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!”
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Francis with other student council judges during BY High Friendship Day. |
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| Francis making his move during a BY High dance. |
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| 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.
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| 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!"
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| Ernest L. Wilkinson, President of Brigham Young University |
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| 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.
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| Francis Max and the famous red VW Bug |
