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A father's grief: James Dungy 1987-2005

'Hug your kids'

You don't know when it will be your last chance, Tony Dungy says at the funeral for his son James.

By KEVIN GRAHAM, JUSTIN GEORGE and ALEXANDRA ZAYAS
Published December 28, 2005

	[Times photo: Bill Serne]
	Lauren, left, and Tony Dungy leave the funeral for their son, accompanied by attendant Patricia Robinson. James was remembered as a loyal friend, and a boy trying to find his identity. Times photo gallery Share your thoughts

LUTZ - As he entered Idlewild Baptist Church Tuesday holding hands with his wife, Lauren, Tony Dungy wore a pink shirt.

For his burial, son James Dungy, 18, wore pink, too.

It was his favorite color.

As the Dungys made their way toward the cherry casket that held James, they were surrounded by family, friends and strangers.

To their right were the Indianapolis Colts whom Dungy now coaches. To their left, other NFL players, including past and current Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

Midway, Dungy stopped and approached Malcolm Glazer, the Bucs owner. Dungy extended a hand, then both arms in a full embrace.

Well into the service, Dungy addressed Glazer from the pulpit, not as the man who fired him as Bucs coach in 2002, but as the man who often sat on the team bus and talked to James about being a good son. "I love you and I appreciate you for that," he said, in a moment that was classic Dungy.

James - or "Jamie" to friends and family - died Thursday. He apparently committed suicide, according to authorities.

Tuesday morning, Dungy spoke for 20 minutes during the funeral. Nearly 2,000 people came to celebrate his son's life.

Songs of praise and rejoice filled the sanctuary, as Dungy and others tried to focus on the good times with James. Dungy broke down a few times, but each time he pushed his way through, sounding stronger as he spoke.

"God can provide joy in the midst of a sad occasion," he said.

"Our challenge is to find that joy."

Lauren Dungy sat in a pew in front of her son's casket as her husband spoke. Next to her were daughters Tiara and Jade, and sons Eric and Jordan.

Doris Harris, James' maternal grandmother, read from prepared remarks that rhymed.

In her speech, she talked about James' height - he was 6-foot-7 - and his love for electronics.

Other speakers included Daryl Ward, a youth leader at Idlewild, and friends DeOnte Hampton and Ebone Singletary.

"We could talk to each other about anything," said Singletary, 19. "His spirit and heart were one of kindness and caring."

James took Singletary to her senior prom. He wanted to make sure that everything that day was perfect, she said.

He wore his hair the way she wanted and picked out a pair of shoes that she liked.

He even made sure the temperature in the truck they rode in was just right.

That night, they both wore pink.

"That's the Jamie I'll always remember," she said. "And to Jamie, "You are forever and always etched in my heart."'

Attending the two-hour service were Tampa Mayor Pam Iorio, NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue, Warrick Dunn, a former Bucs running back who now plays with the Atlanta Falcons, and NFL Hall of Fame running back Franco Harris, among dozens of other recognizable faces and celebrity names.

When Dungy faltered at the pulpit, muscular football players bowed their heads and dabbed at their eyes.

From the funeral program, people gleaned more about James. He had gone on a mission to Jamaica and was active in Prison Crusade Ministries.

People also heard how he put ketchup on everything, that he liked Taco Bell's chicken quesadillas, and that he was always hiding stray turtles and frogs under his bed as a child.

"Where did this come from?" his dad would ask, and James would answer, "Nobody was there to take care of it."

He was loyal, a friend forever, his father said.

He was also a mama's boy.

"He loved me, but he loved his mom," Dungy said.

Dungy said that James' older sister hated for classmates to see her mom picking her up from high school. Not James. He liked it when his mother came into the school to find him.

"He'd tell all his buddies, "That's my mom,"' Dungy said. "And then he'd tell her, "Some of the people think you're my girlfriend, and that's okay."'

Dungy said that's the image he'll remember of his son: "That young boy trying to change into a man and trying to find his identity."

When President Bush learned that Dungy had lost a son, his and the first lady's hearts broke, he said in a letter that was read aloud.

"I cannot imagine the anguish that you feel," the president wrote to Tony Dungy. "I also know that you are a man of strong faith and that through this time of testing, you will find comfort in your faith."

What Dungy couldn't shake was not having hugged his son goodbye after James visited him in Indianapolis for Thanksgiving.

"Parents, hug your kids every chance you get," Dungy said. "Tell them you love them every chance you get. . . ."

After the funeral, family, friends and athletes piled into cars and buses and made their way to an east Tampa cemetery, Garden of Memories. The procession passed Raymond James Stadium.

A woman held up a sign on Dale Mabry Highway.

"God be with you Dungy Family," it said.

At the cemetery, Henry Collins, 55, who has lived in Tampa 30 years, gathered with others under faraway trees.

"Just to show my respect," Collins said. "Tony Dungy's a good man. I'm sorry to see this happen to him."

Patrick Sneed, 30, program director for the Tampa Heights Junior Civic Association, attended the funeral and the burial. He used to be an assistant to the Buccaneers equipment manager in 1997-98 and had always admired Tony Dungy.

He said he wasn't surprised by the turnout.

Dungy had the community's support even after he was fired.

"There's a lot of Colts fans who are Bucs fans just because of his Christian values," Sneed said.

He said Dungy's speech at the service inspired him to do even more for the kids he works with.

Jerrell Marcus, 14, of Thonotosassa, also came to the burial.

"Sad feeling," he said. "I know Tony Dungy's hurting. That was his son."

Two blue tents hung over James' gravesite. Plants and flowers lined his final resting place.

After the benediction, Tony and Lauren Dungy made their way back to the family's limousine. But well-wishers weren't ready to see them go.

People kept reaching into the car, wanting to offer one last kind word.

And then, Tony Dungy did the sort of thing he always does. He stepped back out of the limo and returned their hugs.

[Last modified December 28, 2005, 00:46:03]