No Fun and No Games : High Schools: You don’t see an athlete such as Jerry Garrett come along very often; unfortunately, because of the way his life has gone lately, you haven’t seen Jerry, either.

It’s 1:40 in the afternoon. Classroom doors simultaneously swing open as if operated by an electronic switch. Kids run out, celebrating their freedom.

Ah, another day of school has ended at Oceanside High.

The jocks start heading to the gym. The freaks begin their quest to find a place to get stoned. The brains go home to study.

And then there’s the kid wearing a Raiders sweat shirt and shorts, striding down the sidewalk.

Heads turn. Students whisper. Teachers grimace. Coaches ignore him.

His name is Jerry Garrett.

Everyone at school knows about Jerry.

Every high school coach in San Diego County knows about Jerry.

Every major college football recruiter in the country knows about Jerry.

The Oceanside Unified School District knows about Jerry.

The California Interscholastic Federation and its attorneys know about Jerry.

And, unfortunately, the folks at the San Diego Family Court Services know about Jerry, too.

“Let’s go,” Jerry says.

He starts to walk across the parking lot, then hears a noise. He stops, turns around and sees that football practice is about to begin.

Garrett looks away, hoping that no one notices. He’s not about to let anyone on the campus know how much he misses playing football. He wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction.

Besides, it’s the school’s embarrassment, not his, right? They’re the ones suffering without him. They’re the ones who have to keep telling every college football recruiter in the country that, sorry, Jerry Garrett isn’t playing for us anymore.

Oh sure, Oceanside’s coaches tell recruiters, they know that Garrett is one of the best high school players to come around these parts for quite some time.

Yes, they know that the school’s former coach, Roy Scaffidi, is telling everyone that, as much talent as USC linebacker Junior Seau possesses, Garrett makes him look like a Pop Warner player. Seau played here, too.

Yes, they know that every college football coach in the country lusts for his talent.

“But what can you do,” Oceanside Principal Brian Sullivan said, “if you can’t get him to go to class? How can you help him if he’s not going to help himself?

“It’s a shame. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.”

Garrett has not been academically eligible to play sports since November 1988. He did not have enough credits to be eligible this fall and, at the last grading period in October, he was failing four of his six classes.

“I’m not dumb, I know that,” Garrett said. “I know I can do the work. It’s just that I don’t go to class enough.”

“Why?” everyone asks.

“He’s such a marvelous athlete, and bright, too,” said Joseph Graybeal, assistant superintendent of the Oceanside Unified School District. “That’s why we’re all asking why such a great talent like this is going to waste, when he could be using it to his advantage and attending the college of his choice.”

Garrett is asked this question every day, dozens of times each week. If only they knew, he says. If only they realized what he’s had to endure in his life, then they wouldn’t ask why school seems so unimportant at times.

“I don’t know, it’s just that I don’t have the same enthusiasm for the classroom like I do when I’m on the football field,” he said. “It’s funny, I used to love school. But things are different now. My whole life’s different.

“It just seems like everything in the world has gone wrong, and some days, I don’t know, I feel like I can’t even deal with it anymore.”

If you really want to know what tragedy is all about, step into the life of Jerry Dewayne Garrett.

Jerry Garrett and Terry Vaughn have been best friends since fifth grade. They grew up together. They went to school together. They played sports together. They double-dated together. And yes, they dreamed together.

“We always talked about how we were going to win the state championship together and go to the same college,” Vaughn said. “Everything was coming together so well. I remember when we played on the freshman team, we were so dominant, teams were actually afraid of us.”

They played on the varsity together their sophomore year. Garrett had to wait nine games before he could play because he didn’t turn 15 until Nov. 5. It was worth the wait. The first game in which he was eligible was homecoming against El Camino. Scaffidi didn’t care. He put him in at quarterback in the second series, with the game still scoreless.

Garrett ran for two touchdowns and threw to Vaughn for another. Oceanside won, 31-0.

“That’s the way we thought it always would be,” Vaughn said. “There was nothing to indicate any different.”

