Mike Tupa: Career journey fueled by a dream, faith and kindness of others

Numb.

That’s been my main emotion since I submitted my retirement as the full-time E-E sports editor.

Perhaps that's natural for someone who's been living in a dream for nearly 36 years.

The timing of my decision really wasn’t completely copasetic with my desires. But, due to changes in my ability to cover local sports in the way I wanted, I felt like I couldn’t please both some of those overseeing my work and my passion to do it like I felt it should be done.

Perhaps I just didn't want to adapt to a different era.

Perhaps this was as good a time as any in my life to make this decision.

It was in 1996 that I drove 1,900 miles from Oroville, Calif., to Bartlesville in three days — including spending about a day and a half to rest up at my sister’s place in Salt Lake City.

A few of my early memories included renting an apartment from Marta Manning (who would become a great friend, along with her husband Jim and their children), and covering a Chevy City Blazers softball game during my first full day of work. In those first days, I also accidentally referred to the Doenges Ford Injuns (as they were known then) as the "Engines."

Since my first day in Bartlesville — I stopped by the K-Mart to buy a new shirt before showing up the first time at the office — 27½ years have rolled out like a river of wondrous journey of fulfillment and contentment.

Life throws curves

Now, I’m nearly 67½ years old. Had things turned out as I planned, I would have retired last year and would have moved to Utah to live near my sister, also single and in her 60s and needing her big brother around for snowy sidewalks, Thanksgiving meals, Christmas mornings, car rides to the store or doctors' appointments, pulling weeds and other tasks.

When she died in June 2021, my future plans vanished. I no longer had reason to go to the expense and physical toll of relocating to Utah. I hadn’t lived there for more than 30 years and all the relatives there I still have a close association with are in their late 70s or 80s or early 90s.

Had my sister survived, we would have taken a trip to Eureka, Calif. — the last place both of us had known complete childhood happiness and a two-parent home. We moved when I was 10 and Pam was nine. I wanted to take her back to that happy time before the blistering challenges (two breast removal operations due to cancer) and sacrifices that would define her adult life.

But, that trip wasn't to be.

So, I decided to remain in Bartlesville and to continue to work for the paper — a job that has been my love, passion and primary purpose of earthly, and even spiritual, fulfillment since my 40s. The extra 18 months on the job have provided an indescribable blessing.

These months have been chock full of unforgettable experiences and further growth as a reporter and writer.

Pursuing the dream

When I think of my life's journey, I'm reminded of Joni Mitchell's introspective song, "Both Sides Now."

Throughout most of my 20s and into my early 30s, a newspaper job seemed out of reach. I had doubted as a teenager anyone would care about what I wrote. My mom gently massaged my squishy ego and encouraged me to consider being a writer — but I protested.

She also had taught my sister and me from our infant days to love reading. One of my aunts, who lived on our same block, still laughs when she recalls observing my mom, sister and me leaving the neighborhood library with our arms full of books as we walked home. Our mom taught us to love God, learning, freedom and other people.

When I finished my active-duty U.S. Marines Corp service in latter 1985 — prior to the Marines I had earned my college B.A., and had served a mission in Italy for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — I faced a frustrating crossroads. The market for any decent job in Utah was extremely tight and my rejections from newspapers piled up.

A former Marine Corps buddy who happened to live in the same town I did, helped me get employment for less than $5 an hour as a security guard. Meanwhile, the rejections multiplied. I even covered weekend running events for a $5 pizza coupon per article — and no gas money. Finally, in December 1987, a community newspaper in Nevada out of its desperation reluctantly offered me a reporter’s job.

After 29 months there, I transferred within the company to a paper in Southern California. Less than two years later the company offered an opening in Northern California, where I remained for more than four-and-a-half years. In the spring of 1996, then-Bartlesville E-E publisher Joe Edwards called me and offered me the sports editor’s job at his newspaper. Even though it required a not-too-small pay cut, he assured me the standard of living would be much less in Bartlesville.

Living with gratitude

But, I did obtain a wealth of friendships with wonderful co-workers — from my first day on the job to the present.

I’m so grateful for all my publishers — Edwards, Jerry Quinn, Chris Rush, Matt Tranquill and Matt Pearson.

My E-E managing editors also have been very supportive of me, including Susan Savage, Steve Linam, David Austin, Chris Rush, Kelli Williams, Chris Day, Doug Graham, and Kim Archer.

I need to single out David, who was part of our two-man sports department when I arrived. David has been a giving, sacrificing and complete friend for more than 27 years. As mentioned above, David — who met his future wife Summer on his first day at the E-E office — also would serve as editor. Throughout the years he has driven me about 40 times to or from the Tulsa Airport for my annual vacation flights to my sister’s place and has displayed generosity in many other ways.

I also have to thank co-workers Becky Burch and Susan Albert for each giving up a day to give me a ride to and from eye operations, as well as many other kindnesses.

Dozens of co-workers have blessed my life and well-being in countless individual acts of goodness.

Few sports editors have been graced as I have by association with so many wonderful coaches and school administrators. In an attempt to go much below the surface, the list would become unmanageable.

