8802170227 DETROIT FREE PRESS 881030 Sunday, October 30, 1988 METRO FINAL CHASER

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1C Photo Color JOHN COLLIER;Photo MITCH ALBOM; CURT SYLVESTER SEE ALSO METRO EDITION PAGE 1C Copyright (c) 1988, Detroit Free Press ROGERS FINALLY RAN OUT OF GREEN LIGHTS INNOCENCE ENDED WITH THE LIVES OF THREE TEENAGERS When they first told him three people were dead -- that when he was finally released from the Pontiac hospital where he now lay, his head in a brace, his thumb sewn to his hand, he would be charged with manslaughter -- this is what Reggie Rogers said: "Why? What did I do?" He was, for that moment, a child again, the same child who once bullied kids for lunches, then played baseball with them; the same child who once shook hands with high school football rivals and wound up in a racial brawl; the same child who once fell in love and was charged with assaulting his girlfriend. Why? What did I do? Trouble would buzz around Reggie Rogers his whole life, and he would swat as if it were a friendly fly, and he would go on. This is the story of a little boy in a man's body. It is hard to find anyone who doesn't blame Reggie Rogers for what happened that cold Thursday morning 10 days ago, when he ran a red light, allegedly under the influence of alcohol, and plowed his Jeep Cherokee into the side of a Dodge Omni, snuffing out three teenage lives. And yet it is hard to find anyone who doesn't like him. "Reggie is not a bad person," they all insist. He is simply a person to whom things happen. "When I first came to the hospital he said, 'Mama, I don't understand . . . what does God want from me?' " says his mother, Loretha Rogers, 46, who sits with him each day in Pontiac Osteopathic, holding his hand, praying for forgiveness. "He said, 'My foot is tingling. My hand is numb. I can't feel my toes. I don't want to be a cripple, mama. I don't want to die.' "I told him, we have to be strong. We are survivors. God has a plan for us, son. We don't know what it is, but God has a plan." It is a sad sentence, saddest because, in the end, it may not be true; there may be no plan. It may be this simple: Reggie Rogers, like countless athletes in this land of athletic worship, has lived his life ricocheting from one near-miss to another, someone always there to catch him, excuse him, forgive him. Until that night, at a barren intersection, in the early morning cold of autumn, when two vehicles collided, a car burst into flames, and the days of innocence were over. For everybody. "I could always beat up the other kids because I was bigger. But I never had to. They just gave me what I wanted." -- Reggie Rogers on his childhood during a 1987 interview Life was a game to young Reggie Rogers. The middle child of an athletic family -- his brother, Don, was one year older; his sister, Jackie, exactly one year younger -- he was the biggest, and he loped around his Sacramento neighborhood laughing, entertaining and getting what he wanted. Reggie would take, and smile, and take some more. Toys. Books. He had a penchant for pulling apart radios to see what was inside, or for grabbing his classmates' food or pencils. It was never malicious or mean. It was just Reggie. Big Reggie. No one argued. It became a pattern. You are big. Get what you want. No one will mind. Once, as an eighth-grader, he scored 49 points in a basketball game. The next day, in English class, the teacher asked for his homework. He was taken aback. He scored 49 points -- why should he do homework? "I don't care if you ever pick up another basketball, Reggie," the teacher had scolded, "when you get out of this class, you will know English." Loretha Rogers says that made a big impression on her son. But so, apparently, did the fact that other teachers were willing to overlook his transgressions. Throughout high school and college, Rogers would squeak past the standards. "He was not the best of students," admits Don James, his football coach at the University of Washington. "But neither were a lot of athletes." Nor was Rogers the most coachable of athletes. Lateness was a regular occurrence. Missed practices were not uncommon, beginning in high school -- the moment he discovered how talented he was. Rogers was recruited to play basketball at Washington, but early in his freshman year, he was late for a 3 p.m. meeting. Coach Marv Harshman had his uniform and shoes removed from his locker. "Hey, Coach, where's my gear?" Reggie said, when he finally showed up. "You're late," said Harshman. "You're not practicing today." Once again, the athlete was taken aback. Why? What did I do? He asked to stay and watch practice from the stands. Harshman said no. "I don't know if he always resented that," says Harshman, now retired, "but he didn't do it again. Reggie is Reggie. He had a hard time growing up and facing reality. Like so many athletes, things came too easily for him. And like a lot of athletes who are talented, he would challenge authority because he thought he was indispensable." By his junior year, Rogers had quit the basketball team and said goodby to Harshman (who was benching him anyhow). He had taken up football, where he quickly became a star defensive lineman. This was more like it. He had been second-string on the hardwood, but in football, he could rush the line and tackle the quarterback. He