Best-selling author Nathan Whitaker has collaborated on wildly successful books with two iconic sports figures – Tony Dungy and Tim Tebow. Whitaker largely remains in the background. Yet, he has a pretty good story of his own.
It's about a dream. It's about perseverance. You might even detect a happy ending – although this improbable journey may have only just begun.
Seven years ago, Whitaker was certain about his life's direction – absolutely certain.
His Harvard University law degree sat largely dormant, but he had little desire to pursue the full-scale legal life. He had been fired from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers' front office – after two seasons under general manager Rich McKay, he lasted all of eight days in the Bruce Allen regime – but crunching NFL salary-cap numbers wasn't his real calling, either. He had just rejected an opportunity to work in wealth management – hey, finally a real job, some friends thought – because he had another priority.
Whitaker was going to write a book with Dungy, a man of leadership and faith, the former Bucs' coach who was on a Super Bowl path with the Indianapolis Colts.
One catch.
"I hadn't talked to Tony about it,'' Whitaker said. "He had no idea.''
Whitaker laughs about it now. There were years of uncertainty, when his wife, Amy, largely paid the mortgage by selling Southern Living products from their home. There was Dungy's initial unwillingness, which spanned nearly three years. And there was another minor point – Whitaker never had anything published. Oh, that.
It all makes Whitaker's ever-winding tale worthy of a novel itself.
"Nathan had the belief, even when I wasn't that fired up about even doing it,'' Dungy said. "His commitment, to me, made it all go. We kind of broke all the rules of publishing and editing. People kept saying you needed a large publishing house, more experienced authors. But Nathan had the dream and he didn't let it die.''
Whitaker, 42, has published three books with Dungy – the first, "Quiet Strength,'' soared to No. 1 on the New York Times best-seller list in 2007 and sold 1.5 million copies – with a day-by-day devotional coming out this fall. His recently released inspirational biography with Tebow, the University of Florida legend and Heisman Trophy winner, has spent four weeks on the New York Times best-seller list, not bad for a second-year NFL quarterback.
Now Whitaker might dabble in some fiction, perhaps a mystery or a thriller. He's in demand to write with other coaches or sports figures, but the meteoric rise of previous books allows him to be selective.
"I certainly didn't see this coming for Nathan,'' said McKay, now president of the Atlanta Falcons. "I definitely believe he would be successful at whatever he put his mind to. Clearly, I think he found his calling.''
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Whitaker said he's amused when friends ask his wife, "Is Nathan getting the big head?''
Self-depreciation, at times a useful defense mechanism, has been his way of life. His resume has been impressive enough – he played baseball and football at Duke University, finished Harvard Law, clerked for a federal judge, practiced in business litigation, then worked in football operations for the Jacksonville Jaguars and Bucs.
Whitaker, who also held a ministry position at Tampa's Van Dyke United Methodist Church before moving to his native Gainesville, insists upon being the anti-braggart, though. In good times and bad, at the very least, his schtick has been good for laughter.
Accompanied by Dungy or Tebow, Whitaker was quickly accustomed to book-signing events where overflow crowds wrap around the building, where mobs of autograph-seeking and picture-taking fans are prevalent.
Once, he went alone, his celebrity co-authors unavailable. It was two hours in downtown Orlando. Whitaker signed a book here and there, but mostly smiled at the otherwise oblivious customers.
"My daughter, who had seen the other book signings, at one point turned to my wife and said, 'Mom, when does it start?' '' Whitaker said. "We were an hour into it. I think every author has experienced that moment – except Tony and Tim.''
It was a moment Dungy expected himself, hence his reluctance to enter the publishing world.
"When I worked with Tony at the Bucs, I always thought he had such a compelling story,'' Whitaker said. "I visualized him writing a book that would help people. Eventually, I convinced myself that I should be the one doing it with him.
"The first time we met about it (summer of 2004), he said, 'No way. Not doing a book.' He truly thought no one would be interested in his story. I think he also thought he might be stuck with a bunch of books in his garage that nobody wanted to buy. He did say, 'I'm not doing it, but if I ever change my mind, I'll do it with you.' ''
Dungy kept his word.
When the Colts captured Super Bowl XLI, Dungy's white-hot story was in demand. It was competitive between the publishing houses, some of which had hand-picked writers to work with Dungy. Nope, he said. Nathan Whitaker was his man.
During initial presentations, most companies brought a roomful of executives. They all had a similar question.
"They said, 'Nathan, we've Googled you, we've looked through Publisher's Weekly, and we can't seemed to find the other stuff you've written,' '' Whitaker said. "I said, 'Well, there's a good reason for that. There's nothing else.' ''
Somehow, it all worked.
Tyndale House, a Christian-based publisher in Illinois, was selected. Attempting to capitalize on Dungy's Super Bowl success, Whitaker set an insane 30-day deadline for completion of the manuscript.
After retreating to his parents' North Carolina mountain cabin, then reflecting on the counsel of another author ("Write what you'd want to read''), Whitaker finished the task in 24 days. Dungy was in daily contact, offering corrections, revisions and sometimes marking words with an "H.W.''
Harvard Word.
Whitaker's academic-sounding "Harvard Words'' were definitely out.
Publishers told Whitaker that post-Super Bowl books generally sold about 30,000 copies. Dungy's book was different, though, and some thought 200,000 was an achievable goal.
Pretty quickly, "Quiet Strength'' hit 500,000. Nearing its first anniversary, the book surpassed one million in sales.
"Like Tony has always said, God can pretty much do whatever He wants,'' Whitaker said before offering the obligatory, "even with somebody like me helping to write it.''
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Whitaker's wife said she always believed in the dream, too, mostly because she had confidence in her husband. She remembers their long-distance relationship – he was at Harvard, she was at Flagler College – and the letters she often received. They were funny. They were thoughtful. Mostly, they were well-written.
"I knew he could do it,'' she said. "Now times got a little tough. I remember our daughters asking to go to McDonald's and I kind of said, 'Well, no, we can't do that right now.' But we got by the best we could and I felt good things would eventually happen.
"I think I'm proudest of the fact that Nathan has helped to tell some stories that we all need to hear.''
Dungy's leadership.
Tebow's determination.
Their faith.
But the backstory of Whitaker, how he persevered and became a Forrest Gump-like presence for some of the hottest sports books in recent memory, is a pretty interesting saga, too.
"I get to do a lot of speaking now – well, when they can't get Tony or Tim – and sometimes I'll be at a college, talking about pursuing your dream,'' Whitaker said. "If you try to do anything worthwhile, odds are good that your head will be handed to you, several times, but that's not the end.
"When Thomas Edison was inventing the light bulb, on his 5,000th attempt, he probably wasn't saying, 'Wow, this is great. I'm halfway there.' No, similar to most people, it was probably, 'Is this really going to work? Did I waste several years of my life?' There's always darkness before the dawn.''
Whitaker still thinks about that darkness, especially now.
"I've been so blessed because I have complete freedom and get to work when I want to work,'' said Whitaker, who has also founded a company, along with his father, that represents coaches and administrators in the NFL and college football.
"There are far better writers out there. There are people with great ideas. Just because the world comes along and pats you on the back doesn't mean now you are right and then you were wrong. It's a journey. The three years I was just following the dream, those were successful years, too, when I was writing for an audience of one. Sometimes, things just work out well in the end.''
Great stories usually do just that.

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