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 Hanna 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 homework
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' 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, either. 
(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 community.  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'.

   Three weeks into the season, I played the entire fourth quarter, when we
were well ahead.  I caught two passes, one a tough slant over the middle.
And I made some good blocks on defensive ends and linebackers--who were
surprisingly agile for that late in the game.  Once I even got to level a
cornerback.  The receivers gave me `high-fives' when I returned to the
bench after the series.  We all like to see cornerbacks taken down.

   - - + + + + + -



   Hanna fully recovered from the birth process.  We never did find out why
our Moira was born blind.  Otherwise, she was in perfect health and so was
Hanna.

   After fucking my brains out one Sunday night, Hanna raised on an elbow
and casually draped one magnificent breast beside my face.

   I gave it an appreciative lick and a little suck.  It still contained
milk, which I enjoyed tasting from time to time.  Then I raised my
eyebrows.

   "Gary?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Do you want more kids right away?  Or do you think we should wait a
while?"

   "Darling, that's your department.  I'm really happy either way.  What
are your thoughts?" She hesitated.  "Come on, baby.  I know you've been
thinking about this, or you wouldn't have brought it up."

   "Ya got me, Gary... I think I'd like to wait a while.  I want to get
back into track--just to see if I can.  And Moira and I both need some
special training... Gary, I WILL NOT allow any doctors to experiment on
her! I'll find somebody I trust.  She can be examined, but I'm not going to
let them plant electrodes in her, or any of that crap."

   I took another lick and suck, then found her mouth, for a deep kiss.

   "Honey, I'm with you all the way.  We don't need more kids now.  In
fact, we may decide we don't need more kids at all.  The two we have are
perfect, as near as I can tell.  And I agree about Moira.  I'd like to know
what causes her blindness.  If it can be corrected without risk, that would
be nice.  But I'm not about to make lab animals out of my children.  She's
a healthy, happy baby.  She already has that female magic going.  She's got
Jason and me firmly wrapped around her fingers.  Let's make sure she's
raised as normally as we can."

   In answer, Hanna just grabbed old Oscar and caressed him until he perked
up.  Then she was over and on and riding hard.

   "Kiss me, love.  Then fuck me hard!" she panted.  I tried, helping out
by sucking greedily on one of her nipples.  That tipped her over and she
came, hard and fast, her body thrashing and flailing as she wailed her
completion.

   I didn't get off, since she'd drained me so thoroughly not long before.
But I was real smug about being able to get Hanna off so hard.  I just held
her on me and straightened her legs out beside mine.  Soon she was asleep,
pillowed on my chest, plugged in.  I followed in minutes.

   - - + + + + + -



   The NFL, even in excellent organizations like the 49ers, is a fiercely
competitive world, with fear the primary motivation.  There was fear of
getting beat, fear of injury, and fear of losing a highly-paid job.  For
many players, football was all they knew, so the fear was real.  For me,
the only real fear I had was of injury.  Hanna and I could make a VERY good
living off of track, with less wear and tear on the body.  And we felt that
we were prepared to make a living doing `real work' any time we wanted to.

   The sharp people on the 49ers staff recognized this and didn't even try
to motivate me with negatives or threats.  Rather they appealed to my pride
and worked with me to help me perfect my skills.  I guess the program
worked, because by the seventh game in my rookie season, I was inserted
regularly, to give the starter a breather and keep his legs fresh and
increase my game experience.  In short-yardage situations, we'd both go in
for the `two tight end' lineup.  That both of us were good receivers helped
keep defenses honest, too.

   Our season was mostly successful.  We didn't win our division, but were
a solid wild-card selection, with home field advantage for the first
playoff game.

   We managed to win the game, but Steve went down with a shoulder
separation and would not be back that year.  His backup was good, but not
good enough, and we lost our second playoff game to the Vikings.  That was
no disgrace, but was a disappointment.

   - - + + + + + -



   Right after the New Year, I arranged to work out under the watchful eye
of the field events coach at Stanford.  Hanna started jumping again, too,
though she had to ease into it, and do a lot of strength and conditioning
work before she could try anything serious.

   Surprisingly, she "came back" in pole vault long before she regained
competitive form in the high jump.  She says it's because her legs got back
into shape for sprinting easily, but took longer to regain their `spring'.

