The Heart of a Lion
September 22, 2020 — 10 years ago, when he was eight, Michael Currin joined his father Joe for a family fun run, organized as part of the family’s annual trip to Venice, Florida. Feeling ill during the run, Michael’s dad said simply, “Keep going” and watched his oldest son sprint ahead.
Soon after, Joe Currin collapsed and died of a massive heart attack on the wooden boardwalk of the Venice beachfront. He was 38 years old, a former Division 1 athlete, and a doting father of four to Michael and his three younger siblings.
Michael not only bounced back from his father’s death, he flourished. He took the pain from his father’s passing and turned it into fuel for becoming the man he would be over the next 10 years. Following in his father’s footsteps he became a two-sport varsity athlete at Archbishop Moeller High School in Cincinnati. Playing on a roster sprinkled with legitimate D-1 athletes, Michael led his basketball team to an Ohio state championship as a junior.
Point guards, they say, are the quarterback of the basketball team. Michael understood this better than anybody. He knew that becoming the best quarterback required you to outwork, outhustle, and outcommunicate everybody else on the floor. Clearly, his work paid off. His Moeller team was 55–1 over his junior and senior years, their only loss in late 2019 by five points on the road to St. Vincent-St. Mary in Cleveland.
Michael was not just a team-sport player though. He also excelled in the most demanding of individual sports, named a two-time captain of Moeller’s varsity golf team. Michael’s swing, which he honed through hundreds of hours of callus-inducing practice, became a thing of beauty. It was a swing that all but the most advanced players would take as their own if they only could.
During the early months of the coronavirus pandemic, Michael and his family filled the void left by the cancellation of the end of the high school basketball season by taking up pickleball. Not surprisingly, Michael picked up the sport quickly. While his competitiveness was ever-present, he never once lost his sense of humor on the pickleball court, even when his siblings would occasionally come out on top.
But Michael did not use the memory of his father’s death solely to fuel his athletic prowess. He used it to become a leader off the court as well. An empathetic mentor to his three younger siblings, Michael helped his mom Callie as she raised them to see the world as Joe would have seen it and treat others as he would have treated them.
He was a leader in the classroom and in the hallowed halls of Moeller, a place that has turned out its fair share of enduring leaders. His role as a true leader at Moeller put him in the company of names like John Boehner, Ken Griffey Jr., and Barry Larkin.
If you are lucky, the world recognizes and even rewards the fact that you are an exceptional person. And the world did so in Michael’s case, giving him titles like “Team Captain,” “Alumni Class Captain,” “School Vice-Captain,” “National Honor Society member,” “Kairos Leader,” and perhaps most importantly “Man of Moeller.” Each of them was a reflection of his commitment to leadership.
When I congratulated him on the Man of Moeller honor he was awarded at graduation, he simply looked at me, smiled, and said “Thank you.” The look on his face was born of the satisfaction you get from the kind of recognition that only comes from years and years of determination, hard work, and resilience. All hallmarks of the best Men of Moeller.
In contrast to many others, Michael’s pursuit of excellence was selfless. It was never about him. It was always about the team, his family, or the stranger on the street. He understood even at a young age that the energy you put out into the world comes back to you in spades. His manners were a beacon for those who have not been taught as well as he was, or who chose not to hone the skills they were taught.
Seemingly, some parents just “get it” more than others. They innately understand how to navigate the endless array of challenges inherent in raising resilient, emotionally intelligent children. Clearly, Joe and Callie Currin are two of those parents. In Michael, they raised a man of character. And it was Michael’s character that destined him to impact everyone he met so profoundly.
Michael died yesterday, the victim of a catastrophic brain injury, the cause of which is under investigation by Dayton police. What we do know is that he was doing something completely natural to him, volunteering to pick up the pizza that he and his college roommates had paid for. He would never have expected someone else to go pick it up, nor would he have accepted their offer to do so. That’s how leaders are.
I write this as someone who has only known Michael for eight months. I cannot imagine the pain of those who knew him longer. He was the kind of person who left such an indelible mark on you that you felt like you had known him forever.
In one final act of selflessness, Michael’s organs will be donated to a host of waiting recipients. Doctors at Miami Valley Hospital told the family they have never seen a heart as healthy as his. That is unsurprising, as it was the heart of a lion. I am guessing that whoever is lucky enough to have that heart send blood coursing through their body will be blessed with a sense of strength and compassion they had previously never known.
The last time I talked to Michael was via text. I wrote him on the Saturday night after he left for college, lamenting the fact that we did not get in one last pickleball battle before the start of his freshman year. He wrote me back immediately, saying simply, “That’s alright. We’ll just have to do it when I get back.”
I have forever missed out on my opportunity for one last game with the finest young person I have ever met. But the world has lost far more. It has lost a compassionate, caring young soul who would have been a force of positivity for decades to come. I can only imagine where his future would have taken him. The opportunity to play even a tiny part in it would have been the honor of a lifetime.