This year, Vaughn is leading all of San Diego County in rushing with 1,496 yards, averaging 166 yards a game. He has shoe boxes in his closet, filled with recruiting letters. With his athletic skills and 3.2 grade-point average, he should have more than 100 colleges and universities to choose from.

“Who would have ever thought it would turn out like this?” said Vaughn, who will be under the spotlight at 7:30 tonight when Oceanside (5-4) plays Mission Bay (8-2) in the first round of the San Diego Section playoffs.

Garrett said: “Terry and I talk about it all the time, what would happen if we were playing together. Nobody could touch us. I think we’d be the best team in the country. All our games in the county would be a joke.”

It’s one thing for a 17-year-old to be making such brash statements, but when adults and those in the coaching profession agree with him, you begin to wonder.

After all, this is Jerry Garrett you’re talking about, a 6-foot 190-pounder who always could do anything on an athletic field better than anyone else:

* Football: “He was the greatest athlete I’ve ever seen,” Scaffidi said. “He could get an athletic scholarship in football, basketball or baseball, and probably make a professional living at any sport he chose. He had great size, great speed, great quickness and a tremendous heart. Practically every college coach in America was on campus that year--guys like Terry Donahue, Larry Smith, Lavelle Edwards, John Cooper--and they were all asking about Jerry as if he were senior.”

* Basketball: “He can play at a low Division 1 school or a high Division 2 school right now without even improving,” said Oceanside Coach Steve Kinder, “and that’s a modest statement. He’s got great quickness and terrific court vision. There’s no doubt in my mind he can get a four-year scholarship.

“To tell you how much I think of him, I made him our captain this year, and I have no idea if he’s even going to be eligible.”

* Baseball: “He might be the finest athlete I’ve ever seen in San Diego County,” said Oceanside Coach David Barrett. “He’s got some rough edges, but he’s a tremendous center-fielder. I remember once as a freshman he hit a 450-foot-home run. Four-hundred and fifty feet. Can you believe it? The kid was 14 years old. I mean, he struck out a lot, but so did Reggie.”

* Track: “You know when he ran for us two years ago,” Oceanside Coach Terry Scaife said, “it was only part-time. But one of the first meets he ever ran for us, he ran the 100 meters in 10.8. That’s just two-tenths off the school record. He long-jumped 22 feet without ever having practiced. He even qualified for the CIF preliminaries, but he had a baseball game, so he couldn’t make it. You’re talking about a dynamite athlete here.”

Imagine, all in one school year: Garrett was the starting quarterback on the varsity football team. He was the starting guard on the basketball team. He was the starting center-fielder on the baseball team. He was the fastest kid on the track team.

Jerry Garrett had barely turned 15 years old.

He was a sophomore.

He had the world at his feet.

Sure, there were problems. But every family has them, don’t they? Why should Jerry and his 17-year-old sister, Angela, have felt any different when they heard their parents fighting at night.

But it got worse and worse. Their father, Jerre Garrett, started coming home later and later. Some nights, wife Dorothy said, he wouldn’t come home at all.

Dorothy Garrett got so mad at her husband one day in May 1987 that, according to court records, she grabbed a vase in the hallway and smashed it against his right arm.

Jerre Garrett went to the hospital for stitches.

Dorothy and Jerre’s relations seemed to improve after the incident. They even went on a two-week family vacation in Alabama in July later that year.

But by the time the summer of ’87 was over, Jerry and Angela said they feared for each of their parents’ lives.

Then it happened: the day that still causes Angela nightmares and the day that forever changed the Garrett household.

Dorothy Garrett said in court records that Jerre Garrett had been gone for four days when he appeared again Oct. 13 at the family apartment. Dorothy Garrett was waiting. She grabbed a knife. Jerry tried to stop her. It was of no use. She pushed her son aside and tried to stab her husband. She flung the knife at him several times and missed.

Later that day, Angela and her father went to the laundromat. When they returned, the anger had only intensified.

Jerre and Dorothy began yelling obscenities at each other, and according to court records, Dorothy Garrett threw a bucket of hot water on her husband.

Jerre Garrett pulled out a gun.

He was outside when he saw his wife in the kitchen. He put his finger on the trigger and pulled it. He missed.

