By David Rogers. BLOWING ROCK, N.C. — Back in 1976, I was finishing up an undergraduate degree and some graduate studies at California State University, Bakersfield. One day, at lunch in the student union, I inserted myself into a conversation between two professors and asked a few relevant questions. And, just that quickly, I was hired as the replacement business manager of the school’s fledgling student newspaper. They promptly fired the guy they had, even after I said I would only take the job if I could do it my way.
It was one of those “What have you gotten yourself into?” moments. The Runner was a 4-page tabloid, being published once a month — and losing $750 every issue.
A rampant imagination filled my head with ideas on how to help the game gain popularity in the U.S.
All of the content was created free by the journalism students. All of the stories were converted to phototypesetting strips of text created by the Chancellor’s office, as a freebie for the journalism department. And the paper was laid out by unpaid students on pasteboards (Pre-printing processes were all manual. Desktop publishing was still future-think).
It didn’t take me long to figure out the losses stemmed from having a few thousand copies of The Runner printed by an outside company.
Well, within three months we were publishing a 24-32 page newspaper, twice a month, and earning a $3,000 profit for the school each edition… but that might be fodder for a different story.
A Private Office and Other Ambitions
This story is about leveraging resources. As the business manager of the student newspaper, I was given an office in the faculty towers, a desk, a file cabinet and, most importantly, a WATS telephone line.
Cellular phones were still in some inventor’s imagination. The world was tied together by land lines. A WATS line (Wide Area Telephone Service) was offered by AT&T to U.S. businesses, including universities, allowing them to make large volumes of long-distance calls at a flat monthly rate. So in my case, the college was picking up the tab.
For a wide-eyed, 24-year-old nobody from Bakersfield, it was all pretty surreal.
Sure, I used the WATS line to sell a bunch of advertising for the newspaper, but I also had a passion for what in those days was the emerging, but still under-the-radar sport of rugby football. Now with resources, a rampant imagination filled my head with ideas on how to help the game gain popularity in the U.S.
One of my early phone calls was to Roone Arledge, Jr., the President of ABC Sports from 1968 to 1986. He was a critical player in ABC’s rise as a competitor in network television. Think “Wide World of Sports,” and “the agony and the ecstasy” of athletic competition.
Arledge was in a meeting when I called, but he returned it the next day and courteously listened to my pitch. Not interested. Not a big enough audience, he said, discounting the fact that it was the second or third most popular sport, globally, behind another just-emerging sport in the U.S., soccer, and the U.S.-born basketball.
Undeterred, in late February 1976, I called NBC’s The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, in Burbank, Calif. I was put through to talent coordinator Howard Papush. After a brief introduction, Papush said he was intrigued and asked me come to the studio the next day.
So, I did. It was a commute of about two and a half hours, each way, from Bakersfield to Burbank back then, so not a casual undertaking. I arrived to the NBC studios only to find that Papush had called in sick that day. Disappointed, I turned around and spent another tankful of gas going back to Bakersfield, empty-handed.
Giving It A Second Chance
But Papush called me the next day, profusely apologizing. He asked me to come back the following day. To be honest, I was a bit apprehensive, but I said, “OK.”
After several cups of coffee on the early morning’s long drive down to Burbank, I arrived at his office for the 9 am meeting. Papush greeted me with, “Nice to meet you. I have 15 minutes.”
After driving seven and a half hours, counting the first trip down and back, and paying for a few tanks of gas on a starving college student’s budget, you can imagine my dismay at the “15 minutes” constraint — and the clock was ticking.
But I rallied to become my most engaging self, I guess, because an hour and a half later, Howard punched a button on his telephone intercom and told his secretary to cancel all the rest of his calls and meetings for the day. He took me on a tour of the studio, bought lunch, introduced me to some studio executives, as well as a few behind-the-scenes folks.
Come mid-afternoon, he explained that he had to get ready for that night’s taping of The Tonight Show, asking if I would like to stay and see the show. At first, I said no, because I had a paper to complete back at school. But I changed my mind when he said, “Johnny is coming out tonight, riding a donkey and singing ‘The Rhinestone Cowboy.’ And the featured guests are Don Rickles, Bob Hope, Robert Blake and Desi Arnez.”
It was an irresistible lineup, to be sure. So, a mere 20 minutes before showtime, Howard gave me instructions on how to go out the back of the studio, get around to the front of the building and to the ticket booth — and to ignore the crowds waiting in line.
I weaved my way through the bowels of the studio. I met Johnny Carson as he was finding his way in the opposite direction, just arriving. We briefly introduced ourselves and shook hands. When I got to the front entrance of the studio theatre, the crowd was immense. The line seemed to be wrapped around the city of Los Angeles but, per my instructions, I nervously went to the front of the line (ignoring the many frothy glares) and gave them my name.
I was face to face with human mortality, really, for the first time.
“Oh yes, Mr. Rogers, we have been expecting you,” said the smiling young woman in the box office as she waved to a nearby usher.
“Oh yes, Mr. Rogers, step right this way,” said the usher, who turned out to be the first of several who would greet me between the box office and my seat.
After the fourth, “Oh yes, Mr. Rogers, step right this way,” I was taken down the stairs of the still empty studio and directed to my seat. There, on the backrest was a printed sign with, “Reserved for Mr. David Rogers.” The seat was about five rows up, right in the center, with a perfect view of the monitors just above eye level and a firsthand look at what was happening onstage. I had been given arguably the best seat in the house, personalized, all accomplished within about 15 minutes of my saying I would stay for the show.
For a wide-eyed, 24-year-old nobody from Bakersfield, it was all very surreal.
Of course, I enjoyed it. Johnny Carson riding a donkey and singing “The Rhinestone Cowboy” with some cross-eyed buffoonery was a once in a lifetime experience and I was seeing it in person.
Meeting Mortality
We never got rugby on The Tonight Show but I called my new friend, Howard Papush, a few months later with another idea. Another friend, Natalie Dunn, had just become the first American to win the World Ladies Figure Skating Championships in roller skating, in Rome. An accomplished athlete and beautiful young woman, I looked at Natalie as a potential star.
Intrigued, Howard said to bring her down. We arrived and he was again very generous with his time. More for Natalie’s benefit, we toured the studio, on the way meeting a talented but very troubled rising star, Freddie Prinze. Best known for his leading role in the popular series, “Chico and the Man,” on this day Prinze was very drunk and extremely rude to the point that Howard kept apologizing for his behavior.
This story has a doubly disappointing ending. My friend, the talent coordinator, decided the roller skating idea was a bit too clunky for a relatively small studio stage — and the talented but troubled Freddy Prinze took his own life the next day.
Other than losing my grandparents a decade earlier as a young teenager, Prinze was my first, face-to-face encounter with human mortality.
For me, aging has exposed an allergy to chocolate. Coffee is now a sedative and growing older has reaffirmed my distaste for lima beans, eggplant, cantaloupe and Brussels sprouts.
Needless to say, I am more in touch with the reality of human mortality than ever before, embracing the thoughts: “Don’t put things off. Enjoy today. Rediscover some of that youthful brashness leading to ‘Oh yes, Mr. Rogers, step right this way.’”
OTHER ‘MY LIFE’ ESSAYS
- Crossing Paths with OJ: https://highcountrysports.net/my-life-crossing-paths-with-o-j/
- Dining with Legends: https://highcountrysports.net/my-life-dining-with-legends/
- Fight Club? https://highcountrysports.net/my-life-certainly-not-looking-for-a-fight-with-these-guys/
