Eichel Michael Was The Big Ticket

Mary's brother, Mike Seiwert, passed away two weeks ago on the day after Thanksgiving, thirty-three months after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and two days after we saw him for the last time at Mayo.  The term "Black Friday" suddenly took on a whole different meaning for our family.  A memorial Mass at Christ The King was celebrated a week ago today.  The church was packed with friends and relatives, gathered together to honor Mike's life and to comfort each other.  The highlight of the Mass was the beautiful eulogy delivered by my nephew Brian, who reminded us that his and Laura's little daughter Amelia now had her "Papa Bear" in heaven with her.   The numerous stories people told later that day about Mike were mostly humorous, which makes sense since he was that kind of guy.  Over the past week I've thought a lot about him myself.  What follows are some of those reflections. 

 

Several years ago there was a restaurant on the corner of Hennepin & Lagoon in Uptown Minneapolis called Zeno.  As far as desserts were concerned, it was purportedly Minneapolis' answer to St. Paul's Cafe Latte. Mary, her brother Mike, Rene and I were Uptown one evening and decided to determine for ourselves whether Zeno was, in fact, worthy of the comparison.  Since we'd just finished dinner in a nearby establishment, none of us claimed to be all that hungry.  Therefore, we decided to order one slice of chocolate cake to split four ways.  The piece delivered to our table was about as big as a cornerstone, with a price to match.  Mike dug right in and devoured nearly 80% of the cake himself while Mary, Rene and I sat at the ready with our forks, afraid that if we made a stab at the cake we'd probably poke Mike's hand instead.  To a detached observer it would have appeared that our dining companion was famished, when in truth we were no more than twenty minutes removed from our dinners.

 

I learned two things that evening: Eichel Michael had a voracious appetite, and don't share a plate of anything with him thinking you'll get your appropriate portion!

 

The ironic thing about Mike was that while he was packing it away and you were aware of his shenanigans, you didn't mind because he was such a great conversationalist and so fun to be around.

 

It turns out that Mike's food-hording (and hogging) strategies were not limited to family occasions.  When his Dakota County colleagues, most of whom had reported to Mike, threw a retirement party for him at the end of last year, they were really "giving him the business" about pilfering food from the break room and creating havoc at lunch time.  With Mike sitting in a front row seat, they even put on a skit, complete with food fights, depicting the jovial times they all enjoyed with Mike as their boss.  After having worked in sterile law offices and corporate settings for twenty-eight years, these revelations were foreign to me.  You mean to tell me that people could actually work hard and play hard at the same time?  With Mike in charge, it was clear the answer was "yes"!  It was equally clear that his colleagues loved him. Six or seven of the women in Mike's group, the "Licensing Chicks," wore customized silk-screened bright yellow T-shirts, complete with a sketch of hatching chicks, to commemorate their position within the organization.  These fun loving gals were just the sort who'd appreciate a boss like Mike.  Incidentally, they wore those same shirts to Mike's memorial Mass!

Another episode, somewhat along the same lines, occurred one Valentines' Day when Mary and I, Mike and Rene and our mutual friends, Gil and Mary Schutrop, decided to have dinner at Stevie Ray's Comedy Club in Bloomington.  Gil and I were not actually sold on the idea, but Mike assured all of us that the food would be great and the entertainment even better.  As an enticement, he also mentioned that he happened to have a "two-for-one" coupon, so the tab would not be so expensive compared to what other dining establishments charged on that special holiday.  Gil and my leeriness turned out to be well-founded; the food was mediocre and the so-called comedy was non-existent.  I got more laughs out of reading Beetle Bailey in the comics than I did from Stevie Ray's troupe.  But here was the kicker.  When our server asked us if we wanted the check, Mike asked for three separate checks, one for each couple, obviously so that he could be the sole beneficiary of the discount coupon.  Gil and I unmercifully chided him for that move, and it continued to be an ongoing inside joke for years to come.  We would not let Mike forget it.  Still, just as was true in the Zeno caper, how could you get mad at that guy with the impish smile and those canyon-deep dimples?

Mike had two nicknames, one self-bestowed and one involving my participation in its creation.  Mike was a die-hard Boston Celtics fan, but when the Minnesota Timberwolves drafted Kevin Garnett out of Chicago's Farragut Academy in 1995, Mike became more interested in the Timbies.  The seven foot tall Garnett turned out to be the best player in franchise history, and Mike quickly adopted KG's well-known nickname, "The Big Ticket."  This new moniker was multi-functional, as Mike used it, in the third person, to refer to himself. He also used it to refer to a certain body part of his, the operative word here being "Big."  It was at times such as those when I realized that I was not the only one who could be accused of laughing at his own jokes. Mike came up with so many uses -- mostly double entendres -- for his new favorite term that I had to wonder if he stayed up all night dreaming them up.