would hear them chanting his name, and he was back on top, center of attention. He made All-Pac-10. He led his team with 112 tackles as a junior. Football. He had found his sport. Besides, it was Don's idea. Don, his older brother, his hero, had been a star on UCLA's football team, and now he was the starting free safety for the Cleveland Browns. Don gave him a new car. Don bought the family a house. It was Don's idea. "Reggie, go out for football." And whatever Don did was always good, right? "MY SON IS DEAD! MY SON IS DEAD!" -- Loretha Rogers as she ran into the street upon learning her son, Don, had died a cocaine overdose, June 27, 1986 He began to die on the living room couch. That's how crazy it was. They had been out the night before at his bachelor party, the friends, the relatives. They had come home, gone to sleep, and now, on a bright, sunny morning, Don Rogers was talking to his family about the upcoming wedding. Suddenly his body began to convulse in chills. Pain gnawed at his chest, tightening around him, causing him to scream in agony. "It sounded like someone was banging on the walls and floors and somebody was screaming 'Help me!' at the top of his lungs," a neighbor told The Sacramento Bee. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital. He never regained consciousness. Dead. Cocaine. To this day, people shake their heads at the death of Don Rogers. Cocaine? A lethal dose? The day before his wedding? Why? He had everything going for him. He was never known as a cocaine user. Where did he get it? When did he ingest it? His death occurred just eight days after the similar death of basketball star Len Bias, and America erupted in a disgusted roar against drugs. Reggie Rogers heard none of it. Reality had just chomped into his world with a bloody bite. Don was dead. The next day, Loretha Rogers collapsed in Reggie's arms -- a heart attack -- and had to be rushed to the hospital. His whole world was crumbling. Why? What did I do? It is unlikely Reggie Rogers has ever truly recovered from that tragedy. Talk to 50 people about him, and 50 people will tell you it was the turning point. Chris Chandler, a former Huskies quarterback now with the Indianapolis Colts: "He was definitely different after that. Before he was always the center of attention, really funny, cracking everybody up. He was more quiet after Don died." Kevin Gogan, a former Huskies lineman now with the Dallas Cowboys: "Reggie was definitely quieter after Don's death. He didn't know if he would even play football anymore." Loretha Rogers: "It was a year before I saw Reggie cry over Donald. That bothered me. He felt like he had to be strong for everybody else. . . . "One day we went to the graveyard just before the draft. He started to cry and then he looked at me and he tried to take it back. I said, 'Cry, son, cry. It's all right. You'll still be a man. Get it out.' Crying, however, did not make it go away. The death haunted Rogers throughout his senior year at Washington. Wherever he went, people asked him questions. Many assumed he, too, used cocaine. He volunteered to take drug tests throughout the season. He admitted to his mother that yes, he knew people who used drugs, but swore he did not. Loretha Rogers, who herself would have troubles with alcohol, prayed he was telling the truth. Still the memories would not cease. The bachelor party. The ambulance. Rogers would tune in and out of conversations, daydreaming about Don. He would hear him talking. In a better world, Reggie Rogers would have received counseling then and there, because the hurt was obviously seeping in and it needed to be cured. But there were games to be played and a pro career to think about and money suddenly became critical, because Don's death had caused financial problems. So when people asked, "Reggie, are you OK?" the big kid inside him would smile and say, "Yeah," and people figured great, he's OK. This is how it goes with star athletes. And yet there were signs that Rogers was OK on the outside but mixed up on the inside. Once, during a pre-season meeting of the captains, coach James spoke of the dangers of substance abuse: drugs, marijuana and alcohol. Reggie raised his hand. "Coach," he said, earnestly, "I understand about cocaine and the drugs. But what's so bad about alcohol?" "I'm not saying drafting Reggie Rogers has made us the best team in the NFL, but it'll help." -- Wayne Fontes, Lions defensive coordinator, on draft day, 1987 In April 1987, Rogers, 6-feet-6, 272 pounds, was taken by Detroit in the first round of the NFL draft, the seventh pick overall, which ensured him a multimillion-dollar contract. But from the moment he became a Lion, there was trouble. He slept past his first meeting with the team; a missed wake-up call, he claimed. Next he was charged with assault by his former girlfriend, Alicia Wright of Seattle. Then, on the last day of mini-camp, he was served papers for a $1 million lawsuit brought against him by sports agents Norby Walters and Lloyd Bloom. Right on the sidelines. He walked off the field, took the papers, and disappeared into the locker room. All of that took place during a single week. And yet the Lions -- as others had done before them -- maintained these were manageable affairs, and that the young man would straighten them out. In fact, had they checked more carefully, they might have recognized a behavior pattern that had haunted Rogers for years: 1) The missed practices were commonplace; they went back to high school. 