My dad believed in mercy; he believed in second chances. That belief often put him at odds with fellow staff members who were convinced students learn best from consequences. Keno Larkin never forgot my dad’s graciousness in giving him a second chance. Upon his return from a tour in Vietnam he came back to thank his coach.

He came into my office that afternoon. It was getting late; practice was over, and the voices of kids hung in the air down below as they said that night’s good-byes.

A thousand nights you’ve sat and heard it all before. All the lads who were young for such a little while and are long gone now.

Jimmy and Ted and Lefty. A hundred names drift back from the years. It is a time that is kind of sad and kind of quiet. But it is a good time.

Suddenly he was standing there.

“Hi, Coach. I bet ya don’t remember me.” “Keno Larkin.”
“By damn. I didn’t think you’d remember.” “Why shouldn’t I, Keno?”
“Well, hell—I was never much.”
He stood there in his soldier’s suit, and he said it true. Never much. Got in a few games in football. In basketball, strictly for the bench.
“Ya gave us a lot of yourself, Keno.”
“Too slow, Coach. That was my trouble. Too damn slow.” “Where ya been, Keno?”
“I was in ‘Nam for a couple of years. Got back a week ago. I’m sort of waitin’ it out now.”
“For what?”
“I’ll be out of the army in a month.”
“Hey, that’s good. What’s next then, Keno?”
“Maybe you’ll laugh.” “Try me.”
“I’m gonna go to college.” “Sounds good.”
“C’mon Coach. You know I never really cracked a book all the time I was in high school.” “I had a hunch, Keno.”
“I dunno. I feel different now.”
“How many years since you were here?”
“Six.” “A guy changes in six years.”
“Yeh. Anyhow – this’ll floor ya, Coach.” “Try again.”
“I wanta be a teacher. And a coach.” “There are worse things.”
“Yeh. Only, like, ya know, — I never was no good in football and not much in basketball either.” “I was worse in basketball than you were.”
“You’re kidding, Coach.” “I kid you not. You were average. I was lousy.”
“Anyhow — I’m gonna give it all I’ve got.” “That’ll be enough.”
“Hey, Coach —I was wonderin’ if you remembered somethin’ that happened to me in high school.” “Lots of things happen.”
“I mean the time they had the cops in because somebody had lifted some wallets out of the locker room.” “I remember.”
“They asked a lot of questions and finally decided it was me.” “Yeh.”
“Turned out they were right.” “Yeh.”
“So, I gave the stuff back and then they let me off the hook. You asked ‘em to, didn’t ya?” “Possibly. Was a long time ago.”
“Possibly hell. Ya did. Why’d ya do that, Coach?” “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And ya didn’t even kick me off the squad. Why not?” “Idea didn’t occur to me. I saw no reason.”
“Plenty of guys did.” “They did. I didn’t. It was my team.”
“Yeh. Well anyhow — when basketball started a lot of ‘em didn’t want me on the team.” “Could be. They never said.”
“Maybe not to you. The word got around.” “You came out anyhow.”
“I didn’t want to then. But a guy can’t quit.” “He can. It’s better if he doesn’t.”
“Anyhow, sometime halfway through the season, stuff was missin’ out of the lockers again.” “I kind of remember.”
“Everybody figured it was me.” “Because of the other time. I guess.”
“Sure. But you said that wasn’t proof.” “Once I was right.”
“Some of the guys said they were quittin’ if you didn’t kick me off.” “Yeh, I forget—did any quit?”
“Two.” “How about that. It was a long time ago.”
“They were both better than I was. How come you let them quit?” “Was up to them.”
“I coulda quit instead.” “That was up to you.”
“Yeh.” He was getting ready to leave. “Anyhow, it’s six years late… But thanks, Coach.” “Okay, Keno.”
“Believe it or not, Coach, but it was the whole bit —looking back— that made me decide to be a coach.” “I think you’ll be a good one.”
He had the door open by then. But he turned back with his hand on the knob. “Just for the record, Coach— that second time— during basketball — I didn’t steal anything. It wasn’t me.” “Never figured it was, Keno.”
He stood there a moment with the kind of look a guy remembers. “So long, Coach.” “Good luck, Keno.”

He was gone then.

And may God bless you, Keno Larkin. A guy blows a few in a lifetime. For sure I have. But I didn’t blow that one.

You’ll do all right, Keno. A little slow of foot. But you came along better than most.

You’ll be a good coach.

Marty Crowe took a wrong train in 1946 and ended up in Eau Claire. He walked around town and discovered that St. Patrick’s High School [later renamed Regis] was looking for a coach, so he stayed. Over the next several years he and the Saint Pat’s team won two state championships.

This piece is an excerpt from Gooder: The Writings of Marty Crowe, Selected from Five Decades of His Thoughts on Teaching, Coaching, Humanity, God and Life, compiled by Maureen Slauson and based on her father’s writings.

Maureen Slauson, a retired Eau Claire guidance counselor and daughter of Marty Crowe, pictured, published Gooder: The Writings of Marty Crowe, Selected from Five Decades of His Thoughts on Teaching, Coaching, Humanity, God and Life in 2024. Read more about Gooder in this writeup by Patti See.