Mike Dunlap (family photo)
On that October day, Mike was doing what he had done many times before and would do many times again. He reached out to make a connection, forge a new friendship (hopefully), and connect the dots. It was something that gave him great joy. It was networking for a cause: to promote WVU football and those affiliated with it.
Mike knew I had just published a book about Mountaineer football, and he wanted to know if I was thinking about writing another. If I were, he had a suggestion.
Mind you, Mike Dunlap didn’t fancy himself as a dealmaker. Mike Dunlap (borrowing a word I learned from a colleague) was a possibilitator, that is, someone who takes satisfaction in enabling connections and making things possible. That’s why the smile you see on his face (photo above) was a facial fixture, not just a photo pose.
Yes, I got hooked, but it wasn’t on the book project he proposed that day. I got hooked on Mike Dunlap.
It was a great relationship, one that is expressed well by a famous Dr. Seuss quote, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” I say that because Mike left this world earlier this month after a lengthy illness that included multiple hospital stays that spanned well over a year. He was 58 years old.
What a player!
I am nearly two decades older than that, a point I bring up only because it reveals that Mike and I weren’t of the same generation. My wife, Kathy, and I (both WVU alums) left Morgantown and West Virginia for out-of-state jobs more than a decade before Mike suited up in high school play.
Just about everything I learned about Mike as a football player and person came during the time I knew him.
Impressive, too! Mike played for Poca (WV) High School, a big, fast (for a lineman) player who became one of the best schoolboy players of the mid-1980s. I’m not just talking about in West Virginia. either. I’m talking nationally. He was a high school All-America, among other awards he earned, including being named the Morgantown Touchdown Club West Virginia Player of the Year, a distinction he was very proud of.
Mike was in sports media when we met, coming off a successful run of his podcast, Talking to the Mike, and Tex Wiliams had already inducted him into the Sports Legends Hall of Fame at the Arte Museum.
The fact that he was a football star, had his own podcast, and was considered a legend means Mike was good at what he did. And among many things we did well, networking was one of the things he did best. Mike, it seemed, knew everybody. Mind you, he wasn’t a name-dropper. Mike was always a friend, frequently a colleague, and sometimes a confidant. His cell phone Contact List was his lifeline to the world, and he used it frequently and wisely.
Mike was also involved in community efforts, named as a Hometown Hero in Ravenswood for his charitable work. Mike shared a photo of his award with me. He was so proud to have received that honor because it meant so much to him.
That’s just a snippet of who Mike was. But I must say that Mike had special meaning to me not just because of who he was, but (perhaps) even more so because of what he meant to me.
All of us have personal and professional relationships with many folks throughout our lives — sometimes because we have to, and other times because we choose to. But there are relatively few times (at least for me) when there’s a special fit, a “click.” That’s the way it was with Mike.
Mark Parsons and Mike as assistant producers of Mountaineer Locker Room, Then & Now (Note: Mike is holding his “Hometown Hero” certificate)
We quickly became friends, spent a lot of time on the phone, and became colleagues. Mike joined Greg Crist and me on our WVU football pre- and post-game shows, and he served as an assistant producer (with Mark Parsons) of our weekly podcast, Mountaineer Locker Room Then & Now, which we co-host with former Mountaineer football star Mickey Plumley. Mark and Mike helped line up former Mountaineer sports stars as guests on the show, and they also appeared on the show.
But of all the things I’ll remember and cherish about Mike, it was that very first encounter that I remember and cherish the most. He reached out to me, a stranger, and (in so many words) said, “I want to help.”
It was not the first time I heard that from a West Virginian. Five decades I was away from the Mountain State. That’s right, fifty years. I returned to focus a good share of my retirement time on WVU sports, a decision that was made sweeter by becoming friends and colleagues with people like Mike. So thankful and blessed am I!
As I thought about a way to close this commentary, my mind told me to search for a quote voiced by a nationally known author. But then my heart said to search in a different direction. I read through hundreds of comments written about Mike from family, friends, and colleagues. My intent was to prepare an anthology of comments to share with you here. But one comment took my breath away, stunning as it was, reminding me that we can do no better than heed the brilliance found in our grief circle.
Here is Mike’s portrait, painted verbally by his aunt, Robin Browning Hill.
“There are some people who leave footprints so deep in our hearts that time can never wash them away. He was one of those rare souls—a man who loved fiercely, laughed easily, and could turn even an ordinary day into a story worth telling. He carried the spirit of the mountains with him steadily, proudly, and full of home. Whether cheering on his team, sharing a memory, or making everyone around him feel like family, he gave the kind of joy that lasts far beyond a lifetime. Though our hearts are broken, his story isn’t over —it lives on in every laugh you’ll remember, every game that makes you think of him, and every moment when you feel his presence beside you. May you find comfort in knowing that he was deeply loved, that he mattered immensely, and that he will never be forgotten.” (as posted on Facebook)
Forever, my friend.
Mike at Poca High, with his Hometown Hero certificate, and with dear friend Darryl Talley
