Estimated read time: 6-7 minutes
SALT LAKE CITY — With thousands of eyes watching his every move, Kyle Whittingham took his seat in a chair at the middle of the floor of the Huntsman Center.
Sitting next to him was his wife, Jamie, and their young granddaughter, who was dressed in a Red Rocks leotard. On this night, Whittingham was pulling double duty — one that epitomized the true nature of the longtime football coach.
After 21 years as Utah's head football coach, he was there as a figure head and a special guest to help "judge" the gymnasts' performance in a fan preview for the next season. But more than anything, Whittingham was there as a grandpa, sharing the stage with one of his many grandchildren in something that was special to her.
He acted the part and waved a green flag, while often deferring to his granddaughter for advice on scoring as the family watched in awe of the talented gymnasts on the uneven bars — all with a smile on his face.
Though he's preached a culture of family over his more than two decades as head coach, few have gotten to see that personal side of Whittingham.
Stripped of the hard-nosed coaching persona, Whittingham was human Friday night — even more so impressive considering his formal decision to "step down" as the team's head coach hours earlier.
Nobody would have blamed him had he reneged on his obligation and stayed home.
"I think that is the epitome of Kyle," Red Rocks head coach Carly Dockendorf said. "He cares so much about his family and about this university — and very selfless. He could have easily been like, 'It was a big day,' and I would have been like, 'I get it.' But he is definitely a man of honor and dignity, and I hope I can leave half the legacy that he's left.
"But for him to be here tonight meant a lot to our program, and we're just so grateful he made space for us today."
Friday night was simply a glimpse into the life of an otherwise private coach who avoided the limelight, even as one of the most recognizable people in the state of Utah.
And for those who know him best, he was more than just the man who roamed the sidelines along Rice-Eccles Stadium for more than two decades.
He's a family man, a friend to all, a teacher, a football junkie, and "maybe one of the most well-rounded people I've ever met in the way that he has every attribute in his personality that is needed to be such a good person," according to Jordie Lindley, a former Utah assistant athletic director for communication.
"He's funny, he's sarcastic, he's weird, he can be serious, he's caring," Lindley said. "He's everything you want a person to be. And you see it in movies all the time, but he's the real-life version of that hero in a movie; I truly believe that. He's the real life version of what people are chasing constantly in human connection."
Whittingham didn't seek the public praise or accolades — and simply talking about him in a positive light made him feel uncomfortable. He simply wanted others to shine, deferring all the credit while accepting all the blame.
It was a sort of balance to being one of the most competitive people out there.
"The man is probably the most competitive person I've ever met in my life," Lindley said. "But he never lets that get the best of him, which I think is one of the reasons why he's such a good head coach. ... He was just a steady presence for everybody around him, no matter what was going on, which I think is one of the reasons why the culture at Utah is what it is."
Whittingham has "always been measured," said Liz Abel, his longtime friend and former Utah senior associate athletics director for communications.
Much of that was on display as he steered the program through incredible tragedy as two of his beloved players died over a nine-month period. Though admitting it was one of the most challenging times of his coaching career, Whittingham kept a program together and was a stabilizing force — balancing grief amid an ongoing season.
It connected an entire program in a deeply personal way — and one that continues to have a lasting impact. And through it all, Utah won back-to-back Pac-12 championships.
Whittingham is a connector at his core and welcomed individuals with special needs to be a part of the Utah football program — whether in the equipment room or as support staff, or as a weekly visitor to his press conferences.
"He doesn't see differences in people, he sees strengths. ... I don't think he sees that," Lindley said. "I think he sees a young man that wants to help his program; and he loves that, because his passion is his program. So when other people, no matter what walk of life they're from, wants to make his program better, you're immediately a friend, you're a friend of Kyle's.
"He's inclusive because of their passion, and not necessarily where they've come from. And I think that's just, again, a testament to the culture and how everybody is always on the same page, because that's why you were brought in. He doesn't just pick people on accident, you were brought for a reason, and he has a reason for everybody."
While many see a separation between football and family, Whittingham blended the two by making them all a part of his life.
For example, every Tuesday, his grandchildren would come to his office and spend time with him as he took part in his weekly radio show. And while his focus was football, his "demeanor just changes," Lindley said, with family a part of his life.
Having that familial connection, mixed with his love of football, meant more than anything else in his life. It's largely why he turned down multiple job opportunities he received over the years to take him away from Utah.
"Everybody said he didn't have other opportunities because they all thought he's gonna stay here. No, that's wrong," Abel said. "Kyle could have gone any number of times to other schools, and thought he could get it done here.
"His family was here, and that was important to him," she added. "He makes a lot of money, but you can pay him a gazillion more dollars, but he wouldn't be around his whole extended family, and that wasn't him. He could have gone many times for a lot more, but he really walked the walk. He wanted his family to grow up in the same place and to be around each other."
Lindley added that "he's made sure everyone in his life is happy and OK with the way that he has chosen to live his life."
"Kyle doesn't make empty promises," Lindley said. "He has proven over and over again that he wants to develop good football players and good men and good people."
So while most simply see a football coach, those closest to him see someone who "lives what they believe."
"I guess that would be his legacy to me," Abel said. "Kyle just lives what he believes."
"He has that boundary within himself to make sure he can separate work from life," Lindley said. "He cares about you as a person, wants to know about your life. It doesn't matter if you're the janitor in the building or the AD, he wants to know who you are, that's who he is behind the scenes."