   The strength and agility drills I'd been doing with the 49ers kept me in
good shape for discus.  I needed some stretching and a bit of weight work
on specific muscle groups, but with the cheerful and very competent help of
the Stanford coach, I was soon tossing my `frisbee' to near-record
distances every day.



   The summer track season was a joy.  We were able to take the children to
most of the meets--normally with one or the other grandmother along to
spoil them, a regimen that saw them thrive.  We also made substantially
more money than I made playing ball.  Hanna took great pleasure in pointing
out that she made as much as I did.  My comeback was that she had to do two
events to do it.

   It didn't matter.  We were doing something we loved, that we could do
together with the family.  We made each trip a thing of wonder for the kids
and saw the cities we visited with new eyes ourselves, as a result.

   By the end of the summer, Hanna was winning the vault regularly, and
doing OK in the high jump... though she admitted that she was rapidly
getting too old and heavy for that event.

   - - + + + + + - -



   About that time, a friend, Jamaal--a `dream team' member who played for
the Utah Jazz--talked with me seriously about what I was doing with my
money and how I was preparing for the time I could no longer compete at the
professional level.

   I told him that Hanna and I were confident that we could find good jobs
when we wanted them.

   He snorted derisively.  "Will a $35,000 a year, entry-level marketing
job maintain your lifestyle?" I had to admit that it would just about make
my house payments.  "And would you be happy with an 8-to-five existence in
a cubicle?  With a boss to satisfy and quotas to meet?"

   No.  I wouldn't.

   My business manager and agent had arranged some investments for me,
besides the house, which we all agreed was an excellent investment as well
as a nice place to live.

   Jamaal said, "Brother Gary, you need some help.  And I'm the guy to do
it.  If you like, I'll teach you what I'm doing.  I can tell you I make
almost as much from investments as I do from the ridiculously high salary
the Jazz pays me."

   "Sounds OK.  But what is it you do?"

   "I invest in commodities.  It's really simple."

   "Isn't that risky?  I've heard people lose their shirts in pork bellies
and corn futures."

   "Sure, some do.  The stupid ones.  I don't.  And you don't need to,
either."

   "I dunno, Jamaal.  Sounds awful speculative to me."

   He just grinned.  "It is if you don't know what you're doing.  I said
I'd teach you.  It's easy, once you get the hang of it."

   "Well, doesn't it take a lot of time?  You got to research what the
markets are doing and what they're going to do, and all that."

   "Not really.  I spend an hour or less a day.  Sometimes a bit more, if I
want to look at a commodity I don't have any experience with."

   "And you're making that kind of money?"

   He grinned wider.  "Yep.  Like I said, it's fun and easy.  And it can be
real interesting.  The thing is, you've got to look at it as a business,
not a crap-shoot.  If you want to gamble, fly over to Vegas for a weekend."

   I grinned back.  "OK.  If you're willing, I'm eager to learn.  Will you
teach Hanna, too?"

   "Sure.  Lavonia has her own trading account and finds it fascinating. 
We'll both teach you.  But it's really simple."

   Over the next few months, Jamaal and Lavonia visited us often--and we
learned his secrets to speculating in the commodities markets.  One of the
most important was, "Don't be greedy!" He'd gone on to say that, to make
money over the long haul, one would never get in at the bottom and out at
the top.  We learned to spot trends and take advantage of them.  We'd get
out when we reached our objectives--and not worry about how much higher the
thing might go.

   Hanna seemed to soak it up and soon was trading her account entirely on
her own--and making a bundle doing it.  I took a little longer, `paper
trading' (doing it on paper, but without actually spending any money) for
several months until I was convinced I knew what I was doing.

   - - + + + + + -



   After a while, the track meets seem to run together.  Usually, in
addition to substantial fees for `appearance money', we would have monetary
incentives to win our events--with BIG bonuses if we broke US or world
records.

   I do remember the meet in Munich, in the old Olympic Stadium... We
visited the Stadtplatz, to see the extreme gothic decoration on the
Rathous. While we were there, the famous glockenspiel did its daily act. 
Jason was fascinated.  Once again I was blessed with sharing the wonder of
my child discovering something new and amazing.

   I didn't set any records that summer, but I won most of the meets I
entered.  As I recall, Hanna set a US record, near the end of the season.
Financially, we made more than I did playing football by a substantial
margin.

   After track season, I had no time for vacation--football camp had
already started, and I was right back in it.