Most of the time Mike was a PG-13 rated fellow, but he was not above slipping in a Big Ticket reference to amuse his companions, especially at Bunny's.  One memorable night shortly after Mike had undergone a vasectomy, he proudly announced to the rest of us at the table that the Big Ticket was happy with his decision because it meant "free sex" -- no more worries or inconveniences with birth control.  I almost spit out my Summit Pale Ale when he shared that insight with us.

The other nickname, and one for which I'll take partial credit, was "Eichel Michael."  My sister Michele and I grew up in a family where we always referred to and addressed our aunts and uncles with that title (e.g., "Uncle Paul," instead of merely "Paul").  I wanted to develop that little formality of respect with my own kids, so when Mary and I had Gina we tried to get her to address Mary's brother as "Uncle Michael."  It didn't quite come out that way from baby Gina's lips, but what she did say was even better: "Eichel Michael." From that day forward, he has always remained Eichel Michael in the Periolat lexicon.

Besides the Celtics, Mike's other main rooting interest was the Gopher men's basketball team.  This made perfect sense, as Mike was an alumnus of the U, and a former varsity hoopster at Benilde High School.  He knew the game of basketball as well as anyone I've met.  His advocacy for the Gophers was a thing to behold, as he did not limit himself to armchair observations and commentary.  Instead, he would rise to his feet and lead cheers.  If pom poms happened to be available, better yet!  "Go Gophers, go," he'd yell. "Go Gophers, go!"  It was hysterical watching the biggest guy in the room turn into a cheerleader, inciting the rest of us fans and imploring the Maroon and Gold to win the game.

Mike was the perfect designated driver.  His drink of choice in a bar would be a Shirley Temple, always ordered with extra grenadine.  Otherwise it would be coffee, at all hours of the day, with so much cream and "fake sugar" (as he called it) that you had to wonder if the contents of the cup contained a liqiud or solid. Mike liked to say that he was metrosexual.   I guess when you're the father of five and The Big Ticket to boot, yet you are comfortable in your own skin to the extent that you're willing to order Shirley Temples and pretend you're on the pom squad, being a metrosexual is a good half way point.

Mike and I had two coaching connections.  The first occurred in his element, basketball.  We were both coaching eighth grade boys teams in the KCYO League (now known as the MCYO, i.e., Monsignor Coates Youth Organization), which was comprised of something like sixteen Catholic grade schools in Minneapolis and its suburbs.  One year, circa 1976, my Most Holy Trinity team traveled over to south Minneapolis to play Mike's St. Stephens squad.  The game was a perfect example of the theorem that the better-coached team does not always win, as my guys prevailed by six or seven points.  The St. Stephens kids simply did not have an answer for Trinity's big horse,Mike Hatten, who, I'm sure, had a double-double.  (If only that term had been in existence then.)  It was the only time in our coaching careers that Mike and I faced each other in any of our many coaching exploits, so the bragging rights were mine.

The second connection was that Mike put in a good word with the league honchos for me to succeed him as the manager of the St. Mane's baseball team at Skippy Field, the home of Park South Little League.  To appreciate this, keep in mind that seemingly half the fathers (and a couple of mothers) who had a kid between the ages of eight and twelve thought they could run a baseball team.  There were six "majors" (highest level) teams at Skippy, and the turnover of managers at that level was almost non-existent.  (I believe Mike was the only manager among the six who actually had a son on his team at that time.)  When a managerial position did open up, such as when Mike finished managing St. Mane's after Brian's final year, there was no shortage of candidates to fill the spot.  It didn't hurt my chances of becoming the next St. Mane's manager that I was Mike's brother-in-law.

Mike affectionately called his St. Mane's team "The Maniacs," a name which was too good to abandon when I took over.  (I called our offense the "Maniac Attack.")  Mike set the bar high, as he was excellent at dealing with kids of all athletic abilities.  He always stayed calm, no matter what was happening on the field, and given his highly competitive nature, that was an astonishing attribute.  The instruction he gave his players was consistently positive, not to mention correct.

Mike's calmness was not just evident in the dugout.  Whenever we visited Morningside Manor for a large gathering, it was clear that his hosting philosophy was "the more the merrier."  He loved company.  The front door was always open, and not just in a figurative sense.  He and Rene literally kept their house unlocked at all times, even when they were out of town.  Whenever I was in their living room, I wondered who was upstairs.  You never knew who was going to emerge from that closed door behind which was the stairway.  I also wondered whether Mike and Rene themselves knew who was up there!

I know my son, Michael, feels honored to carry the name of his uncle.  It is one thing to be named after someone, but when you've had that person be a part of your life for over three decades, the feeling is deeper and the understanding of the reasons why your parents chose that name for you becomes clearer.

I am going to miss The Big Ticket, especially when I visit Bunny's, his old stomping grounds where every server not only knew him by name but also his food and beverage preferences.  We usually sat next to each other, discussing sports while other conversations were going on among our group.  I never did get a chance to ask Mike what he thought about this year's trade which sent The Big Ticket from Mike's beloved Celtics to the Brooklyn Nets.  But no matter what team Kevin Garnett plays for, Eichel Michael will always be the real Big Ticket.