he’s only resting his eyes

This is an expanded version of Dad’s obituary we submitted to the Daily Oklahoman. Here I refer to him freely as both Dad and Joe. Honoring him could and should be a full length novel. But an extra long blog post will do for now.

Joseph Laurence Dunaway was born on October 18, 1957, to John and Louise Dunaway in Stillwater, Oklahoma. He was the third of ten children. Because he was born just a few months after Sputnik was launched, Grandpa Dunaway used his talents to write a creative story about his new son as a heavenly event. If anyone can find that article, I will share it!

Joe grew up between Stillwater, Krebs, Welch, McAlester, and Oklahoma City. He was a smart, talkative kid with a penchant for adventure and storytelling and an appetite for knowledge. He once lost half of a finger, and everyone who heard about it heard a different story of how it happened.

His cousin Robert Brown shared these memories, which absolutely illustrate the zestiness of Dad’s personality, and it is so fun to imagine him this young: “My cousin Joe and I spent a summer together at our grandparents’ farm in Kansas when we were 8 or so. We were climbing a tree one day and he swung from branch to branch like a chimp and beckoned me to follow. He was just enough smaller than me that the branches could bear his weight, but not mine. The next thing I knew, I was staring up at my grandmother, flat on my back in the soft dirt, the wind knocked out of me. Later that summer, we built a fort in the hay bales in the barn, complete with tunnels. The plan was to use an air rifle to knock down the wasp nest that had been menacing us and then dive into our tunnel, pulling a cardboard door closed behind us. Someone forgot the door and the wasps followed us in and one by one stung the four of us in the tunnel. Not too long after that, Joe and I were at the Marysville swimming pool. Neither of us could swim but Joe convinced me we could jump off the low diving board and swim like frogs to the shallow end. We did this several times until on the last time, a lifeguard yanked us from the pool and made us sit out after she scolded us. Joe had the charisma and sense of adventure that made you want to follow him anywhere, regardless of the risk. Those memories have stuck with me and I thank God that Joe was my cousin.”

In his teen years, the family lived in Oklahoma City, on 41st street, where he fell in love and started building a life with Alison Holly Stubbs. Mom told us just this past awful week that the way she picked Dad, out of a big group of kids their age, was simply that he was in the front yard playing with his younger brothers and sisters. That was the same front yard, the same house, where they would eventually live and raise their own kids and play with their own grandkids. We also learned this week that Dad’s complete nickname for Mom, the way he had her programmed into his phone, was Alison-Holly-Stubbs-Sweetie-Enchilada-Dunaway.

With the support of both of their big families, serious work ethic, and deep love and devotion, Joe and Alison chose parenthood early in life. They had Marie first, then Angela in Plano, Texas, where they lived in an adorable duplex and Dad drove his yellow Chevy with the lumber cage over the bed, which also served as a jungle gym. Plano was a brief chapter filled with joy and lots of visitors from Oklahoma. Then they returned to OKC and had in quick succession Joseph, Genevieve (who Joe delivered himself on Northwest Expressway), and John Philip. They made it look easy, but not all of these childbirth experiences were. They endured plenty of terrifying hospital stays with ther babies, from meningitis to emergency surgeries. But they walked through it all and much more.

Joe was an exceptionally present and steady Dad, the gold standard for other dads and a surrogate father figure for many. He and Mom made the house on 41st street the place to gather, year after year. Cousin sleepovers, family parties, play dates and birthday parties with school friends, and long summers with the irreplaceable Neighbor Kids. Magic, all of it, in every season. He made us proud to introduce him to friends then, and somehow we got lucky enough to still introuce him to our frineds in adulthood. I have always felt so proud to reach my hand out and grab his arm, “This is my Dad, Joe.”

Joe worked hard and excelled at many jobs over the years, including restaurants, 84 Lumber, Home Depot, and Oklahoma Property Investors. He also started Village Art Lamp Company with his in-laws, a successful venture that sustained dozens of families for twenty-two years. During these years, Dad helped design lamp bases and shades. He worked on the Magic Touch technology. He tried his hand at poured resin, learned every industrial machine to mastery, took charge of shipping and inventory and every aspect of small business ownership, all from scratch. Trailblazing. It is easy to still see him gliding at high speed through the warehouse on South Walker, and it is easy to remember his office there, with tall shelves overflowing with files and a neat row of five acrylic frames on the wall, all of our school photos on display for all those years.

Joe’s intellect, creativity, and natural ability to teach himself any skill made him irreplaceable in every setting. He could also walk faster than most people can run, and he was happy to prove it, even mid-sentence. So, keep up if you can. And if he suddenly needs a nap while you are still talking, go ahead because he can probably still hear you. We used to ask him, panic stricken in the middle of a movie, “Dad are you watching!!??” And he might reply, “Shh I’m just resting my eyes.” We might also walk into a room and ask him what was he doing, and if they answer should have been obvious, he would say, “Painting elephants.”