But, I have to point to my working relationship with former Barnsdall coach Joe Gilbert — who I considered a good friend as well as coach — as a godsend. Joe coached and remained active in school athletics until he died in 2020, close to the age of 90. We spoke on the phone innumerable times either late in the evening or early in the morning about his teams, or just about sports in general or world happenings. His wife Joyce also treated me very nicely during the years, including making space for me at the small scorer’s tables for the times I covered games in Barnsdall.

A few other coaches who have gone the extra mile for me during a long period of time, or who are embedded in a special part of my heart include Copan’s Randy Davis and his older brother Criss Davis of Caney (Kan.) Valley, Oklahoma Wesleyan’s Donnie Bostwick, American Legion Baseball head coaches Stan Walton, Anthoney Towers and John Pannell.

Some others of my favorites that I worked with for a decade or more included Thad Dilbeck, Kevin Foreman, Kristy Bryan, Lance Knight, David Ayres, Chad Englehart, Thad Dilbeck, Jeff Rude, Kirk Kelley, Tom Nelson, Curt Cloud, Lorrie Bertolet, Deric Longan, Matt Parker, Chris Revard and Bryan Gardner.

Those who helped along the way

The tidal wave of people in the community who have been so generous with their kindness and in other ways to me would overflow the auditorium at the community center.

Marta Manning stands out in so many ways, including acting as a willing chauffeur for me to many, many, many out-of-town games. Truth is, Marta felt happy to follow the teams — her love for Bartlesville students and student-athletes was inexhaustible. But, she might not have made some of those journeys if not for me.

Other area residents who have shown me exceptional kindness include the Manning family, Bob Pomeroy, Ron Swigart, Gerald Thompson, Venson Cumby, George Halkiades, Mike Jackson, Debbie Mueggenborg, many people in my church including the Highlands, Mike and Robbie Vaclaw, Dr. Ryan Vaclaw, Nate King and many others, Claudean Greene, Evan Fahrbach, the Prusators, Mildred Moore and so many others.

So many overwhelming memories flood back — as in 2007 when I almost died when my car slid into an overflowing ditch and partially upended.

Then there was 2019, when the Bartlesville Sports Commission welcomed me into the Bartlesville Athletic Hall of Fame — an honor I don’t know if I deserved but one for which I am profoundly grateful. That induction weekend is like a dream, highlighted by the visit of my sister to Bartlesville — the only time in my 27 years in town she ever traveled to Oklahoma. In conjunction with that, the Thursday before the induction, she went to a Dewey football game with me (Bartlesville was out-of-town in Ponca City) and sat in the press box and created an instant rapport with Don Osborne and the rest of the crew who sat near us.

A very tragic memory tempered my happiness on a special night in 2015. I was riding back with co-worker Becky Burch Slack and her husband Joe — after I had won a first-place award at the Oklahoma Press Association banquet — and we got the news via cell phone the oldest son of our co-worker Susan Albert had died in a drowning accident at Copan Lake. Susan and her husband Jay are two of the kindest people I have known.

The stories I most remember

As I moved to Bartlesville in the spring of 1996, I couldn’t have imagined the incredible story opportunities that would bless me during the following quarter-century.

Some of the most meaningful include:

HOOP-LA: Interviewing 94-year-old Paul Endacott, who had grown up in Lawrence, Kan., in the shadow of basketball inventor Dr. James Naismith and later played at the University of Kansas with Naismith as the athletic director.

CAB FARE: Spending more than an hour with Jess “Cab” Renick, the captain of the 1948 Olympic men’s basketball championship game and, at that time, only the second U.S. Native American to win an Olympic gold medal (Jim Thorpe was the other).

BULLDROZER: Witnessing and writing about James Droz’ touchdown run for Bartlesville High. Droz was a special needs student who had willed himself to be an integral part of the football program — in every way but as a player — for four years. At the end of his senior year, then-head coach Jason Sport suited him up and put him for one play. Bartlesville’s opponent Choctaw knew ahead of time of Sport's plan. James received the hand-off and ran 30-something yards to paydirt, with both Bartlesville and Choctaw players cheering him on and then mobbing him in the end zone. Droz, as many know, has gone on to be a TikTok superstar for his brief video sports commentaries and last spring had the chance to announce one of the Kansas City Chiefs’ draft picks.

I CAN’T HEAR YOU: In 1999, the U.S. military gave me the chance to join a small group of other Oklahoma newspaper journalists to spend a few days at Marine Corps boot camp in San Diego, Calif. This excursion had very special feelings for me — I had been there just 17-plus years before as a real-life boot recruit. It was fascinating to walk that same parade ground, enter those same buildings and visit the various training sites which nearly 20 years earlier had caused me so much angst, frustration, trial and uncertainty that I had to learn to deal with and get under control. I also had the opportunity to interview some of the recruits from Washington County and send the reports back to the E-E.

