Category: Reflections

1991 — Shadows Behind the Story

The text [in Part 27 – From Left Field] simply says that Roger contacted his long-time friend Norm Bowers looking for two people who could help research management theory, distil complex ideas and assist with communicating organisational change. Norm suggested two tutors from his coaching college. One of them was me.

That summary is accurate enough, but it leaves out a much bigger story.

For as long as I can remember Roger held a firm principle that close family members should not work together at Panthers. Unlike many family businesses, he believed employment should never depend upon bloodlines. It protected the organisation from accusations of favouritism and, just as importantly, protected the family from the pressures and complications that inevitably arise when work and home become entangled.

My brothers and I experienced that principle long before employment was ever contemplated.

As children we watched children from families of Roger’s Panther colleagues enjoy privileges that were simply unavailable to us. The children and grandchilren of some Panthers’ officials could wander into dressing rooms. Other children became ball boys or travelled with teams. We remained outside those circles. At the time it felt unfair. Looking back, I understand that Roger was drawing a line he was determined not to cross.

So why did he cross it in 1991?

The simple answer is that he believed Panthers had reached a point unlike anything it had previously faced.

The move to Mulgoa Road had been spectacularly successful in one sense. Sales had exploded. The club had become one of the largest in the country. But behind those impressive numbers Roger could see problems that few others recognised. The organisation had outgrown the management systems that had served it so well in earlier years. The challenge was no longer simply managing a licensed club. It was understanding how organisations evolve, why they stall, and how they successfully reinvent themselves.

He needed people who could immerse themselves in ideas, research widely, challenge assumptions and then translate abstract concepts into practical language that managers throughout the organisation could understand and use. Club management experience was almost beside the point. In some respects, it was an advantage not to have it.

By 1991 Roger was carrying burdens — some were widely visible, others were not so obvious.

The public could see the club’s growth and football success. The long hours were seen by the Panthers staff — especially the management team who shared the search for answers to the dilemmas faced by the Club. This commitment was hidden from the wider public.

Hidden from all but those closest to him was the stress of discovering that he had serious underlying health issues. The most serious of these was polycythemia, an incurable blood disorder in which the bone marrow manufactures too many red blood cells.

The combined challenges of the Club’s financial stress and the newly diagnosed health issues are sufficient to drive unhealthy levels of stress. But, by mid-year 1991 a huge shadow was cast across this picture — Peter, the third of the four Cowan boys, was dying.

Through the second half of the eighties, Peter was diagnosed HIV/AIDS. Remember, by 1987 big budgets were directed towards advertising that elevated concerns about the spread of AIDS – lifting the feeling from concern to horror and fear.

Imagine being the parent of someone with the virus, imagine thinking about their future while watching their physique reduce to the skeletal, imagine seeing the grim reaper repeatedly visiting your living room.

By the early part of 1991, Peter’s withering physique made his destiny clear. Roger & Mum were regularly taking trips between Penrith and Sydney, spending time with Peter.

On July 15, we gathered at St Vincent’s Hospice for what we suspected would be his last hours. Our time with him was one-on-one, holding and stroking his skeletal hand, listening as he ranted against some imaginary barman who would not serve him a drink, or some incompetent cabbie taking the wrong route.

We laughed with him, crying inside at what we were about to lose.

He couldn’t hear us; he couldn’t see us; but I’m damned sure he felt us.

He left us just before the sun went down that day.

Three months later, Panthers took their first premiership lap. Peter would have loved that.

I started at Panthers a month after Peter left us.

Beneath this shadow and amidst all the turmoil and stress swirling around Roger’s worklife, his focus on the future health of Panthers didn’t falter – in fact his dedication and commitment to this ambition may well have increased.

It would be wrong to suggest these private events somehow caused my appointment. They did not.

But they formed part of the context in which Roger found himself confronting perhaps the greatest organisational challenge of his career while carrying some of the heaviest personal burdens of his life. For someone who had always preferred solving problems himself, this was one of the few occasions where he openly acknowledged that he needed help.

Even then, abandoning his principle about family employment was not a decision he made lightly. Before I joined Panthers he took the proposal to the Board. Approval was unanimous.

Looking back, I don’t think this episode says very much about me.

It says far more about Roger.

He had principles, and he took them seriously. They were not ornaments. They were not things to be put on display when convenient and packed away when awkward. But he also understood that a principle should serve a purpose. It should not become a cage.

In 1991, Panthers needed something different. Roger needed something different too.

I think he knew both things.

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From A Child’s Eyes

One day the boy sat in the car, watching Roger drive. The Chev had a crash gearbox, the gear stick rising from the floor. The boy studied the movement — the hand on the stick, the timing, the sound of gears that didn’t always quite meet.

“I reckon I could drive this car,” he said.

They were on a bush track. Roger glanced across and replied, “Alright. Let’s see you try.”

—

That small moment in the narrative stirred my memory.

I can still see that gear stick rising from the floor, still hear the gears protesting as Roger guided it through. Sounds belonging to a time long ago, sounds that still resonate.

It was early — very early — when we set out. We left our home in Guildford Rd, Kingswood and travelled east — along the Great Western Highway, then only a single lane each way. past Kingswood. The road felt long then. The world felt larger.

The sun began to rise as we moved along Parramatta Road, the sun — an uncompromising orange glow spread across horizon and cut through the morning, piercing the windscreen. It is a scene I can still see clearly, even now.

We arrived while most of the city was still waking.

The Sydney Markets were already alive. Men in leather aprons moved quickly through the chaos, pushing wooden trolley with metal wheels, lifting bags of potatoes, hauling wooden crates of fruit. There were voices everywhere — loud, urgent, and often unfamiliar. It was noisy, physical, assured.

I knew where we were. I knew why we were there. I was only 5 years old!

Roger had left teaching. He was trying something else — something less certain. The trip was part of that. We were buying produce for the fruit shop in High Street, Penrith.

It was a long morning — felt like the entire day had passed. But I wasn’t tired. I felt… included. Trusted, perhaps. Part of something that mattered.

I understood what we were doing.

I just didn’t understand what it meant.

—

It was only much later that I began to see it differently.

At the time, it was a trip to the Markets. An early start. A day that felt bigger than most.

But it was more than that.

It was a man stepping away from something secure and into something uncertain — and doing so without hesitation. Treating it not as a risk, but simply as what needed to be done.

And without knowing it, I was seeing more than the work itself.

I was seeing where he stood in the world.

And, in some quiet way, something about where I stood as well.

—

To some, it might seem ordinary.

It was anything but.

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A Note on Perspective

This project is not intended as a platform for grievance — though, at times, I may lapse and loosen my self-imposed restraints.

This is the place where those restraints are applied less rigorously.

Why?

Because this project is, in many respects, personal.

It centres on “The Roger Cowan Years” — and Roger is my father.

The story, therefore, is not only historical. It is also lived.

Panthers has long been embedded in the Cowan family. It is less an interest than a constant presence — something closer to home than anything else. Even now, my mother, at 91, still attends games, despite the relocation to Parramatta.

This section of Beyond the Book provides space to step slightly outside the structure of the manuscript.

Here, I may offer interpretation, perspective, or anecdote — sometimes to clarify, sometimes simply to add dimension.

There have, over time, been difficult moments connected to the events described in this material. Those are not the focus here. But nor will they be avoided if they are relevant to understanding what unfolded.

The purpose of this section is more straightforward.

To add depth where it may assist.
To provide context that sits outside the narrative.
And, at times, to share the perspective of someone who was not only observing events, but living within them.

Some of these reflections are easy to write. Others are not.

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