Chapter 5: Love at Work

NFL draft day was total chaos.

BOTH sets of parents decided they needed to be with us for 'moral support'. (I'm sure they needed more support than we did.) The coach and a couple of teammates dropped in, too. Don was going through the same thing, I later learned.

The first few picks were the obvious: The Heisman winner and runner-up, and the guy who won the Butkus Award. But I was amazed, and incredibly pleased and flattered, when the sixth pick was announced. "The San Francisco 49ers select, from the University of Oregon, tight end, Gary Rogers..." I was chosen before Don! San Francisco 'traded up' to get an earlier pick in order to get me.

When it came time to move to pro football, I needed an agent more than ever. But I still wanted to compete in track, that spring and summer. (Many people aren't aware of it, but a 'name' track star can make as much money as a top-level NFL star. Hanna and I were near enough to the top to be talking serious money.) Hanna and I had an agent who handled our 'amateur' track appearances. We'd made sure, and double-sure, that we conformed to all the AAU and NCAA rules. We didn't want to jeopardize our amateur standing in either track or football.

The phone call was anti-climatic. The 49ers' Director of Personnel congratulated me on being selected and asked if I had an agent. I thanked him and gave him the name. He asked if I had any immediate questions. I said, "My agent will discuss the details, but my concerns are that I be able to participate in the NCAA track season this spring and the summer track meets." He assured me it could all be worked out. Dion Sanders played baseball, after all. The 49ers had worked out an arrangement with Reynaldo Neamiah, when he was still a champion hurdler.

"Well, sir," I said, "I'm really looking forward to playing for the 49ers. A lot of your players are heroes of mine."

"They're looking forward to having you blocking for them, too, Gary. And they want you to take more of those slants over the middle. Say they're getting too old for much more of that nonsense..."

I chuckled and said I'd try to contribute my share.

The rest of the school year flew by. I worked hard to stay in shape and improve as much as I could with the discus.

Tampa Bay had taken Don late in the second round of the draft. He'd have preferred to go higher, but wasn't unhappy. Still a frequent visitor in our apartment-usually with Kathy-we fed him regularly.

Hanna continued to expand. Between classes, Jason, and her increasing girth, she had a tough time of it. I helped as much as I could, especially with Jason and the routine tasks around the apartment, but Hanna's classwork suffered... I called the track coach. "Coach, I know Hanna can't compete this year, but she really needs some help. Can you get her some tutoring?"

"Sure, Gary," was his cheerful reply. "Her scholarship continues during pregnancy-and so do its 'perks'."

Hanna never stopped being horny, no matter how far along she was. As long as we could, she'd 'work me up'-never too difficult-and proceed to drain my testicles as if she'd never have another chance.

When her expanded womb would no longer permit vaginal penetration, she insisted that I do her up the rear, while fingering her in front. A couple of times, she came so hard, I thought she'd expel the baby just from the strength of her orgasm.

When I raised the issue, she just grinned and said her OB had told her to do whatever was comfortable. Her body would tell her what she couldn't do.

OK. I could live with that... I was still getting the best sex I could imagine.

Near the end of April, Hanna woke me. The clock by the bed told me it was just after two in the morning. Hanna said, "Gary. My water just broke. I need to get to the hospital."

I called a neighbor who'd agreed to come over and stay with Jason when this happened. By the time she arrived, we were dressed and ready to go. I grabbed Hanna's overnight bag and we were off.

I confess I wasn't sure we'd make it in time, but Hanna was still having five-minute contractions when we reached the hospital. Wheeling into the maternity entrance, I managed to grab a nurse who put her in a wheelchair and took charge-leaving me to park the car.

Hanna, her superb body performing at superior levels always, delivered our daughter just as I arrived in the delivery room.

We'd already decided on names, though we'd asked not to be told the baby's sex before its birth. Moira Anne was more than welcome and I was pleased to have a daughter to love along with our wonderful Jason. Her name was the Gaelic version of her maternal grandmother's name. Naturally, both pairs of grandparents descended on us, eager to spoil everyone in sight.

