Ron Stolski, who introduced me to Don Swanson some years ago, was giving the eulogy earlier this week at the funeral for a big, loud, boisterous guy everyone knew as "Swannie."

Stolski, the football coach at Brainerd High School, talked about the last time he saw his buddy. Swannie was in the hospital, where cancer was finishing its work.

Swanson was a Minneapolis guy and a South High grad who devoted his life to young students and athletes. He was a teacher, coach and administrator in the Minneapolis public school system for more than 30 years, 28 at Patrick Henry. His impact continues to be felt all over the city and state.

As Swannie lay still in his hospital bed, Stolski said quietly, "Swannie. Swannie." After a while, Don slowly opened his eyes, recognized his friend and said softly, "How'd you do?" Brainerd had lost to Bemidji the previous night, and Stolski answered, "We got beat."

To which Swannie replied, as he always did in such cases, "Win the rest of 'em."

That was Swannie's constant message, and it went beyond football. No matter what had happened, no matter how small the odds, keep working hard, keep plugging away and win the rest of 'em.

Swanson, a hall of fame jokester, died at 77. The funeral at Mount Olivet Lutheran Church in south Minneapolis was emotional, yet celebratory. As the service began, Pastor Paul Youngdahl asked everyone in the overflow crowd who had played or coached for or against Swannie to stand. In pews from front to back, men silently rose in salute to Swannie.

"Don Swanson had the greatest sense of humor of anyone I've ever known," Youngdahl said. Stolski called Swannie "the consummate master of ceremonies."

I met Swannie during a long day of Prep Bowl games at the Metrodome. Stolski saw me, nodded toward two men he was sitting with and said, "Johnny, do you know these guys?"

They were Don Swanson and Tom Mahoney, the former coach at Fairmont. Both were retired but still very active in the game they loved. Mahoney -- learning I had grown up south of Fairmont in Graettinger, Iowa -- said, "If you're ever passing through Fairmont and you need something to eat or a place to stay, my door is always open."

I attended Mahoney's funeral in August of last year and now Swannie is gone, too. Fittingly, the football field in Fairmont is named after Mahoney and the Henry field carries Swanson's name.

Nobody loved Minneapolis high school football more than Swanson. For years, he organized a preseason dinner gathering for coaches and captains from all the City Conference teams. He called it the Coaches and Captains Crying Towel Banquet and he provided "crying towels" for coaches who liked to lowball their team's chances of success.

Swannie also organized one of the most respected football coaches clinics in the country, held every year in Minneapolis. College and high school coaches from around the nation came to teach and learn. Coaches usually received a few freebies for attending, and Swannie didn't mind spreading the gifts around to the undeserving.

Swannie sent me an invitation to the clinic every year, and one year the envelope included a fancy gold pen that was given to all attendees. I was using that pen to jot down a few notes during his funeral.

Swanson's son, Scott, had just finished saying a few words about his dad (finishing with, "It's happy hour in heaven"), and soloist Dominick Rodriguez was hitting the first notes of "How Great Thou Art."

That's when my pen, for the first time ever, stopped working.

Nice joke, Swannie.