10 minute read
A LIFE BUILT ON LOYALTY
By Rachel Greene and Matt Ramsay, Delta Lambda (UNC–Charlotte)
When John McCurdy was born on November 5, 1973, doctors diagnosed him with cerebral palsy and laid out a life of uncertainty. He might never walk. He would probably never live independently. They told his family to prepare, not for milestones, but for limitations. But McCurdy never let that diagnosis define him.
“I’ve always had a strong faith in God, and I just believed there was a reason I was here,” he said. “People told me I couldn’t do things, and I wanted to prove them wrong.” That quiet defiance, fueled by faith and family, became the foundation of his life. He learned to walk. He learned to drive. He attended public school with his peers. And when it came time for college, he wasn’t just ready, he was excited. Despite everything he’d been told, McCurdy wasn’t looking for accommodation. He was just looking for a place to belong.
He found it at the University of North Carolina-Charlotte. “I grew up in North Carolina and applied to App State too, but Charlotte won me over,” he said. “It was close to home, and honestly, I loved the basketball. I felt like I belonged there.” From his first day on campus, McCurdy threw himself into the college experience. He became a fixture at Charlotte volleyball, soccer and basketball events. Anywhere the 49ers played, he was there cheering with everything he had. Eventually, the athletic department took notice and started reserving front-row seats for McCurdy and his friends.
When I found Pi Kapp, I found my people. Those were the guys who went to games with me, but they were also the guys who showed up when it really mattered.
“I bleed green and gold,” he said. “I’ve never understood people who go to Charlotte and cheer for Duke or Carolina. That isn’t the school you go to; Charlotte is. Even when we’re struggling, they’re still my team.” For McCurdy, it’s never been about wins and losses. It’s about pride, identity and normalcy.
“Sports give you something to fall back on,” he said. “Even when I was in a nursing home, I made it out to games. I just needed to feel like myself again.” That sense of belonging is something he felt in the stands, but also when he joined Pi Kappa Phi. For McCurdy, the Fraternity was never just a social group; it was home.
“When I found Pi Kapp, I found my people,” he said. “Those were the guys who went to games with me, but they were also the guys who showed up when it really mattered.” As a student, he took every opportunity to get involved. He served on IFC, helped organize campus events and in the summer of 1995, McCurdy joined the Journey of Hope (North Route) as a crew member.
“That was the first time I’d been on a bike since I was 16,” he said. “One day, I rode 70 miles. It about killed me, but I made it. That summer changed my life.”
Journey of Hope gave McCurdy a platform to advocate for people with disabilities in a way that felt deeply personal. Every Friendship Visit felt like coming home, meeting people who reminded him of the barriers he’d fought and why he had to keep fighting. “It gave my challenges a purpose,” he said. “I could connect with people in a way others couldn’t, and I wanted to use that for good.”
After graduation, he took a role with Push America, now The Ability Experience, traveling across the country to train chapters and support fundraising efforts in support of people with disabilities. For several years, he poured himself into the mission that had given him so much. “I loved that job,” he said. “It kept me connected to the students, to the work and to the impact.”
Eventually, McCurdy transitioned into a career in construction supply sales. He didn’t expect to stay long, but 26 years later, he’s still there. He’s built a life around his work, earned the loyalty of his clients and built relationships that carry him through the hardest moments of his life.
In the fall of 2023, everything about McCurdy’s life changed. “I was independent, working and living a full life,” he said. “Then, one day, I just got sick.” It started fast and escalated faster. A staph infection, caused by a defibrillator implanted two years earlier, entered his bloodstream. His kidneys failed. Pneumonia filled his lungs. Sepsis took hold, and soon after, he was in septic shock. McCurdy was placed into a medically induced coma with a fever of 106 degrees.
“The doctors told my parents I wasn’t going to make it. They said there was no use in trying to save me.” Regardless of what the doctors predicted, his parents refused to give up on their son. They knew John, and he beat the odds countless times before. “My parents told told them, ‘No. John’s a fighter. Give him a chance.’”
To save his life, doctors had to amputate parts of all four limbs. He was placed on dialysis. For weeks, there was no movement, no response. But slowly, miraculously, McCurdy came back. “My kidneys started working again,” he said. “My brain was clear. My organs held up. Aside from my arms and legs, I’m completely normal. I think I’m a living miracle.”
