Always hopeful, coach Bob Shay retires
By JEFF CORDES
Express Staff Writer
Friday afternoon along Boise’s Bronco Stadium track, coach Bob Shay
was in his element.
To recognize his 33 years of commitment to youth, the Idaho High School
Activities Association invited Shay to help lead the Parade of Athletes into the stadium
during the 71st annual Idaho State prep track and field meet.
Normally he shuns the spotlight, preferring to direct attention toward his
young charges. But walking around the track alongside hundreds of Gem State athletes was
something that was right up Bob Shay’s alley.
A lap around the track, then it was back to business for Wood River High
School boys’ track and field coach Shay.
At all state meets, the field and oval are reserved for the athletes.
Coaches, having reached the limit of their contributions, watch from the bleachers.
The Bronco Stadium grandstand is where Ketchum resident Shay viewed his
final state track meet as Wolverine head coach. And quite a satisfying view it
was—but more about it later.
Coach Shay is retiring in June after serving the Blaine County School
District since 1956. The first five years, he taught and coached at Carey High School. The
last 28 years he’s been at Hailey and Wood River high schools.
Throughout his service, Shay has coached young men and women. He goes the
extra mile. Kind and easy-going, he is respected everywhere Wood River travels. He cares
about all the kids, not just the star athletes. He has a heart of gold.
He’s always hopeful.
Take, for instance, Wood River’s prospects prior to last
weekend’s state track meet.
Slim and none, everybody thought.
Competing in the tough Fourth District with perennial Idaho track power
Jerome, Wood River had qualified its usual number of athletes for the state track meet.
Seven boys.
At Boise, Wood River will sprinkle a state champion here and there, but
usually the Wolverines get drubbed in the team standings because they don’t have
enough bodies.
It has never really bothered Shay that Wood River finishes somewhere in
the middle of the 25-school state pack—not if his boys are doing the best they can
and showing signs of progress.
Before each state track meet, he has said, "I’m hopeful."
That was always good enough for me, a sportswriter who has been covering Shay’s teams
the past 11 years.
I’ve asked the coach about his outlook before each sports season.
At summer’s end, before his boys’ and girls’ cross country
teams started competing, I’ve tried to find out how the team would do and who the
fast athletes would be.
Knowing the best place to find him, I’d drive by in my car as coach
Shay jogged along the pavement with the young people.
"I’m hopeful," he’d say, puffing just a bit and
maintaining his steady gait.
For years Shay has coached wrestling at Wood River, guiding his son John
to a state championship in 1977. I’ve tracked down Shay and the team sweating it out
in the high school wrestling room.
"I’m hopeful," he’d say, getting down into another
pushup just like boys 40 years younger.
In the spring, with the snow melting on the Wood River track, I’ve
visited Shay in his high school office. He has leaned back from a desk piled high with
track meet details, schedules and Wolverine all-time bests—all of which he has
compiled with detail to give credit where credit is due.
"I’m hopeful," he’d say. "The kids look pretty
good. We could use a few more."
After other teachers headed with a sigh of relief to their summer
pursuits, glad for the break from the relentless energy of youth, I’d find coach Shay
as he rapped out ground balls to American Legion baseball players at Ketchum’s
Atkinson Park.
"I’m hopeful," he’d say, laying down a surprise bunt
to test the alertness of a hot corner candidate.
Wood River High School teacher John Hopkins, who worked with Shay for 10
years as Wolverine girls’ track coach, said, "You know, there was a time in
summer when my kids were younger, well, somebody asked me to coach t-ball. And I said,
hey, I do this kind of thing nine months a year—I need a break.
"Then I’d go to a Legion baseball game, and there was
Bob….."
Hopkins shook his head, admiring Shay’s endurance and tenacity in the
rigors of teaching young people the rules and joys of sport.
"There are various demands during the life of a coach," Hopkins
said. "You have an easier time when you’re young. It’s the most rewarding
and fun when your own kids are in high school, and competing. But when they’re gone,
as Bob’s kids have moved on, then you’re back to square one. The fact Bob has
been able to maintain a high level of achievement and concern is really commendable."
Bob Shay.
Always hopeful.
And truly blessed last Saturday afternoon in Boise.
