that many adults can’t operate). He uses his arm and chin to control the rod, and sticks the hook into his stump to bait. (I ask the obvious, and yes, it hurts.)
In school, kids were naturally curious, but never mean, and Clay was extremely popular. He played sports with his friends, including baseball and football (he played fullback, linebacker and sometime-quarterback). And he dreamed of becoming a professional athlete. “I really wanted to play Major League Baseball,” he says to me, his blue eyes grinning at that sweet, younger self.
He glances up at the television screen, where University of Alabama football has scored a pick-six against the South Carolina Gamecocks. I don’t mind sharing his attention with the game; He’s passionate about his sports—from football to angling. In high school, he and friends Nathan Brown and Carl Berry competed in amateur fishing tournaments on the weekends, and Clay dreamed of wearing a shirt covered in sponsor labels and advertising.
After high school and with the support of (albeit anxious) parents, Clay joined the Bass Federation circuit, the Single A of angling’s minor league system. It was 1996, and Clay got his kicks from selling unsuspecting fishing partners on the story that he lost his limbs in a series of unfortunate boating accidents. He attracted the attention of several high-level sponsors, but after six years, he was disqualified from professional competition because of a rule requiring that all participants be able to render aid to others.
Clay was disappointed, but—as always—determined. And his sponsors weren’t going anywhere. He contacted Bass rival FLW and resuscitated his career among novice anglers on the EverStart tour. In 2006, he qualified for the FLW series—the apex of bass tournaments. He was 28, and the road had been rocky, but there he was at the pinnacle of angling circles.
Clay’s eyes reflect the television screen again. ‘Bama kicks a field goal to make the score 17-3. He turns to me: “Roll Tide!” It’s getting late, and we have a big day tomorrow. Clay will speak at the CAST for Kids event, where disabled and disadvantaged children will enjoy a morning of bass fishing with professional anglers in town for the Toyota Classic. I say good night, and we shake hands. I marvel at the man and his story. It keeps me up late into the night.
CAST for Kids
Clay got his start in amateur fishing with the help of a now-defunct organization that helped disabled children gain confidence with the rod and reel. Now he is the national spokesman for similar nonprofit CAST for Kids. We sit in generic plastic folding chairs in the VIP lounge at the Toyota Classic. Clay drinks a coffee by lightly biting the Styrofoam, lifting the cup to balance on his arm and leaning back to sip, with his bicep controlling the angle of flow. It’s art I cannot fathom creating.
Clay didn’t qualify for the classic this year, but he vows he will in 2010. Friends who have come to watch the event and others who haven’t made today’s finals wander in and out of the lounge. They come to Clay like moths to porch light. The discussion ambles. The boys talk shop, tell stories, discuss a Florida-Arkansas college football game. Someone has just bought a new boat, and everyone eagerly dissects its rod boxes, live well and depth finder.
Clay sweetly introduces me to everyone who visits the table. I imagine I am living some angling fan’s dream, though the thrill of celebrity is largely lost on me. (I don’t know Shaw Grigsby is one of the world’s best sight-fishermen until I Google him at work on Monday. And what is a sight-fisherman anyway?) Clay is incredibly patient with my lack of knowledge, though I can tell he isn’t often interviewed by angling dummies.
Pre-signing some books for the kiddos, Clay opens a Sharpie with his teeth and balances it on his arm. His control is precise. He lifts the pen to his cheek, nestles it between his arm and jowl and leans forward to sign the cover of his biography, The View from Down Here is Just Fine. His penmanship is perfect. Between books, he tells me he is an assistant defensive line football coach at his old high school. He also works with special teams and…the kicker.
“It doesn’t matter that I’ve never kicked anything,” he laughs. “Those kids respect me, and I respect them. I love them as brothers. And they know to never tell me, ‘Coach I can’t.’ Because if I can, they can, too.”
It’s noon, time for Clay to meet with today’s young fishermen, who have just now returned from a morning on the lake with some of angling’s biggest names. The children and adults are eating Texas barbecue at a food tent near the classic’s main stage. Their stories vary: burn victims, children with absent limbs, a young boy with a hole through his knee. But, they are all smiles and laughs at lunch, getting autographs on hats and shirts and paper, hearing tall tales of angling adventures and enjoying the outdoors.
Clay urges the kids to focus on their strengths. Years of corporate speaking engagements have honed his presentation skills. He speaks with precision.
“It’s an honor for me to be able to help children with disabilities and other needs,” Clay says. “I want them to know that they can achieve their goals, just like I have. There is nothing to stop them if they make the effort and concentrate on the talents they have.”
CAST takes photos of the children with their professional guides. Clay hands out copies of his signed book. He also signs Professional Anglers Association caps for the kids. He places a hat on the back of his motorized chair and carefully pens his name to its lid. He grins, picks the hat up with his arm and hands it back to a little girl, whose mouth gapes in wonder, like she has just met Santa Claus. She has never seen anyone quite like Clay, but how many people have?
“If you were a superhero, who would you be and why?” I ask.
“I would be Super Bass Man,” Clay laughs. “And I would catch every bass in every lake in America. But most importantly, I would be a powerful and positive influence on others. I would help people realize that they can accomplish anything if they have the heart and the perseverance. And no one would ever tell me they can’t.”
A young teen approaches Clay with his mom in tow. He is too nervous to speak, but his eyes fire admiration. He wheels close and extends a shaky hand.
“He doesn’t have many heroes,” his mother gushes, “but you are one of them. Thank you so much.”
Clay reveals a boyish aw-shucks grin, and turns to the kid.
“Life will throw obstacles your way,” he says. “Just concentrate on the resources you have, not the ones that you are missing. I may not have fingers or hands, but I have a heart, a mind and a soul, and I never give up.”
I ask Clay about the biggest challenge he has ever faced. I imagine it was learning to write or eat or brush his teeth, but of course I am wrong. Finding the fish, he says. Apparently, despite all kinds of fancy software and GPS equipment, an angler’s biggest challenge is still just finding the fish. And Clay’s challenge is no different than the next guy’s. One+
JESSIE STATES is assistant editor for One+.