Donald Lee “Don” Rogers, 66, left us peacefully on the night of Thursday, May 9, 2019, at his home. He was legendary, and his spirit will continue to live on through the many people who so dearly loved him.
Don was born in Winchester, Virginia, and raised by his mother, Noel, alongside his five brothers and one sister, but he pursued a life outside of this small mountain town shortly after graduating from James Wood High School in 1972. Articulate, handsome and multitalented, Don landed in Wilmington, where he met the mother of his only child and started a family.
A perfectionist in his work, Don meticulously studied carpentry and successfully ran his own company for the rest of his days, earning him the title of master carpenter. He enjoyed cooking, earning the nickname “Chef Don”; billiards; gardening; darts; and birdwatching.
He is survived by his beloved son, Adam; brothers, Mikey, Pencil, Dennis, Alan and M. Effler; sister, Christine; and his lifelong friend, James Willetts.
A celebration of life will be held at 2 p.m., Saturday, June 1, at Seapath Towers Clubhouse, 322 Causeway Drive, Wrightsville Beach.
“When I was three, I locked myself in your brown pickup truck at the gas station. You motioned how to unlock the door, but once I realized I was “locked in,” I began to panic and hyperventilate. You told me to backup, made sure I was a safe distance away and bare-fist punched through the glass. You opened the door, and I jumped into your loving arms.
When I was four, I was in the rocket ship at Chuck E. Cheese’s on a daycare trip, the ride got stuck at the tip top, and I was too afraid to jump to any employee. You showed up, 6’3″, 220, and I jumped into your loving arms.
In first grade, the whole playground was flooded before school. It was still dark, and you carried me all the way to class so my feet didn’t get wet. The teacher told me to put my shoes by the radiator so they would dry, like everyone else’s. I did, and later realized I was the only kid in class whose parent carried them through the water, my shoes were the only shoes still bone dry.
You were my tee-ball coach all three years we played. My first year, I got popped in the mouth by a fly ball and was crying in the outfield during a game. You came out and asked me if I wanted to take a break or if I wanted to stay. I went from being scared to realizing I wanted to play. I said “play,” and you ripped the little skin dangling off my lower lip and I stayed in. It was awesome. You were always teaching me lessons like that. I have a similar story when Doss’s nephew and I got cacti stuck in our feet. Ha ha; I know you remember.
I have to mention that you built me not one, but two basketball goals, so my friends and I could play full court. You bought me, not one, but two proton packs, so we could play multiple ghost busters catching ghosts. And since you owned your own company, pretty much every time I was sick, you’d be the one to pick me up. I’d be feeling awful, and you’d scoop me up, and I’d feel safe in your loving arms.
Growing up, my friends always asked about you and always told me how “cool” you were. Your old friends always told me how fun and sweet you were and your old female friends always told me how handsome you were. I always just felt like you had the answers for everything. You were so good with your hands; it was like you could build or fix anything. A true master carpenter. You helped build and make America beautiful and your stamp is everywhere. You were your own boss for most of your life, and you were a hip D.J. before I was born, and most people can’t say that. You’ve been my absolute best friend for a long time now, and I will continue to become a better version of myself in hopes of eventually being the man you raised me to be.
I remember being on one of your job sites as a teenager; working outside is no joke, and you did it my whole life. Two guys were lifting plywood to another guy on the roof. You came up and assigned them other tasks and began one-manning the remaining pieces to the guy up top. Another carpenter motioned to you and said “that’s a big man,” and that’s how I’ll always remember you. A man among men. Way tougher than me, but twice as kind. Never complaining and always patient. And thank you so much for all that you’ve taught me. Thanks so much for all the meals you cooked for me and the millions of questions you’ve answered. Damn, could you cook and you always seemed to know what to say.
Seven years ago this week, I moved in with you and I can’t describe how fortunate I feel for our time together. Most people never have this friendship with a parent, or the guidance role ends much earlier. I had the privilege of having you as a best friend, a partner in crime, and the one person I told everything to, exactly as it was, for over the last decade.
You were diagnosed with cancer in 2000 and given five years. Well, you quadrupled that prediction, Dad, and three days before you passed, you refused hospice care, saying “I’m not ready, I wanna fight.” You were a fighter until the very end, and you left in your own home, peacefully, in your sleep. I told you how much I love you and fixed your hair nice a few hours before your passing. You were warm, as comfortable as could be and had the remote. It goes without saying. I love you, Dad. You da man, Pops. Love ya, Daddy. I’m glad you’re no longer in pain. Give Memaw and Lady big hugs and nice scratches for me.
Don Rogers
Loving father, friend, humanitarian.
March 4, 1953 – May 9, 2019
