Whether you were walking into Franklin Hall for the first time or returning for your final semester, Mike Gray had a way of making the Media School feel softer and a little more like home.

“Whether you were a freshman or a senior, he always made you feel at home in the Media School,” IU alumnus Riley Woodall said.

Mike — a beloved engineer, mentor, and constant source of warmth in Franklin Hall — died in late October after a short battle with stage four sarcomatoid mesothelioma cancer. He was 49.

His death, friends say, came quickly and without warning.

Allen Major, one of IU’s top tech specialists and one of Mike’s closest friends, said the news felt unreal — and still does.

“It was just so sudden,” Major said.

Major remembers the early symptoms — shortness of breath, a change in skin color, extreme fatigue — and urging Mike to get checked. By the time he did, the cancer had already advanced.

“It came out of nowhere,” Major said.

 

To understand who Mike was, coworkers say you have to understand the joy he brought into everyday moments.

Darla Crawford, a longtime colleague and friend, said that a day with Mike was never just another day at work.

Sometimes they were doubled over in laughter.

“I was in tears from laughing so hard,” Crawford said. “Him and Allen would always try to play these pranks on me to scare me, and I would do it back to them.”

Other times, she said, they talked about serious things — relationships, family, faith, and the parts of life that mattered most.

“He had this magnetic energy,” Crawford said. “The halls feel empty without him.”

Faith played a core role in Mike’s life, shaping the way he treated people and how he moved through the world.

That connection became a shared point of comfort between him and Woodall.

“Faith is a journey,” Woodall said. “All of the things we struggled with and overcame because of it — it was important to have that with us.”

Crawford said that in his final days, Mike’s faith gave him peace.

“We had talked about him being fine with it and at peace,” Crawford said. “I just hope he was — and know that he is.”

Before he became the Media School’s go-to engineer, Mike was once a telecommunications student figuring out his own path. He worked on the student production crew, learning the ins and outs of studio work long before he ever built one himself.

His former professor, Jay Kincaid, remembers those early years clearly.

“He taught me how to be patient,” Kincaid said. “Even when I was supposed to be teaching him, Mike ended up teaching me things.”

Years later, Mike would help shape the very heart of Franklin Hall.

He played a major role in outfitting the very spaces students rely on today — including Studio 7, officially named the Ken and Audrey Beckley Studio, and Studio 9, two of the most used production spaces in the building.

For countless Media School students, especially those pursuing broadcasting, these studios have been more than just classrooms.

They’ve been the place where scripts were read for the first time, shows were launched, careers were imagined, and paths were figured out.

Students say they will always be grateful for the spaces he created. Spaces that continue to guide them, even now. That is the legacy we will always have in honor of Gray.

“We’re hoping to name one of the studios after Gray so his legacy will live on here.”, Major said.

He left behind lessons in patience, in kindness, and in showing up for others, even on the days you didn’t feel like you had much to give.

Franklin Hall looks different without him. It feels different without him.

But in many ways, he is still here. In the laughter that fills a control room and in the warmth that students feel when they walk through the doors he once walked through every day.

In the end, colleagues say Mike’s legacy isn’t defined only by what he built, but by how he moved through the world.

It was the patience he showed when a student was overwhelmed, the quiet encouragement when someone doubted themselves, and the kindness he offered long before anyone asked for it.

“He would answer questions, help with things that weren’t even part of his job description, and mostly just spend time mentoring and talking and being a really nice person,” Kincaid said.

Crawford said it’s the small moments she misses the most like the shared jokes, the hallway chats, the calm he brought into stressful days.

“I miss you, Mike,” she said softly.
“It’s just the little things that I miss.”