Date: Fri 19-Jan-1996

Publication: Bee

Author: TOMW

Illustration: I

Quick Words:

John-Rose-Column

Full Text:

John Rose - Memorial Column By Tom Wyatt

While standing amidst a large gallery of parents at a Newtown High School

baseball game, absorbing and simultaneously dismissing cracks about the coach

and his game strategies - like any other day at any other high school sporting

event - my ear suddenly picked up the pitch of a rare tune; somebody who knew

what he was talking about.

I don't remember exactly what John Rose was saying the day I first met him

back in the spring of 1984, but it was like taking a cold drink of water after

a half-hour sauna.

This middle-aged man, with metal crutches strapped to his wrists because of

rheumatoid arthritis, spoke with a raspy Bronx accent and a boldness honed

through a lifetime of loving sports. His voice resembled that of Burgess

Meredith in the old Rocky films; stubborn and strong and until the day he died

he spoke with such conviction that if he told you Babe Ruth stunk, you'd

believe him.

John Rose would talk sports with anybody who wanted to listen. And there was

always somebody who did.

I was only two years out of high school at that time and was not yet a writer,

but I had been a sports fan all my life and was one person who enjoyed

conversing with such a knowledgeable and savvy character as John was. Though

the extent of our relationship consisted only of standing and watching NHS

baseball games, John felt he knew me well enough to call me and ask me for a

lift to the game on a few occasions. " Can you give the crippled guy a ride? "

he'd ask me, rhetorically. And I gladly would.

In the ten years that followed that fateful baseball season I spoke with John

only a handful of times, but I recognized his voice immediately the first time

I heard " this is John from Sandy Hook " while listening to WFAN on my car

radio. WFAN was an all-sports radio station that was established in 1987 and

became a regular part of John's life as his illness eventually took away his

sight and confined him to his bed.

On The FAN, as the station became known, John would speed dial regularly (on

his own dime) - sometimes two and three times a day - until he became friendly

with the New York radio personalities in the same imposing and captivating

manner with which he originally had befriended me.

Through the radio airwaves, John endeared himself to listeners all over the

northeast with his insightful phone calls which often added different twists

to volatile sports arguments.

Like the day when I first met him, John was still an exception to the norm. He

was a sports fan who knew what he was talking about and was, consequently, a

pleasure to listen to.

Mr John Rose finally folded to his ultimate opponent and passed away last week

at the age of 64. Those who were close to him know that his death was

merciful, but all will miss the cocksure presence of one of the all-time great

sports fans and good guys.

His suffering is now finished, but John's sports opinions have found new

bounds. We're almost certain that on a ballfield somewhere, there's an

exuberant spirit with bones to pick who, right about now, is probably getting

in the ear of former Boston Red Sox owner, Harry Frazee.

" What in the heck were you thinking about when you sold Babe Ruth to the

Yankees? Do you know what you did? "

" Wait, is that Kenesaw Mountain Landis? . . . Hey Judge! Get over here! "