I knew Tim Cunningham. I call him a friend. We weren’t great friends; in most photos, we’re a few people apart. But I knew him enough to say the following with confidence:
Tim was a massive pain in the butt.
And that is a massive compliment.
It’s among the highest praise I can give to anyone trying to do good. For sure, Tim did well, graduating Morehouse and Harvard and thriving at the CDC. But more than that, he did good … for people who too often don’t have a voice like Tim’s behind them.
I met Tim through LEAD Atlanta, the leadership program that’s produced some of our city’s most distinguished citizens. And in a class of 50, where everyone stood out, Tim never backed down. So many of us spent the program becoming exposed to the myriad of challenges facing Atlanta’s underserved.
Tim was already up to speed. He spoke with passion that those fighting poverty shouldn’t settle, shouldn’t accept raw deals for a short-term tease, shouldn’t accept prejudice and institutional traps even though “it’s always been that way.” And he demanded those of us with megaphones, whether on TV or in top-floor offices, to use them right or make way for those who will.
Two years after we graduated LEAD, Tim and I came back to plan a program day for a future class, all about education. Our team had developed a strong outline with good ideas, when Tim interrupted: “Why aren’t we talking first about poverty?” He said we should scrap our plan and refocus the day, because he believed we couldn’t talk about the challenges in education without addressing the disparities and inequalities facing our children. Some of us, including me, hesitated. We had already done so much work. We had planned a good day. Tim demanded great, of himself and any orbit he crossed. He was a pain. But he was right. And it was worth it.
As I have followed the coverage and conversation about my friend, I have seen a gaping hole. So many want to focus on what happened, or how it happened, and I get that. But there’s a side of Tim that hasn’t been heard, beyond the CDC, of a leader who worked behind the scenes in so many spheres to make the world a little more just. In Atlanta, where the gulf between the haves and have-nots is larger than most of us ever see, voices like Tim’s are crucial and rare.
I’m in a Facebook group of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances who formed to help find Tim when he went missing. We don’t talk much about how or why. We certainly don’t dwell on conspiracies.
Because this isn’t a whodunit or a mystery. It’s a tragedy.
As someone who prides myself on telling the stories of Untold Atlanta, I find Tim’s untold story critical. So many of us want to do good, for our families and communities. But we see the tall odds, fall into routine, take care not to offend, and need a good pain in the butt to fire us up. Tim was that pain.
I feel first for his family, and next for those he knew best. But I also feel for the rest of us. Our city, and truly our world, has lost someone who fought for it – and all of us – to be better, no matter if he ever received the credit he deserved. To fight that hard, to be Tim’s kind of pain, is to be someone worth having his story told.
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