Obituary of Harris L. Dunlap

BAKERS MILLS:  Harris LaRue Dunlap, Jr. was born on August 22nd, 1938, and passed away on December 28th, 2024 but this is where the formalities end.

This cannot be an ordinary obituary because our dad was no ordinary man. In his baby book his mom, Emma (née McCann), wrote, he “could say hello clearly” at age 3. Harris may have had a slow start, but he wasted no time in commanding a room. He dreamed big, took chances, lived and loved hard, and took us all along on the adventure. Standing atop the stone hearth that he built with his sons, Brian and Chris, he would jubilantly orate tales to a captive audience that seemed too far-fetched to be true but had indeed happened.

 He was a hardworking, smart, innovative, creative, genuine, generous, intense, and fascinating man.  His laser focus and attention to detail bordered on obsession and probably lent to his greatness. That, and of course, his wife, Ginger. As a young boy he would sneak out of his house to climb to the top of silos and balance on boards to catch squab in the rafters. He would laugh as he told this story, adding that no one would have found his body if he had fallen. His mother of course didn’t know any of this was happening or that he broke mustangs in the fields surrounding his home in St. Johnsville, NY.

It was only after Harris received a letter in the mail that his mom intercepted from the American Rabbit Breeders Association requesting that he consider running for a board position based on his insightful communications on breeding and husbandry, did Emma find out that her son was raising and breeding rabbits in hand-built hutches hidden in the nearby forests. He was 10 years old. His mom and family physician talked him out of veterinary school because he was allergic to dogs (yes, allergic to dogs!), an affliction that landed him in the hospital with life-threatening asthma attacks.

His father, Harris LaRue Dunlap Sr. (as well as his uncle Earl) was a chemical engineer, but Harris Jr. barely passed chemistry.  Harris Sr. ran a textile factory where our dad grew to appreciate fine fabrics and was voted ‘best dressed’ and ‘class clown’ in his high school senior superlatives. He often reminisced about accompanying his dad on trips to the NYC garment district and his fascination with all the different people and cultures — a trait that both got him into trouble and enriched our lives with the most interesting people — from scholars to outcasts.

He ended up getting an MS in Art Education from Buffalo State. He created pieces that were showcased in galleries in NYC and Philadelphia. And while his artwork remains for us to enjoy, I never saw him draw because by the time I came around, he was deep-seated in the world of dog mushing, his allergy long outgrown.

He met my mom at Buffalo State, but neither of them liked each other—according to my dad, my mom was a “ditz” and according to my mom, my dad was an “asshole”.  Both of which were true. They were married to other people at the time—my dad to his first wife, Linda, who is the mother to Chris and Branch and my mom to her first husband, Tom, father to Brian and Lynn. They all moved to the Adirondacks to get teaching jobs and they lived in a pseudo-commune. It was the 60s after all, so fill in the blanks. 

Dad delivered me in the very house he passed away in, amidst the 150+ sled dogs of Zero Kennels, while my 4 teenage siblings got ready for school. I remember riding on the shoulders of a family friend in a crowded shop on 4th avenue in downtown Anchorage during the 1983 Fur Rendezvous Open World Championship Sled Dog Race as I proclaimed to everyone listening intently to split times on the radio that my dad was going to win. And he did.

Our dad is much more than a champion; he is a legend. He leaves his mark on everything and everyone who knew him, so in this way, he will live on forever. He once said that the written word was the key to immortality. His ‘supposed scientific diet’ (an actual newspaper headline) was mocked, his dogs were too smart, his convictions were too righteous, his wife was too sassy, his children too wild, and he drove too fast. But like he always said, “it’s only a problem if you have to stop”.  Mush on Dad. 

He is preceded in death by his parents, Harris LaRue Sr. and Emma Dunlap, granddaughter Alyssa Jordan, his brother-in-law Robert Lunn and sister-in-law, Bonnie (Gary) Sadler.

He is survived by his wife, Virginia (née Lunn); his children, Chris (Lidia) Dunlap, Brian (Kathleen) Donohue, Branch (Boksoon) Dunlap, Lynn Morog, and Kriya Dunlap (Scott Jerome); his grandchildren, Victoria St. John, Sean Donohue, Kelton Donohue, Joseph Morog Jr, Oben Dunlap, Dax Campbell, Aiven Dunlap, Terri Dunlap, Emma Jerome, and Alden (Chloe) Jerome. He is also survived by his sister Barbara (Don) Lewis; his nephews Donald Lewis Jr, Brock Lewis, Andrew Eyre Lunn, and Devin Sadler and nieces, Susan (née Lewis) Foreman and Elisabeth (née Lewis) Klassen, Jennifer Brown (née Lunn), Rebecca (née Lunn) Seyllers, and Darcy Sadler; and his sister-in-laws Gail Keyes and Sukie Feaster Lunn.

No services are planned at this time. 

Please visit www.alexanderfh.net for online condolences and guest book.