Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Story by Jodie Valade
Plain Dealer Reporter
Some days, Hanford Dixon still thinks about it. He still wonders what Don Rogers was going to tell him on the drive to Rogers' wedding ceremony.
Two nights before the wedding, sometime during the tame bachelor party, which came sometime before Rogers ingested the 5.2 milligrams of cocaine found in his blood that caused an overdose, Rogers pulled Dixon aside. The two were close friends, and Dixon had come out to celebrate the marriage with his defensive back buddy.
"Ride with me to the wedding," Rogers told Dixon. "I need to talk to you about something."
Was it something as innocent as Rogers expressing his doubts about marriage? Or did he want to tell Dixon about a drug problem?
"I don't know if that was it," Dixon said. "I don't know. I never will know."
Dixon woke the next morning to the sound of pounding on his hotel room door. Rogers' brother, Reggie, a promising defensive lineman at the University of Washington, told Dixon to wake up fast. They needed him.
"Donnie's in the hospital," Reggie told Dixon. "We think he OD'ed."
"Quit playing with me," Dixon mumbled. "I'm tired."
Reggie Rogers, who would play four years with the Detroit Lions before spending a year in jail after being convicted of negligent homicide charges stemming from a car accident that killed three teenagers, grabbed Dixon and shook him. "I'm serious," he said.
They rushed to the house of Rogers' mother, Loretha, where everyone gathered for a hopeful vigil. At 4:31 p.m., the day before he was to marry, Rogers died in a nearby hospital. Loretha Rogers suffered a mild heart attack at the news.
Browns spokesman Kevin Byrne received the call in Cleveland, and tracked down Schottenheimer at his son's baseball game in Strongsville. In the pre-cell phone era, Byrne drove to the field and delivered the news to the coach in person. Schottenheimer, he said, wept.
The funeral was held in Sacramento's Arco Arena, and the Browns held a memorial at a downtown Cleveland church.
Golic delivered one of the eulogies at the Cleveland memorial, and had trouble writing comforting words to tell the crowd.
"When somebody passes and he had this long life, you've got things to say, they had a full life," Golic said. "With Don, I just sat there trying to think, 'What the hell do you say?' Everything was in front of him."
Time passed. Training camp went on as planned, the season started and the Browns even improved to 12-4 in 1986. Games were won and lost, seasons ended and began.
But Dixon and Minnifield wonder now, what might have happened to a team that lost to the Denver Broncos in the conference championship three times from 1987 to 1990 if Rogers had been there. Maybe the Browns would have won. Maybe "The Drive" wouldn't have happened. Maybe, even, there would have been the ultimate celebration in Cleveland.
"There's no doubt in my mind that if Don Rogers was on our football team, there would be a lot of [Browns] winning Super Bowl rings," Minnifield said.
Maybe, too, Dixon thinks, he might have made a difference if he had that talk with Rogers.
"Obviously, 20 years have passed and it hasn't been on my mind lately, but during that time, I kept thinking: You never know whether I could have made a difference or whether I could have helped him," Dixon said.
Donald Rogers Jr.'s memories are snapshots. He remembers playing catch with his dad at his grandmother's house. He remembers going into a locker room after a Browns game. He remembers smiles and laughter.
Rogers Jr. was 4 years old when his father died. He headed to Arco Arena one day 20 years ago expecting to see a basketball game. Only when he saw his dad in a casket did he realize he was at his father's funeral.
"Nobody ever explained to me that my dad had died," Rogers Jr. said from his home in Sacramento.
He didn't learn until he was about 13 that his father had died from a cocaine overdose. Shielded by a family that adored Don Rogers Sr., the young boy's grandmother, Loretha, who died in 2000, always told her grandson that his father died of a heart attack.
Rogers Jr.'s mother, Ajuanta, finally explained the details of his father's death one day. Around the same time, he discovered a book in his school library that dedicated a full page to his father, listing his name as a concrete example of the dangers of drugs.
"It doesn't bother me, because I didn't have to go through enjoying him and then losing him," Rogers Jr. said. "To me, it's like I knew nothing about him, so I have no reason to let it depress me."
Rogers Jr. works for a corporate housing company in Sacramento. It's an average job that helps pay for the house he bought three years ago. His calling, he believes, is to one day become a Pentecostal minister. Always a deep believer in faith, he is active in his church, and sings in the choir.
"I want to do whatever God requires of me," Rogers Jr. said. "From my understanding, what I'm supposed to do is preach."
He found his religious path with the guidance of his mother, Ajuanta Meadows. She was an 18-year-old cheerleader when she became pregnant while dating Rogers Sr.
She met Tony Meadows when she was pregnant with Don Jr., and the two married a few years later. Rogers Jr. called Tony Meadows "Dad" from the start. His memories of his biological father are mere snapshots.
Though Rogers Jr. stands 6-3 and is often told how much he looks like his athletic father, he never succeeded in sports and never played football.
"Maybe because it was too much of a reflection of my dad," Rogers Jr. said.
"If this is some type of strange coincidence, I don't want to be a football player and get all famous and have something happen to me. I'd rather just live like a normal person."
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