Editor’s note: This essay was written by longtime Eau Claire resident Marty Crowe while he was a teacher and coach at Catholic Central High School in Marinette. It was originally published May 10, 1963, as part of his “From the Bench” column in a Green Bay diocesan newspaper.

A lot of boys coming to the end of their senior year in high school are wondering now, as in all the years, what they should go about preparing for themselves as a way of life.

For one who might be giving a thought to becoming a high school coach, somewhere, I have a few notes.

First, you will never be rich — or even very far ahead of the bill collector on the first of every month. But what about it?

Who ever has enough money?

•••

The guys I know and see and hear about who have clipped more than their share of coupons are reaching for more. So it gets down to it that the guy without enough money is reaching out for more to get along and the guy with plenty is also reaching for more because that’s the way it is.

So you won’t get rich, lad.

And you’ll take a lot of guff. You’ll listen to a lot of parents and fans and second guessing experts who don’t know what they’re talking about and you’ll have to like that because that’s the way it is, too.

You’ll have a few “Precious” ones on your teams — the prima donna, the ink hog, the super star. These will make the season seem a little long once in a while.

You’ll make your plans for the big game and see them wash down the drain because some kid tried too hard and bumbled the ball or another guy froze or it rained that day and you were going to throw the ball or some other boy forgot or another one didn’t care.

But you won’t find many of this latter breed.

•••

And some night you will be sitting in your little room in the gym which passes for your office, and it will be late in October and it will be dark outside because practice is over and the guys have had their showers and the dark comes all at once and quick in a Wisconsin October. And your window is open and there is the smell of burning leaves from somewhere and maybe just a taste of something which reminds you that the cold is waiting out there beyond the edge of the night.

It is a sad kind of a time. Bitter sweet, but sad.

And then you start to listen to the voices of the kids as the door bangs behind them down below.

“See ya, Charlie.”

“Okay. See ya tomorra.”

“So long, Al.”

No high class dialogue. Nothing fancy. But the door slams — lots of times and then it’s quiet and you know the last guy is gone and one more day of practice is over.

And one more precious day, you suddenly remember, of the swiftly flying days of being young for a lot of good boys.

And somehow the words still hang there in the air after they’re all gone away.

“So long, Al.”

And you remember then, too, that you’re a very lucky guy and that there’s something here you can’t put a price tag on — or even say it in words. Something of wonder and maybe of mystery, too. Something little that’s suddenly as big as there is.

You remember other doors that slammed once. And other voices hung in the air. In some old October long ago.

You walk home quiet that night.

Marty Crowe (1914-1999) came to Eau Claire in 1946 to teach and coach at St. Patrick’s High School. In those early days, he acted and directed in community theater and had a popular radio show. Marty purchased a Victorian home in the Historic Randall Park Neighborhood that remains in the family today. In 1950 the house became home to the first two black players to play for the Eau Claire Bears baseball team, Billy Bruton and Roy White. Marty taught English and social studies in Wisconsin and Minnesota high schools for more than 50 years, returning to the Chippewa Valley, McDonnell and Regis high schools, in the 1970s and ’80s. He wrote plays and was working on a book on education. He wrote frequent opinion pieces that were published in newspapers and magazines around Wisconsin and Minnesota, writing about militarism and the Vietnam War, youth, education, and social issues such as racism and poverty.