Michael Orelove

The world lost one of the most creative, kind and generous people you will ever meet when my dad, Michael Orelove, passed away this week. For those of you who knew my dad, you’ll not be surprised that it’s hard to capture his essence in a few paragraphs, but here’s a crack at it.

He grew up in the Budlong Woods neighborhood of Chicago with his sister, Merle, and brother, Spencer. As a young kid, he loved playing baseball and watching “The Twilight Zone” with his best friend, Steve “The Hawk” Winkler. As a teenager, he got a job as an usher at the Chicago Theater and would sneak The Hawk and his siblings in through the back door. After serving in the Army, he became smitten with Steve’s sister, Fran (my mom), and soon they were married. They had one kid, me. They enjoyed playing epic games of scrabble and going out to eat with their friends Pam and Mark where they would order five dishes between the four of them just to have one extra to share.

When I was four, my parents divorced and my dad moved to Juneau, Alaska. From where I sit, it appears that this is where my dad’s creativity really blossomed. A few examples: Rib dinners with everyone sitting on the floor cavepeople-style eating out of a trough. A pie fight inside my room, plastic sheeting on the floor, for my birthday. (Despite the plastic, the room smelled like chocolate cream pie for months). Hiking the Chilkoot trail in a tuxedo with a planned airdrop of Screaming Yellow Zonkers on the top of the Chilkoot Pass. A gorilla suit nailed on his office wall in protest of real taxidermy specimens on adjoining office walls. Withdrawing several thousand dollars for the day to play Monopoly with real money before bringing it all back to the bank. Nailing wood framing directly to the wall creating picture frames for friends to make paintings directly on the wall. Bowling pins - lots and lots of bowling pins. Engraved for special events, hidden in luggage. Why bowling pins? An avid bowler? No, just because they’re sort of fun. 20-year time boxes sealed up every year. Baseball autographed by Weird Al kept in… the freezer. Because it’s Weird. Travel to see solar eclipses. Nails pounded into the oak living room floor every day exactly at noon marking the position the sun creating an analemma (look it up). Winter solstice gifts mailed to family and friends each year always in his likeness – Michael in a snow globe, Michael as a salt shaker, Michael as a light switch cover.

And then there were the volunteer projects he did out in the community: He painted a sundial on the dock by the Juneau Tram. He made a tide gauge on the floatplane dock. He made a giant map of the US on the dock with 50,000 nails. He painted the solar system along the path by Twin Lakes in Juneau using a tiny bit of real Mars dust for Mars. He chaired the committee that made the 100-year Juneau Time Capsule in the Federal Building. He spearheaded an effort to get a stone from the top of Denali embedded in the Tribune Tower in Chicago when he saw that Alaska was the lone state missing from the display. He volunteered for many years for the Alaska State Folk Festival, Juneau planetarium, and Friends of the Flags. He made Juneau a more fun place to live.

In 2006, my dad moved to the Portland, Oregon in search of love. It was there that he met Kathleen Forrest who became the love of his life. They had been together for 14 ½ years when he passed. So happy he found Kathleen, “Wow” became their relationship’s slogan, if that’s a thing. “Wow” made with Scrabble letters on his lapel, “Wow”on his car’s dashboard. “Wow” embroidered with nautical flag symbols on his coat. Wow.

In Oregon, my dad picked up where he left off in Juneau, leaving his mark on his community. A tactile planet walk for a school for the blind. A large painted map on an elementary school playground. A large model of the solar system in the Plaza del Sol in Gresham. He volunteered with the Kiwanis Club and the Portland Flag Association. His community volunteerism led him to be selected as the grand marshal of the Troutdale’s 4th of July Parade in 2012.

And then of course there’s “Michael Mail.” There can be few private individuals that used the U.S. Postal Service to the degree that my dad did. I think mail was my dad’s love language, and those of us closest to him were bathed in it. I received weekly mailings with themes of “Gold”, “Juneau”, “Olympia”, and what used to be simply “Earth” but then morphed into “Flat Earth” and “Hollow Earth.” Pam got “Yoda” and “Yoga”. Max got “Moon” and “Max” (No, not a weekly item with the name “Max” but rather a weekly “M” item and an “ax” item).

My dad saw the world a little differently than the rest of us and was not afraid to live his life by a more fun set of rules. When you go to a museum exhibition of prehistoric people, of COURSE you wear fake animal skins. When you learn that you can buy a tiny piece of the moon, of course you do. Then you pulverize it into dust and give a speck to your family and friends. And you eat a speck. When your kid is in Peace Corps, of course you ask hundreds of famous people to send them a quick note. You live a life of fun and generosity and you don’t look back.