My Friend Mike

I want to tell you about my friend Mike McNerney. I always imagined I would get to tell the story of how I knew Mike and what a great guy he was during a speech at his wedding or at his bachelor party or something like that — I never pictured it like this. I wanted him to hear these words, to know how much I appreciated him and how much I loved him.

I met Mike back in 2010 when we were just freshmen at the University of Wisconsin-Platteville. Mike and I had both just moved into the dorms at Brockert Hall, and we were at some type of icebreaker event for new students in the dorm. It was a typical college freshman scene— you know, standing in a circle making awkward introductions, attempting to find an upperclassman who would buy us beer, everyone trying their hardest to seem cooler than they were, etc. Mike took one look at me and asked if I was a wrestler. I wasn’t sure how he guessed it, but I admitted to him that I was. It was a casual comment, but what Mike didn’t know at the time was that wrestling had dominated my life throughout high school. Wrestling wasn’t just an activity I did, it was pretty much my whole identity in high school. Years later, I asked him how he had guessed that I was a wrestler, and he said it was because I had a weird posture, lol. Mike had an uncanny ability to connect with people, and had such a kind, genuine nature. He had an ability to be vulnerable that drew people to him.

Wrestling, and being part of a team was always an easy source of friendship, but now here I was in a new place where I had virtually no friends. I was in a sea of strangers and Mike had thrown me a life raft. He and I found out we lived right down the hall from each other, and we became friends in no time. A group of us from Brockert Hall bonded over what a miserable time we were all having at Platteville. Misery loves company after all. Mike had come all the way from Wheaton, Illinois. I learned this very quickly because he wouldn’t shut up about how much he loved Devin Hester and the Bears, and how pizza was better when it was thick like a loaf of bread and had the sauce on top of the cheese. I thought that was a little bit weird, but I can only imagine what Mike was thinking when I told him stories about growing up on a dairy farm in rural Wisconsin. The main things I remember from our time at Platteville are the unfathomable number of hours we spent playing football in the Circle Drive, our endless ping-pong tournaments, the awful dinners at Platters, hours spent playing Mario Kart when we probably should have been studying, and our never-ending (and frequently unsuccessful) attempts to find love. It was very stereotypical college freshman stuff, but throughout that time we were forging a strong and meaningful friendship. It felt like Mike knew everyone on campus, and everyone seemed to know him. He was great at making friends, which is no surprise since he was so sincere and genuinely good to others in a way that you don’t encounter very often. When you were friends with Mike he was always your biggest hype man— he let each of his friends know how much he admired them on a regular basis, and refused to let you doubt yourself or your abilities.

Most of our friend group from freshman year had decided to transfer out of Platteville after freshman year. For the time being, we were both on our way out of Platteville. Mike was majoring in Spanish and had been accepted to study abroad in Seville, Spain during the fall semester. Meanwhile I had punched my ticket to transfer to UW-Madison, all I needed to do was finish out the semester with passing grades to get into the college of engineering.

At the end of our freshman year, everyone except Mike and I had finished their exams and had already headed home for the summer. To our benefit, they left Mike and I all their leftover beer and liquor so that it did not go to waste. I still have no idea why we did this, but we just mixed it all together to make the worst combination that you can imagine. It consisted of rum, tequila, whiskey, beer and blue Gatorade powder (for the electrolytes, of course). And then we drank all of it, to respect their wishes. However, there was a flaw in our plan. I had an early Calc II exam the next morning, and despite an unrelenting effort, my alarm did not manage to wake me up. My pending acceptance into UW-Madison was in jeopardy with each passing minute. However, Mike had woken up early to pack the next morning and overheard my alarm from 3 rooms away. He began banging on my door like a one man SWAT team. I roused from my slumber to find that I had woken up an hour late for my 2 hour exam, and by the skin of my teeth, I finished just enough of the exam to keep my passing grade and get into UW-Madison. I still owe you for that one, Mike.

For the next few months I skyped often with Mike, who was now going by his Spanish pseudonym, Miguel, while he was in Spain. It turned out Miguel was having the time of his life. He was having so much fun that he decided to extend his study abroad experience from one semester to the entire year. I was happy for Mike because I wasn’t sure he could bear another semester back in Platteville. And then I got some more good news, once he got back to the states, Mike planned to transfer to UW-Madison and we were going to be roommates to start our junior year. [Side note: Several years later, Mike and a few of us went to Seville during Spring Break. It was an amazing experience and I’m so happy that we got to see the place that Mike was always telling us about.]