Joe was witty and perceptive. He was serious, too, and had strong beliefs and opinions, but he always found a way to make everything funnier and easier. He was always the smartest and most articulate person in the room. Though he never pursued formal education, he had the mind for it. Have you ever heard his monologue on the myth of overpopulation? It sure evolved over the years and eventually contained lots of humor. His passionate assertions never failed to grab my attention or make me laugh.

He noticed everything and had a protective streak from which his children benefited the most. I have such vivid memories of feeling completely held and protected by Dad’s love and occassional ferocity. He is the reason I grew up believeing most men were good, very good. He set the standard.

He gave excruciating knee grabbers, which we all recently agreed were less about physical pain than psychological warfare. Just thinking about it now makes my feet curl up beneath me! He could do the invisible ball and paper bag trick better than anyone, though nine year old Connor is now almost a master. And if scathing one-liners was a second language, he was fluent. These are just three of a thousand ways no family party will ever be the same again.

Joe spent decades in the Knights of Columbus, as a member of the Oklahoma Council No. 1038 (third degree or “fraternal” order), and the Chief Justice Kane Assembly (fourth degree or “patriotic” order). He held many leadership positions in the Knights. He was a problem-solver for 1038’s affiliated Columbus Corporation in north Oklahoma City, particularly the Santa Fe Family Life Center’s multi-sports activities, including adaptive programs for handicapped persons. Our childhood was set against that beautiful backdrop, and we are so thankful for the friendships and purpose that community provided Dad. At his funeral Mass, they honored him in full dress regalia, and it took my breath away. We will remember that forever.

Joe was a talented carpenter, self-taught plumber, electrician, and old home remodeler. Oklahoma’s Bob Vila. He was a troubleshooter for anything that needed repair, an avid reader of every newspaper and every Stephen King novel, and a helper overall. He was a lover of black licorice, liver and onions, Mexican food, cashews, and Folger’s coffee. He also developed a penchant for elaborate relish trays, a necessity at every single holiday, regarldless of the menu. We will keep this fun tradition.

He liked old Jaguars and low growing evergreens, but he disliked cannas that grew too fast and effusive attention. He would have hated this. I once wrote him a love letter for his birthday and he said, “Marie, you’re too effusive.” I had to look up the word.

Over time Dad grew to be such a dog lover! Including but not limited to the royalty of Muddles, his favorite daughter, and this love extending recently to Miss Gracie, we all felt suddenly pitted against our first ever contestants for his attention. It was quite a thing to watch his care and affection pour out for animals. He loved all our dogs, too, and they loved him.

As our brother said in his beautful eulogy, Dad saw people’s gifts and potential, not their mistakes. He never wasted time on keeping score or being stuck in the past; he was always ready to love you immediately, right where you stand, and get started on the next memory or the next project. And gosh every single one of us has enjoyed the rescuing embrace of that kind of fatherly love. I know people beyond our tight circle must have, too.

To Dad, every new baby was good news. Exciting news! Always. And we are so deeply thankful that he lived to see the birth of five chidren and eight grandchildren, and he never had to say goodbye any of us or Mom. Because for all of his incredible gifts, he was just not great at coping with illness or death. We joked that Dad the opposite of hypochondria. So what a blessing that he did not suffer an extended illness or hospital stay. He would have hated that worse than an effusive love letter.

Joe died suddenly and unexpectedly at work on Friday, August 14, 2026, in Oklahoma City.

By the time of his death, Joe had loved well not only his wife and all five of their kids and their spouses but also eight grandchildren. He and Alison were planning a big family trip to California for Thanksgiving, another trip to Alaska, retirement, and much more. Dad was finally building a new shop behind their home on 41^st street. He was excited for the future and left many plans on the table and many broken hearts behind. Nothing will be the same without him.

He is preceded in death by his parents Jack and Lousie, stepmother, Ina Lynne Dunaway, parents-in-law Rex and Mary Jo Stubbs, two siblings, and two siblings-in-law.

Joe is survived by Alison Dunaway, his wife of nearly fifty-three years, five children, Marie Wreath (husband Brandy Wreath), Angela Tucker, Joseph Dunaway (wife Halee Dunaway), Genevieve Dunaway (husband Andrew Solomon), Philip Dunaway, eight grandchildren, Jocelyn Hartley, Dante Wolfinger, Jessica Yeverino (and husband Alex Yeverino), Chloe Tucker Mackenzie Tucker, Greg Dunaway, Connor Dunaway, and Abbott Dunaway-Solomon, seven siblings, countless nieces and nephews, and hundreds of friends and colleagues who would call him a brother.

I could write about him endlessly.

I hope we all continue to tell stories about him and continue to fix up our old houses and celebrate babies and play with the kids. I hope we have secret nicknames for our spouses and volunteer in our communities, in ways we find meaningful. I hope we each keep our sense of humor, though it won’t measure up to his. And I hope we make lots of snacks and read lots of books and call politicians and bad drivers idiots, when appropriate.

You are profoundly missed, Dad. I had no idea, not really, that we would ever not have you. Thank you for an amazing everything.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
~Ecclesiastes 3:1