Even if it was miraculous, recovery certainly wasn’t easy. Delays in insurance forced him into a nursing facility that wasn’t equipped for his care, causing delays that made him lose strength. McCurdy lost hope. Eventually, though, he was transferred back to Atrium Health, where his original rehab team was waiting for him. “I didn’t want to let them down,” he said. “They worked so hard for me. That gave me strength to push through. They didn’t give up on me, so I couldn’t give up on myself.”
To be there, standing in front of my team, my family, my friends and my Pi Kapp brothers. That moment reminded me why I’m still here.
And then, something happened that reminded McCurdy just how much his presence was missed while he was in the hospital. The now former Charlotte head football coach, Biff Poggi, showed up at his hospital room with players Jalon Jones and Demon Clowney. They brought a game ball from their win over East Carolina and asked McCurdy to call the first play of their next game.
“I told them, ‘Run a flea flicker!’” McCurdy said with a grin. “It wasn’t even in the playbook. But they added it anyway.”
For McCurdy, that visit wasn’t just a gesture. It was a moment that reminded him that he mattered. “It reminded me I still had value,” he said. “That I was still part of something.”
In October 2024, less than a year after doctors told his parents to say goodbye, McCurdy walked onto the field at Jerry Richardson Stadium, where he was honored before a Charlotte football game. “It was one of the proudest moments of my life,” he said. “To be there, standing in front of my team, my family, my friends and my Pi Kapp brothers. That moment reminded me why I’m still here.”
Throughout his recovery, his Pi Kapp brothers never stopped showing up. Some were lifelong friends, while others were men he had never met. One of them, Michael Foy, lived near the hospital and came to visit often, bringing meals, helping with errands and even just sitting with him in silence. “I asked him, ‘Why are you doing this?’” McCurdy said. “And he said, ‘Because I love you, man.’ That kind of brotherhood, it’s real, and it’s forever.”
McCurdy eventually returned to work. His company held his job for a full year. His clients picked up when he called. And every day, he’s found new ways to adapt to life with prosthetics and new routines. “There were times over the years when things were tough at work,” he said. “But I stayed. And when I needed them most, they stayed, too. That’s what loyalty looks like.”
McCurdy still attends Charlotte games, makes it to Delta Lambda’s First Friday alumni lunches and still takes calls from undergrads who want advice. He doesn’t do any of these things because he has to. “It gives me joy to pass it on,” he said. “Most of these guys weren’t in school when I was, but they treat me like family, and that means something.”
McCurdy’s faith continues to be his anchor. It carried him through childhood, through college, through illness and through recovery. “There were times I didn’t understand why all this was happening,” he said. “But I never stopped believing there was a reason. I still believe that I’m here for a purpose.”
With innovative technology and ongoing rehab, McCurdy is regaining more independence every day. He remains hopeful about what’s next, not just for himself but for those who face similar challenges. “If this had happened 10 years ago, I might not be here,” he said. “But now? Now there’s hope, and I’ve still got more to do.”
Asked what he’d tell the next generation of Pi Kapps, McCurdy doesn’t hesitate. “Don’t quit after four years,” he said. “This brotherhood is for life. These guys will be there when it counts, but you’ve got to be there for them, too. Show up, smile, help when you can. That’s how we keep Pi Kappa Phi strong.”
And to his younger self? “Be there when someone needs help,” he said. “Don’t take anything for granted. You never know what tomorrow holds. Remember that someone always needs something; you’ve got to be the one who notices. Just ask.”
McCurdy’s story is one of resilience, of real relationships and of unwavering belief in the people around him. He’s never asked to be the center of attention, but by simply living the only way he knows how, he’s become someone who draws people in and holds them close. “I’m just grateful to still be here,” he said. “To still be part of something. To still be a brother.”
In a world that often forgets what really matters, John McCurdy is a reminder that it’s not always the grand gestures that make the biggest difference. It’s the small acts like the text, the visit, the cheer from the stands and the quiet presence during hard days. It’s the loyalty to others and the loyalty they give you back that will be there when you face your darkest days.
McCurdy would never call himself a hero, but if you ask anyone who knows him, they’ll tell you that’s exactly what he is. His gratitude for the communities who have lifted him up is met with gratitude right back for his willingness to share his personal life, his smile and his brotherhood with the people in his life.
For those lucky enough to call him a friend, a teammate or a brother, one thing is certain: Pi Kappa Phi is a better Fraternity for having John McCurdy as a brother.
