Dr. D. Mark Byrd: Jan. 21, 1972 – Feb. 20, 2026
The sound of sniffles filled the John A. Walker Center on the campus of Wilkes Community College on that last Saturday of February. Red roses lined the stage — their deep, sweet fragrance settling over a crowd that had come to say goodbye to a man who never wanted anyone to make a fuss over him. But Mark Byrd had made it impossible not to.
The old hymn that opened the service said it plainly: How beautiful heaven must be — sweet home of the happy and free, fair haven of rest for the weary. If anyone had earned that rest, it was Byrd — a hardworking son of Wilkes County who spent his life pouring himself into communities, its schools, and its people. Byrd, Wilkes County Schools Superintendent for 10 years, died unexpectedly on Feb. 20, 2026.
Superintendents from across the state filled the seats, along with State Superintendent Mo Green, members of the State Board of Education, North Carolina Community College System President Jeff Cox, and countless educators and elected officials. Their presence was its own kind of eulogy.
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But long before he carried the superintendent title, Mark Byrd was something else entirely. To Rev. Benny Romans, standing before that crowd with tears and laughter competing for control of his voice, he would always be Coach Byrd.
Romans met Byrd as an eighth grader on a field day, and by the time he arrived at North Wilkes High School, Coach Byrd had already sized him up for the track team.
Romans told the story of a bitterly cold February track meet when Coach Byrd strolled over with that familiar easy manner. “Mr. Romans, you feeling good?” Romans said he was, expecting a pep talk for the 300-meter hurdles.
Instead, Coach Byrd informed him — casually, the way he did everything — that he’d be running the 800 meters first.
“Coach, I’m a sprinter,” Romans protested. Coach Byrd simply smiled. “It’ll be fine.”
And just like that, a sprinter was lining up for two laps around the track in borrowed shoes that didn’t fit, for a race he hadn’t trained a single day for.
However, when Romans came around that final curve, lungs burning, legs failing, Coach Byrd was the loudest voice at the finish line, screaming his name, willing him home. Romans crossed the line and collapsed. Coach Byrd scooped him up, carried him to the high jump mat, laid him down, staying with him for a moment before walking off to check the results.
A minute later, he was back. “You won. Three hundred (meter) hurdles are up next.”
“He expected the most,” Romans said, his voice catching. “But he was going to cheer the loudest for you.”
That’s who Coach Byrd was — the first person outside of Romans’s own family to look him in the eye and say, “I believe in you.” Those four words changed the trajectory of a young man’s life. They would change thousands more.
The same man who cheered the loudest at the finish line eventually traded his stopwatch for something heavier. Byrd came home to Wilkes County Schools in 2012 and rose through the ranks to superintendent, effective July 1, 2016, after serving for months as interim superintendent. For a decade he served — a remarkable stretch in a profession where many leaders leave within five. Dr. Westley Wood, who worked alongside him for years, called Byrd his work brother.
“All Mark ever wanted was to serve his home community,” said Wood, who will serve as acting superintendent until an interim is named.
The accolades followed, but if you asked Byrd what he was most proud of, it would have been people.
He led with a steady calm that was almost radical in its simplicity. When others sped up or rushed, he slowed down. When voices rose, his grew quieter. He didn’t need to dominate a conversation to lead it. He was in classrooms, in hallways, at bus lots — fully present, fully attentive.
“He never spoke about ‘the system’,” Wood said. “To him, the system had names, and it had faces, and it had stories.”
During the snow days just weeks before his passing, when parents wondered what the superintendent was up to, the answer was pure Mark Byrd: shoveling sidewalks. Even then, friends said he was worrying about children who might be missing meals.
But the Mark Byrd his nephew Eric Absher described was someone else altogether. Byrd’s nephew had never spoken in front of a crowd before, and he couldn’t help but think Uncle Dude — the name the family used, and that Byrd never once corrected — had found a way to get one last laugh on him.
Absher’s Mark Byrd was not the superintendent in a suit. He was the man in hip waders, standing in a trout stream in Alleghany County, dropping bait jars and hook packs like bread crumbs along the bank. He was the uncle who showed up late to gatherings and bellowed an off-key “O Holy Night” at Christmas. Absher told of visiting Byrd’s new house in Hays and finding the living room held nothing but a fold-up chair. When Absher’s wife asked where the couch was, Byrd replied: “I can’t take a couch to the ball game.”
That was Byrd — humble to his bones. No matter his success, his achievements, or his awards, Absher said, Byrd stayed true to the core values and manners that were instilled in him at a young age. He never lived an extravagant life. He never needed to. And he was kind. In 36 years, Eric said, he couldn’t recall a single time he witnessed Byrd being rude or unkind to anyone. Not once. He was a friend to everyone, always striking up a conversation no matter where they were, always knowing people by their name no matter how long it had been.
But what Absher kept coming back to was Byrd’s intentionality. He rarely missed a milestone, a birthday, a ball game. He never had his phone out when he was with family. His gifts weren’t expensive, but they came from the heart — most of them involved time together rather than money. At family gatherings, he was always the first one to kick his shoes off and run into the yard to play with the kids.
“From the breed of dog on my porch, to my love for standing in a stream,” Absher said, his voice breaking, “to the reason my favorite movie will forever be ‘A River Runs Through It’ — Mark Byrd wasn’t just a mentor. He was my Uncle Dude, my hero, and my best friend.”
And woven through all of it — the coaching, the leading, the fishing, the laughter — was family. Byrd was the devoted son of Dwight and Carolyn Byrd, a loyal brother to his sisters Beth and Becky. “Not only a great brother,” his obituary reads, “but a best friend.” He was a proud uncle and great-uncle to nieces and nephews who adored him.
And he was the man who loved Shari Lowe and had found, in her, a partner for the next chapter of a life cut far too short.
Rev. Sherrill Wellborn, who opened the service, called him a true gentleman.
In the days immediately following Byrd’s passing, Cox, president of the North Carolina Community College System, spoke to education leaders across the state about what Byrd’s passing should mean for all of them.
“We had a great relationship, (and) did a lot of good work together,” he said.
Cox challenged every leader in the room to normalize conversations around mental health.
“Look after each other. Think about the impact in this room — we’re touching millions of lives across the state. You’ve gotta be OK to tell folks when you’re not OK.” He paused. “That’s my challenge to all of us… I think Mark would want us to think of it in that way.”
Mark Byrd was 54 years old.
“We plant seeds whose shade we may never sit under,” Wood said. “He understood that.”
Byrd always understood that. The roots mattered more than the recognition — and the roots he left behind run deep across Wilkes County and North Carolina.
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