The evening after Mr. S. died, I went to his house to offer condolences.  Mrs. S., Sophie, was in the dining room, surrounded by the women in the family.  The men were gathered outside, by a huge bonfire.  Everyone was telling stories, laughing, remembering all of the good things about the patriarch of this very large family.

The next day would have been Mike’s 91^st birthday.  Every year, the family celebrated the occasion with a campout, barbecue, lots of beer, and lots of fun.  This year would be no different… although absent in body, Mike’s spirit was to be celebrated just as it always was.

That night I learned that Mike and Sophie were not each other’s first choice in the romance department, but after being paired up at his brother’s wedding, the match was made.  That match lasted 64 years…and would have gone on forever if there was such a possibility.  Mike said that Sophie put step into his life, and not just because she taught him to dance!

When a man has eleven children, it’s a pretty sure bet that he’ll either be a hard worker or a hard drinker, or maybe both.  Mike was a hard worker, who didn’t mind imbibing in Old Milwaukee’s Beast and a little chew from time to time.  After 40 years at Republic Steel, he retired to a life of handyman, electrician, gardener, fisherman, nature lover, and jack of all trades.

When he was doing a remodeling job, he nailed jokes, messages, and beer cans inside the framework, under the drywall.  He made private little time-capsules, revealing the man behind the gruff exterior.  Decades from now, during future remodels, surprised homeowners will find these treasure troves of trivia tucked inside their walls.  Ah, Mike lives on.

Every morning, Mike would go outside in his slippers and perjammies to feed the squirrels and the birds.  He tended a large, lush garden, inspiring all of his children to do the same.  He was very generous in both his time and his harvest.  Even as age and illness crept up, he was still trying to help his children, often going without so they could have richer more meaningful lives. 

Mike was a spiritual man.  He prayed daily, gave to the poor, did what he could to make a difference in this world.  He did all of this without show or thought of reward.  It’s “just what a man does,” was his way of thinking.

He loved his grandkids and great grandkids, of whom there are many!  He showered them with pennies… in truth, half dollars… at the start of each month…and they in turn showered him with love.  The stern man of his youth melted into a soft touch when surrounded by all those kids.

Today you will hear many tales, some tall, some not, some embellished, some curtailed.  I’m here to recount the bits and pieces….

                                       
                                           Smudgie

Nineteen fourteen sliding by

   when Karol and Karoline heard the cry

of their third child, Michael, making

   his entrance into the world.

Rough and rowdy, hard-hewn youth,

   never polished, blunt, uncouth,

But he managed to catch the eye of Sophie,

   who saw something extraordinary under the surface.

He asked this girl with big blue eyes,

   if she would make a cherry pie---

Then teased her relentlessly about the less

   than perfect results.

Always working, dirty, hot,

   filthy, grimy.  Debonair?  Not!

Sophie christened him Smudgie,

   took up the challenge, taught him to polka,

And then she married the man.

One by one the children came,

   Skinny, Francie, Tadju, Apple,

   Mary, Carl, Carol.

   Scooter, Fimmer, Jinxy, Marty.

Enough already…we’re out of names!

Smudgie and Pudgie filled their house and

   the club coupe to the brim with love and laughter.

In the yard at break of day,

   squirrels to feed, then on his way to the mill,

Where they called him Doctor Stepizditch because

   he was always fixing someone or something.

Coming home to his large clan,

   tea in thermos, sweets in hand.

Small treats tucked away for the kids because

   times were tough and money tight.

Hugs and kisses rarely given

   head klonked ceilings showed endearment,

As did eleven trips up the steps,

   carrying each sleepy child to his bed.

Sunday dinners after church,

   a cross on the bread, then plates dispersed,

Filled with the bounty from his

   large and abundant garden.

A fisherman of great renown,

   a feast untold when the kids sat down

To sample the luscious fare.

   Still, Mike always claimed that the best

Catch of the Day was Sophie.

Always curious, loved to read,

   things to learn, a Doctorate degree

From the School of Hard Knocks, lovingly

   bestowed by his family.

Every morning on his knees,

   a talk with God, not selfish pleas.

“Get the hell out of here…I’m praying”

   he’d say if interrupted.

No kack, he loved his Red Man chew,

   but can you picture him in a red man’s suit

Playing Santa at Elkton, doling out wants and

   needs from his own pocket?

Well, picture it true.

Known as Daddy, G-G Pa, Pap,

   stern and steadfast softly wrapped.

Poems for Sophie, pennies for the kids,

   hands to build and gifts to give.

Here was a man who truly loved his family.

Four score and ten the day he passed.

   A life well lived? A question asked.

The power went out all over town

   at the very moment he was called.

Just a coincidental reminder for his family

  to turn out the lights?

Or a sign from God?

Stolat Mike. You are loved and

will be missed by Sophie, by your eleven

children, 24 grandchildren, 12 great

grandchildren, countless in-laws, and many,

many friends.

The world is less bright without you, but

now there will be an endless shower of

pennies from heaven.

                                                           Sgray  2005