With their coach watching from the grandstand, the "Magnificent
Seven" Wood River boys pulled out all the stops.
They did the best they possibly could, and more, capturing the
second-place team trophy—Wood River’s best boys’ finish at state in 15
years.
If you saw someone grinning ear-to-ear last week, it was probably Bob
Shay.
A long way from Ohio
Bob Shay is just plain interested in other people.
Last Thursday, I knocked on the door of his high school office, knowing it
was probably my final visit with him at school before his retirement. He waved me in,
offered me a seat and handed me a Snickers bar. I took it and set it aside until my
interviewing was done.
Characteristically, he deflected attention from himself and steered the
discussion my way, but I was determined. I needed to know a few things—like what he
was planning to do in retirement, how he came to the Wood River Valley and, perhaps the
most heavily-guarded secret at high school, his age.
To me, Bob Shay looks to be in pretty good shape, but he claims to be 10
pounds overweight. To correct that condition, he said he’ll spend the summer running
and cutting wood for exercise. He has a couple of timber sites at Baker Creek. He sells
the firewood, mostly by word-of-mouth to friends and colleagues.
"I’ll miss the coaching, but I’ll come see all the
meets," he said.
A native of Ohio, Bob attended Miami University of Ohio and set out on a
career in education. He got a job in Idaho through the mail. That was in 1956, when he
came to Carey School as the coach of everything.
"The first year I was married to JoAnn was when we came out to
Carey," Bob said. "We came across the lava flats….well, that was a shock to
her system!"
We both smiled at the thought, and I thought of one of my fondest memories
of Bob and JoAnn.
It was a hot, dry summer afternoon at the Ketchum baseball field.
Sensible people were at the lake or by the pool. With diamond dust flying,
Bob stood in the third base coaching box, clapping his hands and flashing a sign. JoAnn
sat on the edge of her seat in the bleachers, one of a handful of fans, yelling
encouragement.
Bob and JoAnn both wore green Wood River caps—tilted sideways at
Little League angles, uncaring about fashion or how they looked—caps that had seen
better days. I looked back and forth, from Bob to JoAnn, and suddenly realized that
neither of their sons was playing for Wood River.
They were out there because they loved sport, and loved kids.
How cruel, I thought, that JoAnn had been stricken with Lou Gehrig’s
disease.
In his office, as I looked at Bob, I admit I looked for a trace of
self-pity, but saw only the fond recollection of better times that passed across his face.
The Shay family has suffered silently, just as they’ve kept their good fortune and
many successes to themselves.
It’s a good family.
"So, how old are you Bob?" I asked.
"61," he said, without hesitation, taking another bite of his
Snickers bar.
"Weren’t you in the army during the war?"
"I tell the kids World War I," he said instantly.
We talked a little more. Then I stood up to leave. The coach stood up,
too. Getting uncharacteristically serious, he offered his hand.
"I want to thank you for everything," he said.
Taken aback, I was dumbfounded.
He was the one who needed thanks, I thought.
For each sport, during each season, it was coach Shay who religiously
provided typewritten reports to the local newspapers, trying to give his athletes the
proper attention.
I remembered something coach Hopkins had said.
"Bob has an incredible amount of caring for kids who aren’t the
star athletes," Hopkins had commented. "After a season ends, he just
doesn’t drop them off and say I got my six points from you. It’s just the
opposite. He writes them letters. He tries to stay in touch.
"He has always pushed for improvement in the sport and to give the
kids more recognition."
I remembered a call from Ketchum’s Jimmie Limes, a longtime Shay
friend and fellow musician.
"Quite a few people don’t know that Bob is a musician, a good
drummer," Limes said. "You know, when we were organizing this benefit dance
we’re having for Bob’s family this Saturday night at the Legion Hall, I’d
call up musicians and ask them to come.
"I’d say, it’s for Bob Shay. They’d say, you bet, what
time and where? To make sure there was no confusion, I’d say it’s going to be a
freebie. Then they’d say, I don’t care, it’s Bob Shay."
"We all respect him so," said Limes.
I shook Bob Shay’s hand and headed out of his office.
"Don’t forget your Snickers bar," the coach said.
I didn’t.
