‘Stepping into another’s shoes’ is usually a metaphor. For Timothy Gantt, it was a gift

This story is part of The Dallas Morning News’ homicide project focused on sharing the stories of all people killed in Dallas in 2024.
Timothy Gantt wore Nikes wherever he went.
He’d wear them to fish, to walk around the mall, to church and sometimes weddings. He kept his shoes clean, crease-free and his closet neatly arranged, even without a dedicated shoe shelf.
Gantt’s wife, Meegan, doesn’t know how much he spent on Nikes during their marriage, but she knew he was a deal hunter. He’d occasionally bring her to Foot Locker when he found a bargain. His favorite pair was a gift from her, bought to match his San Francisco 49ers’ jersey.
Read the crime and public safety news your neighbors are talking about.
Or with:
By signing up you agree to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy
Gantt loved buying Nikes for others just as much as he loved receiving them. Meegan always liked K-Swiss shoes better, so her husband made a one-time exception when he bought her a pair of shoes before a cruise in Jamaica. It was Nikes for everyone else.
“He always prided himself on being the person to buy them their first pair of Nikes,” Gantt’s younger sister Deanna said. “That was his thing.”
Even though he hadn’t seen Deanna since their father’s funeral in 2017, before her daughters were born, he sent his nieces their first pairs. One in purple and another in white.
They never got to say thank you in person.
Gantt, 56, was shot March 14 in the 400 block of Bluewood Drive in Red Bird. He died in the hospital a few days later. A 60-year-old man faces a murder charge in the killing.
Deanna found out about the shooting from her brother Marcus, who called while she was playing with her daughters. She started pacing, she recalled, and had to step outside to get some air. The house felt like it was “caving in” on her.
Gantt was born and raised in Dallas, Meegan said, and graduated from David W. Carter High School in 1985. They married in 2020, just over a year after Gantt proposed on Mother’s Day weekend, her children and best friends by her side.
Meegan said they worked as a couple because they put God “at the head of their lives” and “learned to worship and pray together as one.” His presence made her feel safe and secure.
Gantt’s family said they will remember him for a generosity that was bottomless and at times self-sacrificial. In his younger years, it made his mother upset how much he gave away, and how effortlessly and joyfully he did so. That didn’t slow as Gantt got older, even when he was in financial trouble after a stroke put him out of work and in a wheelchair for the last two years of his life.
He remained chatty and bubbly and loved calling Deanna to check in on his nieces, who would grab the phone and run off. His barbecue setup was moved to the front yard near a ramp so he could still cook for the family.
“He used to say I fell in love with him for his smoked brisket,” Meegan said. “No one, I mean no one, comes close to my husband’s brisket.”
Four months after his death, the stockpiles of spice rub taken from Gantt’s house, the countless times his near-cosmic understanding of interstate highways after a decade as a long-haul trucker got his family “un-lost,” the shoes he gave, serve as Gantt’s vestiges.
When Deanna was in middle school, Gantt was helping their mother arrange mums and other decorations to prepare for Deanna’s band concert. He was wearing Nikes and noticed a nearby student was not.
He told the student he’d buy him his first pair, but the student had his doubts.
“You know what? Fine,” Gantt said. He took off his shoes and handed them over.
“You can have these.”