Forever piloting the ship

Roger Carlson may not have written the book on how to cover high

school sports, but for anyone who would care to look it up, he has,

at one time or another, at least written the story.

As a sportswriter wannabe who first walked into the Daily Pilot

newsroom as a college intern in 1985, there was no better guiding

light than the one he carried with lunch-pail consistency through all

the time I’ve known him and his work. On the frequent occasions I

sought a clue as to how to do this job, his thoughts and deeds helped

illuminate my path.

From the mechanics of charting football statistics to the

sometimes delicate task of presenting the glass half full, even when

there wasn’t a drop in sight, Roger Carlson’s aura touched my

keyboard nearly as often as my fingers.

For that, I am forever grateful. And for that, I find it hard,

just now, to concentrate on my computer screen.

I find my eyes drifting slightly to the right, where a window to

his office so often revealed the back of his head. It was there,

facing his computer, he burrowed through even the most imposing and

pressurized situations this deadline-driven business has to offer.

Yet, however deeply immersed in this work -- and if there is a

harder worker anywhere, I have yet to encounter him -- he would drop

everything to field a question, concern, or maybe just a trivial

anecdote that had been burning a hole in my notebook. To my delight,

these intrusions would sometimes induce a smile, or, better yet,

prompt him to share one of the myriad memories he had stored away in

a treasure trove of experience that covered parts of five decades.

In the days when our paper went to press in the same building,

Roger, like a child on Christmas eve, would insist on hanging around

the extra hour after deadline, so he could pluck a fresh copy of the

next day’s paper before heading home.

It was during these intervals, always after Friday night football

games as I recall, I would stick around, often leaving just the two

of us. Unburdened by the work that would begin anew the very next

morning, these late-night sessions often allowed for conversation

beyond shop talk, though there was plenty of that, too.

It was during these talks, I recall, Roger would share things

about his life, the funny thing his wife, Dorothea, said to him that

morning, or, if prodded effectively, how his grandchildren were doing

at school. He would also indulge my inquiries about Newport-Mesa

sports nostalgia, as well as other aspects of covering sports for a

living.

His job, of course, had less to do with making a living than

investing his life. Even in his 60s, Roger could outwork anyone in

the newsroom, working, during certain extended stretches, more

consecutive days than Cal Ripken.

Those days, now, are no longer cluttered by relentless deadlines,

temperamental computers, irrational reader complaints and the

challenge of filling pages 365 days a year with locally-generated

sports news. Now, Roger can fill his days with padding his DVD

collection, doting on those grandchildren, and even attending the

occasional Friday night football game, a passion made virtually

impossible by his desk duty for the last several years.

Here’s hoping you enjoy each of those richly deserved days, Roger,

knowing your legacy lives with those who, now, humbly carry the

torch.