Pride and Joy

Wrestling with the philosophical question of why Rashidi Wheeler died at 22 is proving to be easier than figuring out how.

The details of what happened when the senior safety suffered a fatal asthma attack during a summer workout Aug. 3 at Northwestern are still being investigated by the university. An autopsy report won’t be ready for weeks.

Were proper safety precautions in place? Did the use of diet supplements contribute to his death?

These questions couldn’t simply be left outside when family and friends entered Pomona First Baptist Church on Monday to celebrate Wheeler’s life.

There is still an undercurrent of anger, a degree of tension.

That’s why this wasn’t your ordinary funeral service. It’s not often that one of the people asked to share his memories could wind up as a defendant in a lawsuit filed by the deceased’s family.

It isn’t usual to hear a mother, minutes after seeing her son’s face for the last time, announce she is retaining Johnnie Cochran.

And it was almost surreal to hear a sermon from Jesse Jackson at a service for a kid from Ontario who had no national profile before his death.

The presence of Wheeler’s peers, wearing everything from suits to open-collared shirts, underscored how young he was. Twenty-two. It’s the infancy of adulthood. Old enough to start paying bills, have access to all of society’s privileges, yet young enough to write off mistakes as simply being a college boy.

If there was a central theme to the service, it was Wheeler’s smile. It won him friends, it got him out of trouble when he was mischievous.

Wheeler’s part in the communities of Northwestern and La Verne Damien High were well represented, from school teammates, coaches and teachers to the Northwestern logo and the Damien crest that flanked the floral arrangements.

Jackson played a role because he was asked by the family to assist them in their inquiries about Wheeler’s death. His presence was immeasurable Monday.

Everyone else helped paint a portrait of Wheeler’s life. They read his poetry. His junior high English teacher called Wheeler her “loving co-host,” describing how he even blocked the door after the bell rang and told his fellow students they weren’t leaving until she finished reading from a chapter of “Julius Caesar.”

He led philosophical discussions in high school. He would hold his college teammates accountable if he lent them two bucks to buy some chicken wings, but he would also secretly pass play-money $500 bills under the table to struggling teammates if they were playing Monopoly. He kept his friends even if, in one case, they almost came to blows over a cheese omelet.

“He brought joy to the crew,” Northwestern linebacker Kevin Lawrence said.

But it was Jackson who brought a sense of purpose to this terrible loss, who alluded to a higher meaning behind it all, who put into words what so many were thinking.

Jackson said we don’t grieve too much when the elderly pass away because they got a full share of experiences. We weep for stillborn babies or infant deaths, because they never had the chance to soak up life.

“But when the sun is eclipsed at high noon, there is a sense of trauma at the suddenness of it all,” he said. “Some questions are theological, some philosophical. There are questions all around the eclipsing of Rashidi’s sun.

“What happened in the last hour of his life?” Jackson asked. “Was his death preventable? What have we learned from this?”

He described the importance of the safety, Wheeler’s position on the football field. He called him the last line of defense.

“Rashidi is still the safety,” Jackson said. “Today, he’s about to save thousands of young lives.”

Jackson said Wheeler has brought the issue of summer “voluntary” workouts to the forefront. He has prompted Northwestern to reexamine its safety precautions. He has brought about a closer look at supplements, such as Ultimate Orange.

“That’s a huge tackle,” Jackson said. “That’s bigger than the Rose Bowl.”

As Wheeler’s mother, Linda Will, left the church and prepared to enter a limousine for the drive to the cemetery, she paused to talk to reporters. “I feel it is now time for a full-fledged formal investigation,” she said. “My son did not have to die.”

Northwestern Coach Randy Walker was a part of the service. He was included when Jackson gathered Wheeler’s teammates and relatives for a group prayer outside before the service began.

Walker was not present the day of the fatal workout, but his coaching methods that require the arduous series of sprints that felled a double-digit number of players that day have come under fire. Northwestern has stopped the drill, pending the investigation.

During the service, Walker called Wheeler “my hero” and vowed to keep his legacy alive at Northwestern. Jackson and Wheeler’s family want to make sure that legacy includes safer procedures after reports of insufficient staffing and an inoperative phone at the workout site.

It’s not appropriate to label Walker or any Northwestern staffer as the bad guy at this point, before all investigations are complete. It isn’t fair to point fingers at Wheeler for allegedly using a legal, over-the-counter supplement.

We want instant answers, moral scorecards, but for now we can only stew in the questions.

As Jackson said, “Death is certain; life is uncertain.”

And so the only thing we knew Monday was that Wheeler was gone, leaving so many wonderful memories and feelings behind him.

Childhood friend Brian Allen said Wheeler beat him all but one of the many times they raced. Which might explain why he was called to heaven at such a young age.

“Faster runners get there first,” Jackson said.

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J.A. Adande can be reached at [email protected]