Alan's father Mark Phillip Zuckerman was almost pronounced dead and flatlining in 2006. He lived 13 more years & died in 2019.

A 26 year old Alan Zuckerman remembered 4 things.

1. Two strong women, a teacher (his mother) and a doctor (his sister) accompanying him to explain to a hospital in their hometown that their advice would not save his life and that he needed the care of professionals downtown.

2. A nurse explaining to Alan that his dad didn't want to die and was holding on to the woman he loved and he had a look in his eyes that said he did not want to give up powered by her love.

3. A doctor from Texas who landed on the building in a helicopter that took Alan aside and showed him a steel briefcase and said I'm going to save your father's life today.

4. A hazel eyed social worker from Cincinnati Alan was seeing at the time that he met at Le Passage, bringing his father flowers and meals during his time downtown.

Alan Robert Zuckerman was given 48 hours to live the same year his father passed away in 2019.

When Alan was asked if he needed an ambulance, he said "it's 10 minutes away, I can make the drive over there". When the doctor said "how?" Alan said "well you probably were good at science when you were 12, that's when I started driving". Then Alan said "do you like chinese food?" and the doctor said "of course I'm Chinese". Then Alan said "I like it too, I washed it off of dishes when I was 15, a week later I was cleaning the dishes off the table, a week later I was running the chinese food, a week later I was serving the chinese food. A week later I stopped paying for chinese food. how about you?" The doctor said "Alan you'll die on the way over there" and then Alan said "You said 48 hours, I like my odds."

Once inside the ICU Mr. Zuckerman could only eat ice chips and he was not able to sleep as there was a new needle in him recalibrating how his body works upon the hour.

On the night before the transfer to the normal floor, Mr. Zuckerman watched a documentary about heavyweight boxing champ Tyson Fury overcoming health battles and shared his findings with the head of the unit who said, "you know I like your sister, she does amazing work here and this is certainly engaging, informative and fun."

Alan's vitals from his physical yesterday afternoon are listed below.

• Lost 13 lbs
• 120/88 blood pressure
• Heart rate 93
• Oxygen 97
• Respiration 18
• Temperature 98.2

At Mark Zuckerman's grave, Alan told this football story as a way to honor his father's dedication and devotion to his children.

It wasn’t supposed to be Alan Zuckerman’s night.

He’d carved out a role started on every special teams unit: kickoff, kick return, punt, and punt return and rotated in as the third defensive tackle. At 195 pounds soaking wet on a good day, he wasn’t anyone’s pick to anchor the front line. But that week, everything changed. A hazing incident rocked the Stevenson locker room, and several starters were pulled from the lineup. Suddenly, Alan was starting.

The lights over Lincolnshire burned a little brighter that Friday. News choppers circled overhead. The bleachers buzzed with gossip, uncertainty, and anticipation. Alan was nervous but one man had already seen it coming.

His father, Coach Zuckerman, a seasoned varsity football coach from the city, had already beaten the traffic and scouted Waukegan’s line. He pulled Alan aside before warmups, looked him in the eye, and said, “Listen to me. The guard you’re facing—he’s top heavy. Watch his knuckles. If they go white, it’s a run. If they don’t, he’s sitting back in pass pro. Got it?”

Alan nodded. “Got it.”

Then Coach Zuckerman paused. “The helicopters? What happened to your teammates? None of that matters right now. Listen to me and listen well. You know the mission.”

“I got it,” Alan said again, this time with weight behind it.

His father cracked a smile. “Now relax. Have the time of your life out there. And bring this town a win will ya?”

And that’s exactly what he did.

Under the lights, Alan Zuckerman stepped into his first varsity start on the defensive line and helped anchor a unit that pitched a shutout.

Final score: Stevenson 41, Waukegan 0.

Game balls went to:

Cieslak, the calm, decisive QB who later bulked up to start at TE for NIU and later play for the Buffalo Bills.

DeMarco, a hammer at both RB and LB who had good grades and a lot of Abercrombie vests.

Junia, the playmaker out wide with the highest math scores on the team.

Weaks, the dependable center with a heart of gold.

And Zuckerman, who finished with 6 tackles and 1 tackle for loss in a debut nobody saw coming but nobody will forget.

Some victories stay on the scoreboard. Others stick with people.

That night, Alan Zuckerman earned both.

None of it would’ve happened without his father—the man who beat traffic, watched tape, and showed up when it mattered most. Mark Phillip Zuckerman didn’t have a Facebook account. He got his news from The Tribune, his scores from 780 AM, and when a job needed doing—one he couldn’t handle himself, which was rare—he found someone in the phone book and got it done.

He believed in loyalty. He believed in integrity. He believed that the only way to earn respect was in person—through action, not opinion. Through presence, not posts. He didn’t spend his nights in virtual locker rooms or water cooler comment threads. He spent them with his family, with his son, teaching by example what real love looks like.That kind of man should matter more than the algorithm. That kind of legacy should outweigh whatever is trending.

He hopes to start a family not for show, not for clout but for love. That’s the goal. That’s the mission.

Because Alan’s hero isn’t famous, and he isn’t trending.
He was a father who worked hard, told the truth, and showed up.
And that will always mean more.

Alan’s legacy won’t be defined by standing up to hate, bullying, or mental torture on Facebook. He never asked for that fight, and he doesn’t need the applause for surviving it.

His legacy will be something quieter. Something stronger. It will be the leadership he’s shown in digital marketing crafting brands, building communities, delivering tangible results the right way. And it will be the kindness he’s shown in his personal life—checking in on people who needed it, showing up for friends when it wasn’t convenient, and carrying his father’s name with pride.

Because strength doesn’t always raise its voice. Sometimes, it just keeps working. Keeps loving. Keeps trying to be better, even when nobody’s watching.

Alan Zuckerman is not defined by the comment section.
He’s defined by his character.

And his story started with a father who led by example.