ERNIE AND ME

    I met Doug Wilkinson (the youngest son of Ernest L. Wilkinson, President of Brigham Young University) while playing my first year of Little League Baseball. We were both nine year olds and played for the team sponsored by the local Elks Club. We became good friends and he would invite me to his house to play. His house just happened to be the President’s Mansion on the BYU Campus. Before leaving home to pump my “no speed” Schwinn to the president’s home, Dad would pull me aside and implore, “Be on your best behavior and don’t get me fired!”

The President's Mansion, Brigham Young University

     In the mansion’s palatial surroundings, Doug’s mother always had cookies, cupcakes and other goodies in ample supply. His aged grandfather would sit on their outside veranda and rock away in his comfortable chair. He was always glad to see us. And we were glad to see him because he would dig deep in his pocket, extract a small leather pouch filled with money, give us a handful of coins, and send us happily on our way to the Cougar Eat located in the basement of the old Joseph Smith Building. It was there that Doug would order up carmel- or hot fudge sundays for the two of us. On a good day we went for the mother load – banana splits!

    Doug had inside knowledge of secret places all over campus. He could get us into the dome above the Eyring Science Center where the telescope was housed. But even better, he knew where to find the hidden door in the building’s basement that led to the underground “heat tunnels.” These tunnels below the sidewalks could stealthily lead us to almost any building on campus. I remember Doug and I popping out of the tunnels into Field House during a BYU basketball game. We watched the game, snagged some popcorn, and were soon back trucking through the tunnels again.

Eyring Science Center, BYU Campus.

    I met President Wilkinson on a few occasions when he walked through his front door, gestured a quick hello, and shuffled his short frame off to his den. Unlike his wife, he had no time for youngsters. Doug was a year ahead of me in school and attended BYU Elementary, a private school. So when baseball season finished we didn’t see each other, much to my father’s relief.

Ernest L. Wilkinson Center, BYU Campus

     My next involvement with the President was not with the man himself, but with a stack of his “Wilkinson for Congress” bumper stickers. You see, Ernie felt the US Senate was calling. They needed his help. Paul Evans, Dave Beck, Tom Schaerrer, and I had just loaded up on his free campaign stickers at the Wilkinson Student Union Center about closing time. We wanted to help him on his way. Sometime later after downing burgers, shakes and fries at Stan’s on Ninth East, we were cruising back across campus when suddenly red and blue lights flared on behind us and Paul’s Fiat was pulled over by a campus cop. He stopped us right in front of the Administration Building. “Why?” Paul politely asked. We hadn’t done anything wrong! “Just a routine stop at this late hour,” he replied. Noting the passengers’ jovial spirits he abruptly ordered us all out of the car. The officer suspected that we had been drinking and wanted to search the car for booze. The very idea! We never touched the stuff!

     Paul, being the driver, was rudely locked into the back of the squad car. The rest of us stood outside watching the officer with flashlight in hand search the glove box, under the seats, and even in the trunk. Meanwhile, my dear friends took it upon themselves to plaster the passenger side of the cop car with "Wilkinson for Congress” stickers. Finding us innocent of his suspicions, we were set free. “Stay off campus this late at night!” the officer barked his condescending dismissal.

Wilkinson for Congress bumper sticker

    Several days later a letter arrived at my house from, guess who, Brigham Young University Campus Security informing my parents of my late night trek through campus, and my possible involvement in the improper use of election stickers.

Francis Max Rogers, Student Body President of BY High School 1963

    My days at BY High were coming to an end. It had been a great four years with outstanding teachers, good friends, and a bundle of fun memories.

Francis with other student council judges during BY High Friendship Day.

Francis making his move during a BY High dance.

 Paul Van doing the forbidden Twist

   We may have been mischievous pranksters at times, but when it came to loyalty to the school, we went out of our way to bring honor and respect to BY High. In sports, music, Debate, Legislative Forum, and in all aspects of Forensics we excelled in regional and state competitions. My friend, George Taylor, and I won Superior ratings as debate partners.

    Preparations were being made for our long anticipated awards assembly. Every Student Body President since time began had received a Leadership Scholarship to BYU. I had applied and was assured by our school counselors that I was a “shoo-in” for the scholarship and didn't need to apply for any others. It was my job as student body president to meet with the administrators and counselors to help plan the awards program.

Mr. Nelson, BY High Principal

    The awards and scholarships were rolling in daily but still no word from BYU about mine. Then it finally happened. Principal Nelson, with a grin on his face, handed me the official envelope. It was sealed and stamped from the office of Ernest L. Wilkinson, President. “Well, go ahead and open it!” Mr. Nelson prodded. With anxious eyes and shaky fingers I peeled back the flap on the envelope and withdrew the contents. It contained a single sheet of official BYU stationary. On it was a short typewritten note:  “We would like to recognize your service as Student Body President of BY High School. But, unfortunately, we cannot offer you a scholarship. We cannot lower our standards.” Signed, Ernest L. Wilkinson, President.

    What? That was it? No explanation? I handed the note to Principal Nelson and walked away. I thought I heard him mumble, “Wilkinson. What a jerk!” My sentiments exactly! In In the back of my mind I questioned: “Was it the stickers? The Big Splash? Or maybe he remembered me from the days when his son, Doug, and I were roaming the campus!"

Ernest L. Wilkinson, President of Brigham Young University

George giving silent thanks for his scholarship. Francis faking sincere interest.

    Time moved on. It was winter and Provo had been pounded with a major snow storm. I was driving past the President’s mansion in Dad’s red VW Bug, when I noticed a short, well-dressed man trudging through the deep snow. He looked annoyed as if he were late for an important meeting. I pulled to the curb, rolled down my widow and asked if he would like a lift. When he turned I recognized him, President Ernest L. Wilkinson in the flesh! He nodded, took me up on my offer, slid into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door, thus dislodging an avalanche of wet snow from the open window sill onto his lap. He sat stoically, staring out the window, refusing to brush off the snow, apparently too proud to admit it even happened. I delivered him safely to his destination where he growled his first word, “Thanks.” And he was gone. I reached over, rolled up his window, and thought, “Maybe I should have introduced myself.” Nah, I don’t think so. I can’t lower my standards.

Francis Max and the famous red VW Bug