2) The agent problems were predictable; Rogers, at one point, had signed with three different lawyers. Pat Healy, a Tacoma-based attorney who handled Rogers for several months prior to the draft, claims, "Not long after he signed with me, for a fee of four percent, Reggie met Steve Zucker (a well-known sports agent) who said he'd take Reggie for three percent. Reggie comes back to me and says, 'This guy will do it for three.' So I say, 'OK, I'll do it for three.' He says, 'OK, I'll stay with you.' Then two months later, I get a letter from Zucker saying my services are no longer required." (Zucker did not return several phone calls for this article.) 3) Reggie's girlfriend woes were nothing new. He had fathered a child with a woman named Shannon Williams in 1985. According to several sources, Rogers' problems with Wright -- which led to the fight that led to the assault charge -- stemmed from the fact that he wanted her with him when he visited the child, a baby girl named Brittany Elizabeth Ann. Rogers saw no real wrong in all this. Why? What did I do? A year and half later, on the tragic morning that would end the lives of three teenagers, Rogers -- who is expecting twins next month with his current girlfriend, Sheila Dorsey -- was riding with 18-year-old Robin Reece. She escaped the crash with a severed finger and bruises. "When he awoke in the hospital, he asked whether Robin was dead," recalls Loretha Rogers. "I told him no. He said, 'Thank God.' " "Did Reggie tell you who Robin Reece was to him?" the mother was asked. "He said she was friend. That's all." "Reggie is a damn good person. But he's California, he's flashy, there's nothing wrong with that. He's been through a lot of trauma. And he's had bad luck. Reggie has the same kind of luck as Mike Tyson Buzzard's luck." -- Jerry Ball, Lions nose tackle The problems continued. Rogers did not practice hard. When he messed up a play, he would often get up laughing, which irritated some of his teammates. A No. 1 draft pick, they felt, should be pulling more weight. All that money. Then, in late October, Rogers left the Lions briefly when his sister, Jackie, mysteriously disappeared with his truck. (She showed up four days later, after Reggie had searched everywhere, including the morgue, checking dead bodies. She blamed "personal problems.") Two weeks later, Reggie entered a rehab facility for his own emotional problems; he stayed for a month. Could the Lions have seen all this coming? Perhaps, if they had looked harder. Before the 1987 draft, Detroit coach Darryl Rogers made a phone call to James, whom he knew from his years in the Pac-10. He asked whether there was any reason the Lions should not take Rogers. "No," said James, "Reggie wants to do well." Defensive line coach Rex Norris was sent to Seattle to watch Rogers work out. They were satisfied. He was drafted. That can hardly be called thorough -- at least when compared with the Green Bay Packers, who had also considered drafting Rogers. From the start, the Packers wondered whether Rogers was a risky draft pick. And they had reason to be suspicious. According to Healy, Rogers missed "four to seven meetings" with Green Bay personnel. He was crossed off their list. A few weeks after the draft, when the assault charge made headlines, Tom Braatz, the Packers' head of scouting, told the Madison Capital Times: "I can't tell you how many times we flew to Seattle for meetings that Reggie missed. We had people face up to him, we talked to the coach, we even went underground almost to find out about the guy. And you wouldn't believe what we found out. . . . Let's say it was enough to convince us we shouldn't draft him." What did they find? How did they find it? According to Healy, the Packers hired someone to follow Rogers and see how he spent his free time: "They employed a local guy, like a private investigator. He trailed Reggie. It's easy to do. These athletes go to the same two or three clubs all the time. The Packers found out what anyone could have found out. . . . Reggie is a nice guy, but he still suffers from the effects of his brother's death. He has a hard time coping with problems and stress. And he is vulnerable to alcohol." Why did the Packers go to such extremes while the Lions settled for a workout and a phone call? Says Darryl Rogers: "I have never heard of hiring a private investigator and I don't believe it is true." Healy: "I was shocked when (Detroit) drafted Reggie. It was total, absolute incompetence! They never even called me. I could not believe it. . . . Every team has its own investigators. If you're talking about a top 10 pick in the first round, you better be sure. . . . "I'll tell you this. If they had checked Reggie out, they never would have drafted him. Never." "I just can't win. It's like coming back home. I might run into a guy I haven't seen in years and he might be the biggest dope dealer in town. I don't know that, but if he comes up and shakes my hand, people are going to say, 'Look at Reggie Rogers with that dope dealer.' " -- Rogers, the day before the 1987 draft Having said all this, let us point out that in talking to dozens of Rogers' friends and former teammates, not one claims that