Wayne Taylor Picked The Right Man!

I met Howard Rogers on a chilly Friday night in late November of 1971. We were on top of the press box at the local high school football field. I was there as an aspiring young coach. We were getting ready to play a district game and Coach Taylor sent me “up top” to get a better view of the field and the various sets and formations of the opposing team.

A rival coach, whose team obviously had an open date, climbed up through the tiny “hatch” in the floor and joined me. We couldn’t have an adversary eavesdropping on our “in game” conversation! I explained politely to the visiting coach that we had a room set aside inside the press box for him and would he be so kind as to move back down to that room. He let me know fairly demonstratively (and I’m being kind here) that he wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to stand right there all night long if he wanted to! The top of the press box was rather small and there is no way he couldn’t hear everything we said. I apprised Coach Taylor of this unhappy development. He didn’t hesitate, “I know a guy that will get him down.”

Mr. Rogers came easing up through the hole in the roof just a few minutes later. I was grateful to see the police uniform. He had that little sideways grin that I was to become so familiar with over the years etched on his face. It presented him as a friendly, let’s all get along here kind of guy. He didn’t even look at me. “Coach,” he came right to the point, “you are not suppose to be up here. Coach Taylor has a room for you right underneath—”

“I’m not going anywhere. This is a free country! Ain’t nobody getting me off this press box!”

There was a moment of silence. I got to doing some quick surveying. That roof was even smaller than I first realized. The only rail was facing the field and I grabbed a hold of it. I didn’t want to get swept overboard in case the fight broke out!

Mr. Rogers was a fairly good sized man. The coach was much bigger. I was wondering if the policeman was going to draw his gun and wishing I had gone to dentistry school like Mother wanted when Mr. Rogers smiled. “Coach, come on now, we don’t need a scene up here. You can see just as well down below.” He reached out and gently put his hand on the coaches’ elbow. The coach jerked his arm back, “Don’t you touch me. I told you I’m not leaving!”

I redoubled my hold. The sideways grin left Howard Rogers’ face. His eyes fairly lit up. He made no move for his gun. He didn’t raise his voice. As calmly as it could be spoken he looked the coach dead in the eye and said, “Coach, you just made this real personal. You are coming off this press box. You can go down that ladder. Or you can go off the back of this thing. But one way or the other you are going down right now.”

Folks, did I mention we were five stories high! I locked my elbow and my left leg around the rail. I, of course, had no way of knowing this officer has slogged across the South Pacific with MacArthur in World War II; those eyes had starred down the Japanese on Biak Island in May of 1944. They didn’t blink then……they didn’t blink now! Here’s what I knew for certain on that cool November night. This policeman meant exactly what he said! There was no fooling, no bluffing, no talk around and no compromise! He was going to throw the interloper off this precipice! 

The big tough visiting coach saw it too. As meek as a lamb he quietly chose the ladder. Mr. Rogers looked back at me as he started down, the sideways grin maybe even a tad wider, “Coach, enjoy the game.”

What a great way to start a relationship! He became an instant friend. I’d see him at Homecoming parades, ball games, patrolling through town; he never mentioned the press box incident. But I sure did, “Mr. Howard, you tossed any wayward coaches lately?”

He would approach me about a high school kid that was messing up. He didn’t want to arrest him. “How can we help him, Coach?” What a great attitude. When he found out my Dad was also on Biak it opened up a whole new relationship for us. It has been an honor for me to be in Howard Rogers’ presence over the last forty years. I count it a great gain to have him as a friend. We are all fortunate to know such men.

He brought an antique clock to me recently. “Coach, it got moved. It won’t run.” No way in this world was I going to tell him I quit working on clocks years ago. I couldn’t take a chance that he might drag me up to that press box! It was a genuine Gustav Becker, a great clock. I fixed it, oiled it up and got it back to him. He was so appreciative. “Coach, this clock means a great deal to the wife and I. How much do I owe you?” Now folks, he wasn’t being polite. He had his billfold out and was reaching down in that little hidden section where he kept his big bills. I had done work for him and he was going to pay his “bill”. I smiled, and fought back tears; I should have told him he paid me a thousand times over by his service on Biak Island in 1944. I wish I’d’a told him he paid me in full on a cold Friday night in 1971. I should have reminded him of how many times he had befriended me and my community over the last half century……

They don’t call them the Greatest Generation for nothing!

Most Respectfully,

Coach

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