Dorothy Garrett telephoned the police, but it was Jerre Garrett who spoke: “My wife has gone crazy.”

Dorothy Garrett: “Yes . . . I am crazy. And one of us is going to die while we both wait for the police.”

Jerre Garrett: “I missed you once, but I won’t miss you again.”

Two police officers arrived with their guns drawn, ordering Jerre Garrett to come out with his hands up. Dorothy Garrett followed.

They each were handcuffed and arrested.

The charge: Attempted murder.

Jerry arrived home in time to see the police car drive away with his parents in the back seat.

The attempted murder charges were dropped, but the time in court was just beginning. There were custody hearings. Each parent was prohibited from approaching within 100 yards of each other’s residence. A holiday schedule for the children’s visitation rights was drawn. The parents were required to submit to random drug testing.

During the custody hearings, Angela was asked that if she could have any three wishes, what she would want most.

“That my parents get back together,” she said.

They were divorced by the end of 1988.

Jerre Garrett was given custody of his son.

Dorothy Garrett was given custody of her daughter.

Today, Angela lives in an apartment with her 15-month-old baby. She had one request: “Please don’t give my phone number to my mother.”

Jerry lives with his father and his father’s girlfriend. Jerry, who already had three stepbrothers and stepsisters from his dad’s previous marriage, will soon have two more stepsisters.

“He’s really never been the same since the divorce,” Angela said. “It’s just bothered him so much. Sometimes he’ll come over to my apartment, and I’ll tell him he needs to go to school.

“He asks me, ‘What for? They won’t let me play football anyway.’

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to say.”

Garrett’s eyes dart across the room. He shifts uncomfortably in the booth. He takes a drink and swishes it in his mouth, biding time to collect his emotions.

His eyes begin to mist as he wonders how he can be in such a mess.

How can this polite, well-mannered, 17-year-old, who has never gotten into a bit of trouble, cause such a disturbance that many teachers and administrators today refuse to publicly discuss him?

How can a kid be responsible for his high school football coach being fired?

How can he be ineligible for all sports now, lagging so far behind now in his schoolwork that he doesn’t even know if he will graduate.

“Sometimes I get the feeling that teachers don’t even want me here,” Garrett said. “I know the football coach (John Carroll) hates me. There are a lot of adults that hate me.

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. If I went to class all the time, none of this mess would have ever started.

“But it’s too late now. All I can hope is that this will be a very painful lesson, and I’ll be better for it.

“It just seems like everything’s happened so fast.”

When Garrett’s personal world began crumbling, his schoolwork followed suit. His father had moved out of the district in February of 1988, and just to get to school was a burden. If he couldn’t get a ride to class, he wasn’t going.

Still, he had football. For the first eight weeks of the season, Oceanside established itself among the premier teams. They were 6-1, Garrett was dominating the playing field, scoring seven touchdowns in seven games and Roy Scaffidi had a championship dancing in his head.

Then came results of the first grading period on Oct. 21. Garrett was flunking four classes.

Scaffidi figured his starting quarterback would be on probation. No problem, Scaffidi said, he’d set up a tutoring program. Heck, he even started driving Garrett to school.

Well, there was a problem, said Steve Maddox, Oceanside’s athletic director. Although he technically was eligible to participate in sports under district guidelines, he didn’t qualify under CIF rules, which requires passing grades in at least four classes.

Sorry, Maddox said, but Garrett would have to sit out the remainder of the season.

Said one Oceanside teacher: “That’s when Roy went berserk, absolutely berserk. He was going to do everything he could to get his player eligible.”

Scaffidi: “There were a lot of bad feelings. The football staff spent several hours each week tutoring kids and having study hall for kids. I even picked up Jerry and took him to school.

“I mean, this was a great kid, a great kid. He just didn’t have enough discipline to go to class and, unfortunately, there was just no support system at home. You don’t expect children to make adult decisions.

“I just felt it wasn’t right, and I battled with the administration. I battled with the counseling office. I battled with everybody.

“But instead of cooperation, I received resentment.”