Our joy was blighted when, a week after we brought her home, the doctors confirmed that Moira was blind. Her bright gray eyes tried to track, but they were tracking sound. Her blindness appeared to be profound-that is, she didn't see any light or dark at all, as far as tests on one so young could determine.

Still, she was a beautiful baby and a happy one. She'd smile at the sound of our voices and actually chuckle or giggle when she was gently tickled or talked to. She soon recognized Hanna's voice and then mine. Jason, she knew from the start... Her grandparents took a little longer, but she differentiated between them and grinned when she heard them talking to her.

The doctors could find no damage, nor reason for her blindness. It just was. Without knowing its cause, they could offer no hope or prognosis for Moira's gaining sight, either. The best advice we got, it turned out, was: "Do nothing. Don't experiment on her. Raise her as a blind child, as normally as you can. Wonderful advances are being made daily. Maybe, when she's older, we'll have a discovery that will give her sight. Meanwhile, don't damage anything by trying to correct what we don't understand."

That made sense to us and we followed that advice. We were never sorry, and I'm sure we saved Moira a lot of pain and disappointment as a result.

I was glad to avoid the post-season "bowl" games, where collegians show off their prowess to NFL scouts. And I was pleased that the 49ers encouraged me to continue my track career. My agent said they felt that, first, it would be two years before I broke into the starting lineup and second, the publicity I'd generate as a 'two sport' athlete would fill more seats in the stadium.

That spring it seemed that every time I picked up a discus, I set a new school record. I wasn't beaten in any of the interscholastic meets-or the NCAA finals, where I set a new US record.

Graduation was a nice time and a pleasant, boring event. We were ready to move on.

The summer track season was also pleasant. My appearance fees were substantial, and always included first class travel and accommodations for the family. Bonuses for winning were nice, too. It was a rewarding summer, since I won all but one meet, when I had a severe case of 'Montezuma's Revenge'.

The contract with the shoe company, for both Hanna and me, was very nice, too.

In August, I reported to the 49ers training camp. (Wives were strongly encouraged to stay home!) First came a week of 'rookie' drills. Then the veterans reported. I got to sing my fight song and learned that every hit in the pros is like a tough hit in college. By the end of the second week, I was spending an hour every afternoon in the whirlpool.

But I found that I could catch the ball over the middle at this level. The 49ers defensive backs were the best in the league, in my admittedly biased opinion. I figured if I could take their hits and hang on to the ball, I could take it from the other teams in the league. The coaches agreed and traded the other backup tight end for a defensive tackle we needed.

I found myself spending a lot of time on 'special teams' blocking for punts and running down under kickoffs, learning to stay in my lane and break up the other side's 'wedge'.

In the pre-season games, I'd usually come in during the second period and run some patterns with the second unit, as well as all the special teams appearances. I did OK, though I was still learning the system and the differences between the pro and college game.

Hanna came down for the first preseason game and stayed to find a place for us to live. I had a big chunk of cash from my signing bonus, as well as what I'd made during the summer, so we bought a house in Hillsborough. It was way more home than I'd thought to buy, but the agent said it was a bargain, for the place and market, and I needed to shelter a bunch of money. It was a 'little' (for that community) 5300-square-foot home on nine and a half acres, surrounded by live oaks and olive trees, all well-fenced. This was a really 'upscale' community, mostly full of electronics millionaires. I wasn't sure how we'd fit in, although I wasn't worried about it. (I am what I am. People who don't like it can take their neuroses elsewhere-or take note of the mistletoe on my shirttail!) The place needed some work, being a forty-year-old house without much modernization, and was, really, small for the area. Hanna looked forward to handling the renovations. And she was happy to be so near the Stanford Medical Center, for Moira.

Training camp and the weekly practice in the NFL was harder than I could have imagined. Besides the conditioning and constant practice on skills, there was never-ending study. I had to memorize the playbook-some of the wide receiver routes as well as the tight end assignments. Then I had to learn the defenses and the subtle modifications each team used.

Finally, there were the weekly preparations for the next opponent.

I thought I knew football... I got a post-graduate course.

I hoped my play would improve enough to compete at that level and worked hard to make it so. I guess I succeeded, because my idol, Jerry, commented after a practice one day that I was 'lookin' good'.