"Easy" Ed Macauley never won a championship with the Boston Celtics, and yet he is indirectly responsible for giving birth to one of the greatest dynasties any sport has ever known.  He played only six seasons in a Boston uniform, and yet his legacy is so great, and his mark so indelible, that his No. 22 was retired, along with Bob Cousy's No. 14, on a blustery October afternoon way back in 1963.  His relationship with team founder Walter Brown was nonpareil; Brown thought so highly of the lithe gunner from St. Louis that he gave Macauley veto power over that dynasty-launching trade involving the draft rights to Bill Russell.  In many ways he was Brown's favorite son, a fellow Catholic who represented the Celtics with dignity, style and class, a player who became one of the most recognizable faces in a league struggling to complete against baseball and football for the hearts and pocketbooks of the ticket-buying public.  Oh, and he could flat out play:  Macauley, along with Cousy and Bill Sharman, formed the nucleus of the Celtics through much of the 1950s, executing Red Auerbach's up-tempo game to perfection, packing fans into the fabled Boston Garden and introducing the world to the vaunted Celtic fast break.

Few people today know who Ed Macauley is, or why he is such an important piece of basketball history.  There are those who can recite the highlights – MVP of the first NBA All-Star game, the first Boston Celtic to average 20 points in a season, a six-time All-Star while wearing the green-and-white – but such facts are nothing more than meaningless trivia when the man himself is not taken into account.  Macauley played the game at a pivotal time in history, as set shots and stall-ball slowly gave way to an exciting new brand of basketball.  He was a glimpse into the future, a hint at things to come.  He was an amalgam of traditional Midwest values, big city flair and modern day star power.  One suspects that, had he played baseball for the New York Yankees at that time, "Easy" Ed Macauley would have been one of the most recognizable faces in America.

A late bloomer, Macauley didn't start playing basketball until the eighth grade – but when he did, he quickly found himself hooked on the sport that would thrust him into the national consciousness.  It seemed that everywhere the young Macauley went, a basketball would almost always be in tow.  It was a curious thing to those around him.  They simply couldn't understand the boy's passion for this relatively new sport, nor could they understand why he would play alone, for hours on end.  If only they could have opened him up and looked inside.  Only years later, long after induction into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, did Macauley offer such a peek into what made him tick.

"Just remember," he once advised, to those interested in the secret to his basketball success, "that if you're not working at your game to the utmost of your ability, there will be someone out there somewhere with equal ability who will be working to the utmost of his ability. And one day you'll play each other, and he will have the advantage."

Raised by devout Catholic parents, Macauley found the discipline and structure of Catholic schools much to his liking.  He played sophomore ball for St. Louis University High, a Jesuit institution, though he was still years away from distinguishing himself as a fluid-shooting big man with major college potential.  It wasn't until his senior season that Macauley blossomed, earning All-State honors for his fluid shooting style, precise hook shots and innate court sense.  Recruiters were fast to take notice; Macauley received scholarship offers from a diverse group of Division I schools, from elite national powers to schools with campuses far from his native St. Louis.  The choices were as dizzying as they were flattering.  Ultimately, Macauley decided to play basketball in his own backyard, attending the college with perhaps the least impressive basketball program – St. Louis University.

The Billikens, who had been without basketball since the onset of World War II, were also without a permanent head coach and devoid of a talent base on which to build.  This meant starting from scratch.  Everything from the ground up.  Necessity, therefore, dictated that the program's resurrection hinge on filling the roster with local cage stars.   Macauley's signing, while key to the rebuilding process, did not signal the beginning of a dynasty; rather, it marked the start of an arduous climb to what was then college basketball's summit – the NIT championship game.

Macauley continued to hone his game during his freshman and sophomore years, but it still wasn't enough; the Billikens found themselves struggling with the traditional powers in the Missouri Valley Conference – namely Oklahoma A&M – as well as with the signature teams in the Midwest, Kansas and Indiana.  Head coach John Flannigan, himself a former cage star with decent skills, challenged Macauley each day in practice, pushing him to become more than ordinary.  Flannigan saw something special in his 6'8" post player, despite Macauley's rail thin frame, and he gradually geared the Billikens' attack to take advantage of Macauley's strengths.  St. Louis University became a running team, choosing to dictate the tempo at every opportunity.  By the end of the 1947 season, the Billikens were playing an exciting, competitive brand of basketball, luring fans to Kiel Auditorium in droves and setting the stage for a bigger things to come.  Macauley finished his sophomore year as an All-Missouri Valley First Team selection, and by being honored as a Helms Foundation Third Team All-America.