"It is better to give than to receive." — Michael Wane (1982)

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This simple yet profound belief became a guiding principle for Michael Wane, a philosophy etched into his character and woven into the fabric of his daily life. It wasn’t just a saying—it was a lens through which he viewed the world and his role within it.

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Wane was a man of quiet strength and deep introspection. Young, charismatic, and sharp-witted, he carried himself with a presence that commanded respect without demanding it. As a Physical Education teacher and coach, he thrived in an era when educators were still held in the highest regard, seen as pillars of both knowledge and character. He worked in a school district ranked number one in the county—a place where excellence wasn’t just a goal but an expectation.

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But Wane was more than just an exceptional teacher. Beyond the school walls, he had built an innovative offshoot company, a passion project dedicated to helping adolescents and teens refine and master their skill sets. This initiative wasn’t merely about sports; it was about instilling discipline, focus, and a sense of purpose in young lives, bridging the gap between potential and achievement both before and after their high school careers.

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Despite his public persona and success, Wane was, at his core, a deeply private man. An introvert by nature, his space was sacred, and few people were granted access to the inner chambers of his world. Those privileged enough to earn his trust were not only rare but also carried a unique weight in his life. Yet, even among these close connections, the weight of societal expectations and personal struggles often loomed heavy.

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Some needed money to cover unexpected medical bills, others needed help for their children—tuition, equipment, or just a chance to seize an opportunity they couldn’t otherwise afford. Each time they approached him, Wane gave without hesitation, without expectation, and without the need for explanations.

He was keenly aware of his privilege. He often reflected aloud in moments of candor, saying, "I don’t have kids. I don’t have dental bills, health expenses, or those never-ending, hidden costs of raising a family. So when you come to me for help, you never have to justify your need. If I didn’t have, I wouldn’t give. But because I do, I am blessed to be able to share."

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It wasn’t just the act of giving that brought Wane fulfillment; it was the recognition of his ability to give. He found joy not in the transaction itself, but in the silent understanding that his contributions lightened someone else’s burden, if only for a moment.

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His generosity wasn’t loud or performative. He didn’t seek gratitude or recognition, nor did he keep a mental ledger of debts owed. To Wane, giving was not a favor—it was a responsibility, a quiet agreement with the universe to pass on the blessings he had received.

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Over time, those who knew him came to understand this about him. They no longer felt the need to over-explain their requests or preface them with shame or guilt. They knew Wane’s heart, and they knew his willingness to share was genuine and unwavering.

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But Wane’s story isn’t just about financial generosity. It’s about emotional generosity—about listening when someone needed to be heard, about offering advice when wisdom was required, and about showing up when presence mattered most.

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His life was a masterclass in servant leadership—a term that wasn’t trendy at the time but was embodied in every facet of his being. He gave because he could, but more importantly, he gave because it was who he was.

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The Kansas Encounter

One month, while visiting Kansas—the place where his journey of giving had begun—Wane reconnected with an old confidant, Gary Hailes. Gary, a longtime friend and now a respected member of Ottawa University’s Board and Advisory Committee, shared Wane’s spirit of service.

The two men were traveling back from their alma mater when they stopped at a Walgreens. Gary, ever the man of precision, parked his sleek S-Model Tesla in front of the store. As they approached the entrance, a family caught their attention.

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Huddled together near the side of the building, the family radiated an aura of quiet desperation. The father, speaking on behalf of his wife and children, shared their struggles and humbly asked for a small gesture of kindness.

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Wane, walking ahead, gave a brief nod to Gary and continued into the store. Gary, however, stopped. He met the father’s eyes and listened—not just to the words, but to the unspoken fears and hopes carried in his voice.

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After a moment, Gary turned back to his car, retrieved a handful of cash from the glove compartment, and returned to the family. Without a word, he handed the man a closed fist of money, nodded respectfully, and joined Wane inside.

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As they walked down one of the aisles, Gary spoke quietly. "You know, I never really know which of these people are genuine or just playing a role. How do you know?" Wane stopped, looked at Gary, and said softly, "It’s not your business to know. You go with how you feel and what you have to give. If you have nothing to give, do you feel bad? No, because you can’t give what you don’t have. But if you do have something, you give without expectation. Whether they use it for good or not—that’s between them and their conscience. Your job isn’t to judge; it’s just to help."

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Gary nodded, absorbing the quiet wisdom in Wane’s words. After a brief pause, Wane added, "But I’ll tell you this—there was something real about that family." Then returned Gary's nod with a knowing look crossing his face.

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A Legacy Etched in Generosity

Wane’s legacy wasn’t built on wealth or fame but on the countless lives he touched, one quiet act of generosity at a time. From the young athletes he mentored to the strangers he helped without question, his influence stretched far beyond the confines of a classroom or a gymnasium.

And in every life he impacted, his simple but powerful philosophy lived on: "It is better to give than to receive."

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It wasn’t just a saying—it was Wane’s life. And long after he was gone, those who knew him carried that belief forward, passing it on like a torch, illuminating paths for others to follow.

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