Going nowhere in his fight with the administration, Scaffidi then persuaded Jerre Garrett to file legal action against the California Interscholastic Federation.

“He wrote the letter, and I hand-carried it to the CIF,” Jerre Garrett said. “It was no use. It seemed like they had it in for Jerry. Scaffidi said there were four or five other kids on that (ineligibility) list, but Jerry’s the only one who was ineligible.”

Kendall Webb, commissioner of the CIF San Diego Section, said: “They just had no case. He talked about hiring a lawyer, but I tried to discourage him, telling him it was an exercise in futility. He just didn’t meet the grades.”

Even without Garrett, Oceanside was able to advance to the semifinals of the San Diego Section playoffs before losing, 45-7, to Rancho Buena Vista. It was the second time in Scaffidi’s three-year career that the Pirates reached the playoffs, raising his overall record to 24-12-2. In the 10 previous seasons before Scaffidi’s arrival, Oceanside had gone 37-54-2 without a single playoff berth.

“Roy was a hell of a coach, and a very, very special person,” said Jim Corley, who teaches world history at Oceanside and was on Scaffidi’s staff. “He was very concerned about the kids, and Jerry Garrett was one kid that Roy was very concerned about. This kid had a lot of problems, but I think maybe Roy went overboard with him.

“I mean, this kid was one of the most phenomenal kids I’ve ever been in contact with. Roy tried everything but hand-feed Jerry to help him. When he became ineligible, Roy took it so personally that it ended up to be a vendetta toward the school district.”

Scaffidi resigned on Dec. 14, just days after the last game of the 1988 season.

And if he had refused to resign?

“I would have been fired,” he said.

Scaffidi, now the offensive backfield coach for Whittier College, was asked if he would still be coach at Oceanside if Jerry Garrett had never come into his life.

“Maybe for right now I would,” he said, “but sooner or later, there would have been another Jerry Garrett come down the line. It would have just been a matter of time.”

Letters from college recruiters pursuing Garrett still trickle into John Carroll’s football office at Oceanside. Letters from Colorado, letters from Oklahoma, letters from Washington, letters from Arizona. Garrett may not have played a down of football in a year, but college teams have not forgotten.

“I know they’re coming in, because the girls who take the mail to Carroll’s office tell me about them,” Garrett said. “But Coach Carroll, he doesn’t want me to see them. He says it’s not right ‘cause I’m not playing.”

Carroll, who refused to comment at any length on Garrett but acknowledged that he still is receiving the letters, said, “those schools are assuming he’s playing.”

It’s too late for football, Garrett knows, but the time has come to help himself. He’s still hoping to regain his eligibility for the basketball season. If he can raise his grade-point average to at least 2.0 and be passing at least four of his classes, maybe he can salvage what’s left of his high school career after all.

But Garrett also realizes that he missed eight days of school in the first six-week grading period. If that trend continues, he may not even be able to graduate.

Without a high school degree, there is no college. Without college, there are no sports. Without sports, well, Garrett doesn’t know what he’d do.

“I’ve just messed up, and now I’m going to have to deal with it,” Garrett said. “I’ve let a lot of people down, but mostly myself. It’d be great to go to a big school like I always planned, but I’ll probably have to go to a juco (junior college) first and get my grades up. The SAT (Scholastic Achievement Test) is coming up, too, so I know I have to be ready for that.

“I’d like to think it’s not too late for me.”

Barrett, his baseball coach, perhaps spoke for everyone at Oceanside when he said: “You know, it’s tough enough for kids these days to grow up in society, but when their parents don’t have a grip on things and act irresponsible, the obstacle becomes very big. Sometimes, too big.

“As a coach, I’d love to have Jerry Garrett back playing for me. But more than anything, I pray Jerry Garrett gets his life together.”

Times have been tough for Jerry Garrett. There are nights, he says, that he cries himself to sleep. He forever is trying not to reveal his emotions, but on this particular day, he was asked if he ever feels sorry for himself.

Garrett lowered his head, swallowed, looked up again, and said: “I feel that way every morning I wake up.”

Garrett sniffed, rubbed his eyes and looked away.