Reggie was a heavy drinker or a drug user. The portrait that emerges is that of an overgrown child who loved to be the center of attention, meant no one any harm, but was saddled with an irresponsible streak that sooner or later always landed him in trouble. He was playing better and working harder before an ankle injury sidelined him Oct. 2 in San Francisco. But who really knows what is inside Reggie Rogers? Words were never reliable. After all, this is a guy who once said, "My money is going to be safe until I'm 60; I don't want it in the bank where I can spend it," then bought himself a new Mercedes and a classic 1953 Cadillac; a guy who once said, "Don't worry, I was raised on pressure," yet found it necessary to check into a clinic before his rookie season was out. The patterns of Reggie Rogers' life go around and around. When he fails to excel (college basketball, his rookie year with the Lions), his explanation is, "They're not giving me a chance." When he does excel (high school, his last two years in college), he seems to say, "I can't get in any real trouble. They'll let me slide." Why me? What did I do? He is guilty of naivete, foolishness and trusting the wrong people. He is guilty of irresponsibility, a lack of concentration and a love of the spotlight. But Reggie Rogers -- who can be so childlike, the kids in his neighborhood come to his house and ask, "Can Reggie come out to play?" -- may not be the evil force that many around the country now imagine. "If you ask me," says Bob Graswich, a reporter for the Sacramento Bee who has covered Rogers since high school, "the guy is just doomed to screw up." Doomed? Perhaps. Bad news had followed happiness since Reggie was big enough to mow down quarterbacks. His love life led to an assault charge; a bachelor party was the last time he saw his brother alive. And finally, on that cold Thursday morning, bad news leapt from the shadows and pierced his flesh. He was no longer the victim. He was the cause. What happened that night is still a mystery. Rogers was socializing at Big Art's Paradise Lounge in Pontiac. He met teammate Devon Mitchell there. "I said hi, he said hi," Mitchell recalls. "That was about it." They stayed until after 1 a.m. and left in separate cars, although Rogers was supposed to follow Mitchell. Reports of how much Rogers drank were varied. Witnesses claim he was not drunk. But blood alcohol tests at the scene would register .14, well above the .10 level considered legally drunk in Michigan. It was sometime around 1:50 a.m. when the world came crashing down. Rogers allegedly ran a red light at the intersection of University and Wide Track Drive at what police later claimed was "excessive speed." His Jeep smashed into the Dodge Omni on the passenger side. The Dodge burst into flames. Rogers was pulled from his vehicle, stunned, bleeding. Reece fled the scene, heading for a nearby hospital, her ring finger severed. And the lives of Kenneth Willet, 19, of Waterford Township, and his two cousins, Kelly Ess, 18, and Dale Ess, 17, both of Versailles, Mo., were suddenly, horribly, over. What sense can be made of all this? For months, perhaps years to come, people will say the name Reggie Rogers with disdain. They will assume he was a careless, hard-partying athlete, a bad guy who was destined to take somebody down someday. Perhaps. But he is also a product of a system that coddles the star and winks at his off-field shortcomings. Call him a sadly classic American sports hero -- the overgrown adolescent who figured he had lots of childhood left. Loretha Rogers sighs. She says she and Reggie "pray every day for the families of those children. I know what it is like to lose a son. If I spoke to those families today, I would say, 'I'm so sorry. But the Reggie you hear about is not the real Reggie Rogers. He is a good-hearted person who would never do anyone intentional harm.' "The people of Detroit have never really known Reggie Rogers. . . . He loves children. He means well. . . . "When he was in the hospital bed, he said, 'Mama, I don't want to be a cripple for my children. . . . Mama, I don't want to die.' " And yet he is responsible for three deaths already. Why? What did I do? It goes over and over. Reggie Rogers has a fractured neck, a lacerated thumb, and a future which will probably be without football, and which could hold as much as 15 years in prison. Where is the rhyme and reason in this, you ask? Nowhere. Except maybe someone should have seen this coming. The biggest crime may not be that Reggie Rogers ran a red light, but that, until the tragic moment, he believed the lights would always turn green for him. He lies there now, in his hospital bed, a brace screwed around his head, his hand bandaged, his face scarred. And his feet hang over the edge of the bed -- a grim reminder of the child who had always been too big for his own good. "We pray, that's all," says his mother, and what else can anybody do? Mothers are crying and sons are dead. And there is no childhood left for Reggie Rogers. Not anymore. CUTLINE Friends and family insist Lions lineman Reggie Rogers is not a bad person, but a person who is dogged by bad luck. Don Rogers Loretha Rogers Reggie Rogers and coach Darryl Rogers are all smiles the day the Lions drafted him. BIOGRAPHY;REGGIE ROGERS;AUTOMOBILE;ACCIDENT;INJURY;DLIONS; FOOTBALL;Lions