LEGION’S REGION: Not only once but twice Bartlesville received the coveted bid to host the American Legion World Series, in 2003 and 2007. This proved to be a golden prize for a journalist. I got to interview baseball greats Brett Butler and Dale Murphy, rubbed shoulders with Bill Haase, a senior vice-president at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., developed friendships with some of the American Legion national volunteers and witnessed high-quality play in several games. Bartlesville proved itself to be the 'Little Town That Could' by successfully hosting the event. I’ll always feel the city received a bit of a slap in the face when its bid a few years later to become a permanent host was soundly rejected, in what appeared to be a case of unfair oneupmanship by the competing city. But, that turndown couldn’t take away the happy times from 2003 and 2007. Incidentally, the 2007 ALWS effort was nothing short of a miracle — a flood in early July had swamped the stadium, ruined the dugouts and caused other serious damage to the facility. But, in the can-do attitude that exemplifies Bartlesville people, by the time the ALWS arrived in August, all was ready.

There are a handful of other major recollections: Caney Valley High winning the 2009 state fastpitch softball championship, traveling to Nebraska with George Halkiades to cover an American Legion tournament, covering the state basketball tournament in 2005, running or walking on the Custer Stadium track at midnight on Saturdays after I finished putting out Sunday’s paper, the roof shots at varsity volleyball games in the Mid-High gym, the vision of Caney Valley coach Rick Tipton, covering the NCAA-II college basketball tournaments at the Bruin Fieldhouse, reporting on the Bartlesville Athletic Hall of Fame induction banquets and so on.

One especially poignant memory focuses on former Bartlesville High athlete Scott Mauldin. Mauldin filled the role of a virtual athletic prodigy. He was one of the few, if not the only, freshman to play varsity basketball for Tim Bart, and excelled on the football field. As a freshman, he also caught a varsity touchdown pass thrown by fellow freshman Kirby Schoenthaler. I vividly remember how Mauldin suffered an injury that seemed it would sideline him in football for the season. But, he returned after a few weeks and, displaying great character, punted for the team. Shortly after the end of his sophomore football season, he and fellow Bruin player Eric Dean died in a tragic vehicle accident.

The list of young people who had such incredible potential that tragically died during my watch has created a well of sadness in my heart.

I’ve often thought how — if not for the feeling I didn’t want to leave my sister alone in this world — I would have traded my life in exchange for one of those wonderful young people living a full life.

An especially bittersweet memory in regards to one of those passings concerns Dewey High's Jon Canady. I wrote something in the paper about his passing and shortly afterward encountered his mom at a Dewey High game. She thanked me for my thoughts and shared with me a personal experience. He had come home for a weekend shortly before his passing and stayed up most of the night talking to his mom about the family and concern about his younger siblings. How could she or he have known that would be their final conversation?

Saying goodbye

I have to thank God for this opportunity and blessing in keeping my dream alive so much, as well as for everything. I don’t know what my future holds. Who knows? Perhaps my name might pop up now and then as a contributor to the E-E.

But, barring a tweak of fate, my days as a full-time newspaper are done.

What do I want to be said about my career?

I want to be thought of as someone who tried to balance accurate reporting with being a positive voice in the communities where I have worked, especially in the lives of young people. I hope some small thing I wrote about them might have given them confidence and a greater sense of self-worth. I believed and believe every young person needs encouragement, needs to know despite their weakness that they are good and worthwhile people and that they can create a happy future for themselves and for the world. I had wonderful people who did this for me at a critical time in my coming of age.

I want to pay tribute to two teachers.

One of them was Boyd Crawford, my eighth-grade typing instructor. One day, while the room was full of clacking keys during a class exercise, he tapped me on the shoulder and motioned me to come to the back of the classroom with him.

He had noticed the ripped tennis shoes and old, worn, dirty clothing I wore to school every day — as well as my stoop, and asked if everything was all right at home, if I were being mistreated. Tears welled up in my eyes — not tears of bitterness but tears of gratitude that another human being had noticed me and taken compassion on me — and I assured him my mom was doing the best she could and that we were just going through tough times but they would get better. He thanked me for my answer and I went back to the desk.

How happy I felt several years later when he drove into the gas station where I worked part-time while going to college. I had just returned from a two-year church mission and I was proud to show him I had become a strong, capable young person trying to build a good future, and that he was partly responsible for that.

The other school mentor who had such a profound influence was Mr. Glen Cottle, my sixth-grade homeroom teacher. My shabby clothes and lack of self-worth made me the object of some subtle class ridicule — not helped by the fact I lived in a single-parent home which back in the 1960s in Utah was still a rarity.

One day, some of the students said something out loud about me and Mr. Cottle overheard them. He called the class to attention and chastised the other students for their attitude. He tried to explain how some things went beyond a person's control and then he told them about some of the great men of history who became strong because they had had to battle through rugged circumstances as children.

I don't claim to have become a great man — not in any way.

But, I do hope I've made something worthwhile and good about my life to this point. I hope Mr. Cottle would be proud.

This article originally appeared on Bartlesville Examiner-Enterprise: Mike Tupa: Career journey fueled by a dream, faith and kindness of others