Opening Doors, One 25-Cent Fix at a Time: Jim and the Rogers Family Legacy

When I sat down at the Mill Valley Public Library to revisit the recording of my talk with Jim—held just outside the Alumni House a few days earlier—I was cooling down from a hike with a friend in the Marin Headlands. 

On the trail, our conversation had meandered, as lines of dialogue on long walks often do. We went from expressions of gratitude for our Redwood roots in the Bay Area, loving comments about the view, to a deep dive into the ripple effect of the region’s influence. It’s not without its more contentious aspects, we said, I mean, just look at Twitter, and Juul. 

ChatGPT agreed. What else was birthed in the Bay that kind of ended up being a nightmare for the world? I asked from my phone while we walked to our cars. The list my trusted companion rattled off was long.

This story, Jim’s story, serves as the flip side of that coin. Sure, there’s noise here, but, wow, is there lots of music.

Let’s start with the Rogers family lore. 

Ernest Strout Giving Berkeley the Axe

Jim’s grandfather? He was a key player in establishing the axe as a trophy for the annual Big Game.

When? April 15, 1899. What? A Stanford-Berkeley baseball game. Where? A field at 16th and Folsom Streets in San Francisco that doesn’t exist anymore. 

It all started at a pregame in Palo Alto. Stanford students used a large axe to decapitate a statue of a Berkeley fan. Real classy. They performatively cut up pieces of blue and gold ribbon at the game too. But, go Bears, Berkeley won. The San Francisco Call (which lives on as The San Francisco Examiner) described what followed as a “struggling, heavy, shifting press of college men,” jostling for the axe.

Jim’s grandpa Ernest said that the axe was “about as historical as a bag of salted peanuts” at the time. Not worth the strain. He let Berkeley win the struggle for the axe.

Paul Castlehun, a Cal football player, was the first Berkeley student to gain possession of the axe. In a 1996 Article in the Daily Cal, his son Scott wrote. “Despite his achievements as a San Francisco surgeon, [Paul] was always referred to as the ‘man who stole the Stanford Axe’.” 

When Paul’s heavy jacket started to slow him down, he passed the axe off to another Berkeley student, who handed it to someone else, who inadvertently put it in the hands of a Stanford track athlete named Ernest. Oops.

Jim’s grandpa Ernest ran through the city streets until he remembered he had a track meet coming up. In a letter he wrote describing the day, Ernest said that the axe was “about as historical as a bag of salted peanuts” at the time. Not worth the strain. He let Berkeley win the struggle for the axe.

Virginia Strout Rogers Partying on the Golden Gate Bridge

Jim’s mom? She worked for The Daily Californian in 1935 and, alongside a few other staffers, got to hang out at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge while it was under construction. The event was planned as a publicity stunt, The Marin Independent Journal reported. 

“Dancing 746 feet up atop that north tower is an event I’ll never forget,” Virginia said in a quote. New bucket list item unlocked.

Gary Rogers Lifting Up Cal

Jim’s brother? He was named the All-University Athlete in 1963 and received the Cal Athletic Hall of Fame Service Award in 2013. Gary is remembered by California Athletics News as “a brilliant man,” “always conscious of the big picture,” with a “twinkle in his eye” — “he elevated everyone.” 

Mike Teti, head coach of the Cal men’s rowing team, gives Gary all the credit for the resurgence of Cal crew and all of Pac-12 rowing. Exhibit A? The T. Gary Rogers Rowing Center in Oakland. 

Jim’s Star in the Constellation

Out of this deep well of Berkeley history and family ties, Jim’s story began to unfold.

With all that blue and gold running through his blood, in 1967, before starting at Cal, Jim went to the Lair and joined Camp Blue’s Maintenance Crew. He called it “a one-of-a-kind summer experience.” He returned every summer until graduation when the What now? question hit. “I decided I wanted to build a company that built Lairs,” he said.

Gary offered a nudge in the right direction: Write to the president of Kampgrounds of America (KOA). Jim did. 

His Berkeley resume—Eagle Scout, fraternity president, rower, echos of Mario Savio and free speech—landed on KOA’s desk in Montana. It got their attention. Jim flew to Billings, interviewed, and left with a Management Trainee job.A few years later, he went to UCLA for his MBA. His thesis was a group project—three Jims and one Rusty Roy. Inside Jim’s bound copy, which I borrowed from our conversation, was an article about corporations dipping into alumni relations. Next to a note about the Time-Life Alumni Society planning European travel, Jim had written How ‘bout camping? in little letters.

Jim returned to the Lair every summer until graduation when the What now? question hit. “I decided I wanted to build a company that built Lairs,” he said.

After the MBA, Jim managed a Tahoe hotel, then climbed the ranks at Harrah’s in Reno. It wasn’t camp magic, but it was casino luck. In 1999, he stepped away. Two days later, the phone rang. KOA’s president was retiring. John Denver’s “Wild Montana Skies” played on the radio and the universe winked. 

Jim took the job: Chairman and CEO of KOA, the largest campground network in the world. “My Lair experience led me to a wonderful hospitality profession,” he said. It also landed him an episode as the undercover boss on the reality show!

What’s so great about camp that Jim built his life around it? It’s simple. Camp means connection. “You’re not gonna knock on the door of the person next to you at a motel,” Jim said. The environment, the experience—it works with human nature. It makes connection easy, casual, and okay in ways most places don’t. It’s about people. Strangers become friends. All ages, spending time together. You learn skills you don’t know you’re learning until you step back for a second and see them.

The true legacy of the Bay Area isn’t just written in the codes of Silicon Valley. It’s in Jim, whose career in hospitality was shaped by the same human-centered values sparked on a summer day at the Lair.

Jim’s first day at KOA is a perfect example of this spirit in practice. He showed up and found the office door closed and locked. It didn’t sit right. So, he went to the closest hardware store, bought a 25-cent blocker, opened the door, and wedged it under. It wasn’t just a quick fix to a small problem, no, it was a statement. 

Sometimes, the smallest actions make the biggest difference. If the door is blocked, the good stuff can’t get through. But if you open it, you might find the whole world waiting on the other side. 

The true legacy of the Bay Area isn’t just written in the codes of Silicon Valley or the billion-dollar valuations of startups—it’s in the lives of those who come here and leave their mark in subtler, more enduring ways. It’s in the stories of people like Ernest, Victoria, and Gary. And it’s in Jim, whose career in hospitality was shaped by the same human-centered values sparked on a summer day at the Lair.

What Jim built is a philosophy rooted in connection, and in leaving places, and people, better than you found them. It’s the small, thoughtful actions that push things in the right direction: the 25-cent door blockers that open up possibilities.