CLEVELAND — The last time I heard from him was two weeks ago. As usual, he wanted to know about his Brownies.
Jim Donovan truly loved the Cleveland Browns. He loved his job as sports anchor at WKYC-TV for nearly 40 years, but he loved the Browns more. He grew just as aggravated with some of the nonsense over the years as any fan from Columbia to Chesterland, but it was an unconditional love that never wavered.
Two weeks ago, as cancer ravaged his body, Jimmy texted me because he was worried about Kevin Stefanski and all of the losses piling up on him. I told him it was great hearing from him.
That text was the only communication I’d had with him since training camp. I texted him after he announced his retirement, but he didn’t respond right away. I get it. The response publicly had to be overwhelming.
Our exchange two weeks ago was the last we shared. Donovan died over the weekend after a 20-year fight with a relentless disease.
GO DEEPER
Longtime Cleveland Browns broadcaster Jim Donovan dies at 68
Jimmy certainly dealt with his share of coaches over the years as the Browns’ play-by-play voice, but he really admired and respected Stefanski. It wasn’t just a company man regurgitating the company line to protect a coach: He thought Stefanski was a smart, high-character man who was the right person to lead an organization that had a reputation for reacting emotionally at times.
That’s why it was so warming to see Stefanski and general manager Andrew Berry take the game ball to his wife, Cheryl, and their daughter, Meghan, after Sunday’s win over the Baltimore Ravens.
“I told you guys I would love nothing more than to give this game ball to the family of Jim Donovan,” Stefanski told his players in the locker room after the game. “Jim loved the Cleveland Browns. He loved you guys; we love him back. We will be there for his family. This one’s for Jimmy.”
ALWAYS IN OUR HEARTS 🤎🧡 Following today’s win over the Ravens, Browns head coach Kevin Stefanski & general manager Andrew Berry personally delivered the game ball to Jim Donovan’s wife Cheryl & daughter Meghan 🏈
Read more: https://t.co/Xu9xXUwMhY pic.twitter.com/1Z7cqZzPib
— WKYC 3News (@wkyc) October 27, 2024
I always looked forward to my chats with Jimmy. The only thing he loved more than Browns gossip was any little tidbit I had about his beloved Boston Celtics.
Not even 40 years in Cleveland could cure him of his Boston sports fandom, particularly for the Celtics. He hid it well on the air, but Jimmy loved his Celtics. I first got to know him when I was doing stand-up hits for Channel 3 while covering the Cleveland Cavaliers and the NBA for nearly 10 years.
Whenever I walked into the studio to tape a Browns segment with him, we’d spend at least a few minutes talking about his Celtics and their chances of winning a championship. He was the first person I thought of when Boston beat the Dallas Mavericks in June. I congratulated him when I saw him at The Greenbrier in July. He was still glowing.
I feel certain that Jimmy was with the Browns on Sunday. Kyle Hamilton dropped what would have been a game-winning interception for the Ravens late in the fourth quarter because Jimmy was defending on the play. Justin Tucker missed a 50-yard field goal because Jimmy kicked his plant foot. Tucker was naive enough to check the turf when his foot slipped. It wasn’t the turf. It was Jimmy.
Rashod Bateman let a deep pass from Lamar Jackson bounce off his face mask because Jimmy nudged the sun over six inches to the west. Bateman looked up at the bright sky in disbelief. He didn’t know it, but he was really staring at Jimmy.
About six years ago, Jimmy and I sat down to discuss his cancer journey for a holiday piece on The Athletic. I drove to Hinckley, Ohio, and met him at a restaurant around the corner from his house. Everyone in the place knew him, of course. He shared a warm smile with the waitstaff and a few of the regulars who otherwise left him alone.
We chatted about how he met Cheryl on the second floor of The Arcade building in downtown Cleveland so many decades ago. Jimmy was going to meet his colleague, Jim Hooley, who was meticulous about his hair and constantly getting it cut. Hooley and Donovan were going shopping for green ties in anticipation of a St. Patrick’s Day that was fast approaching. Donovan picked out a lot more than a tie that day. He started chatting up the woman who was cutting Hooley’s hair. They celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary in June.
We spoke about his love of Boston sports as a child and how he worked at Boston University’s radio station alongside Howard Stern. We spoke about his early days in television. And, of course, we talked in great detail about his 2011 bone marrow transplant.
His donor’s name was Dallas Gentry, a corrections officer in southwest Virginia who had no ties to Donovan or his family. He was just a man raised to help people and do the right thing, which is why he began donating blood regularly at 18 years old. One of the ladies working at the blood bank eventually asked if he was interested in becoming a bone marrow donor.
Gentry didn’t really know anything about it, but he agreed to do it, then went about his life and didn’t really think much about it. Fourteen years later, he received a call from Cleveland. He was a perfect, 10-point match to a cancer patient in desperate need of a transplant.
Doctors cautioned Gentry that it would be painful for him, but the patient likely would die without him. Gentry never hesitated. He was eager to help a man he’d never met.
I reviewed the story I wrote off that lunch we shared while helping to write his obituary for The Athletic over the weekend. I had forgotten about this line. It gave me chills and broke my heart:
“I don’t know if a lot of people have used the ‘cured’ word around you,” Jimmy recalled doctors telling him in the summer of 2018. “But you’re effectively cured.”
That was more than seven years after the bone marrow transplant. Jimmy thought he was past it, that he had beaten it. Imagine the devastation in his mind when the cancer returned last year, then again with a vengeance this year.
A fan holds a sign in memoriam of Jim Donovan during Sunday’s Cleveland Browns-Baltimore Ravens game. (Ken Blaze / Imagn Images)
Gentry ultimately couldn’t save Jim Donovan, but he bought a husband, a father and a legend the most valuable commodity: time. Gentry’s selflessness bought Jimmy an extra 13 years with his friends and family — and all of us. They were years we all cherished.
One of my biggest career regrets will be not reaching out to Jimmy these last few weeks. I knew he was going downhill fast. I wanted to give him a chance to say goodbye on his terms and in his own words, to tell all of you what he was thinking and what this life meant to him. I never did.
I’ll go nose-to-nose with any player, coach, executive or owner in this town and never flinch. But with Jimmy, I think I was a little scared. I didn’t know how to phrase it, how to pitch it to him.
How do you ask someone if they’re ready to die if you don’t already know the answer?
I spoke to someone close with Jimmy after Sunday’s game. He told me Jimmy would’ve declined. He wouldn’t have done it. I’ll never know for sure.
Jim Donovan, the voice of our Sunday afternoons who gave us “Run, William, Run!” doesn’t have to run anymore. May angels lead you in.
(Top photo: Jeff Lange / USA Today)