We made some amazing memories those next couple years at UW-Madison. Mike fell in love with Madison (it is an amazing city and university, after all), and eventually his entire family ended up in the Madison area, moving from their home in Wheaton, Illinois. He joined the racquetball team at the university, which was one of his dreams, and a few years later he even ended up coaching the team. Mike was just such a lovable guy, and he fit in perfectly in Madison, like he did in just about every situation he encountered. He was often the life of the party, but just as often, he was there when you needed to have a heart-to-heart or to do some serious soul searching. We became really close during those years and I was certain I would be best friends with Mike for life. One night when Mike and I were both fairly inebriated, we made each other a promise, the type of promise that you make when you’re fairly inebriated and you want to let your friend know how much they mean to you— we promised that when the time came we would each ask the other to be the best man at our wedding. We were both single at the time, lol. Life didn’t quite work out the way we wanted it to.

Mike and I often bonded over our musical tastes. Long after college we would still text each other links to songs we heard that we thought the other might like. He loved classic rock — and I made sure to always include two of his favorites, Electric Light Orchestra and Boston on all the party playlists I made, just so he could shred his air guitar to More Than a Feeling. He also loved rap, and was the most gifted freestyle rapper that I’ve ever witnessed perform in an apartment after bar close. I hope to god one of our friends still has video evidence somewhere that backs me up on this. Mike and I occasionally enjoyed showcasing our talents at the Karaoke Kid in Madison, we always performed What I Got by Sublime. As the lyrics say “Well, life is too short, so love the one you got.” He was also absolutely fearless — we were always making stupid bets with ridiculous stakes and he never once backed down. I once trained for months just so that I could win a bet against him that meant he had to go streaking like half a mile down the bike path in Madison, and he did it with such grace that onlookers in the nearby apartments literally cheered from their balconies. Mike and I also made a habit of attending the university-sponsored yoga classes at the gym near our apartment. I think we went the first time as some kind of joke, but it turned out we really enjoyed it (i.e. Mike had a crush on the instructor), so we went back a couple times each week. There was one time the instructor never showed up. Naturally we were devastated; they were going to cancel the class, but Mike saw this as an opportunity. With zero preparation or training, Mike just went ahead and taught the hour long class as if he had been doing it his whole life — it was incredible — it was his Michael Jordan flu game, but then again it was vintage Mike. One of our stupid running bits was coming up with new versions of the yoga Warrior pose. Beginners learned Warrior 1 and Warrior 2, but Mike and I had moved onto Warrior 3, 4, 5, etc. Like I said, it was a pretty stupid bit — but I’ll never forget one weekend late at night when Mike performed what was basically a 10 minute interpretive dance in our apartment, which he dramatically unveiled as “Warrior 30”, which, according to him, took years to master and was apparently the holy grail of yoga poses.

Mike and I had a million inside jokes, so many that we somehow convinced ourselves that our often incomprehensible style of comedy might also be funny to strangers. After we graduated, we lived together in an apartment in downtown Madison. Mike had begun doing comedy open mics and was working as an opener around town for a few bands he knew, he even hosted the mic at the comedy club on State Street once or twice. After a few too many drinks one night he signed both of us up for the annual Madison’s Funniest Comic Competition, which he had been trying to convince me to do for months — I was terrified. We spent weeks writing material and workshopping it with each other, not because we had plans or aspirations to actually win the competition, but because we genuinely got so much joy from telling each other our stupid little jokes and trying to make each other laugh. Mike, as always, was hyping me up the entire time. To my shock, I advanced past the first round of the competition — but Mike wasn’t shocked at all, he had been helping me workshop material and knew it was solid. Frankly, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without him. And then I advanced yet again and suddenly found myself competing with some of the best comedians in the state. When I doubted myself, Mike was always there to convince me that I belonged, and because of that I got to perform comedy multiple nights to a sold-out crowd on State Street — those were moments I will truly never forget — all thanks to Mike insisting that I believe in myself. He was right by my side the whole time, acting as the founder and president of my fan club.

Another summer while I was living in Madison I took an introductory piano course at the local technical college, just a few hours a week. I learned a couple scales, a few songs, ‘Happy Birthday’, ‘Jingle Bells’, that sort of thing, nothing fancy. But to Mike I might as well have been Mozart. He always loved art and music and anyone who pursued creative passions. He said that he wished he could play like I could. Now, it was apparent to anyone that I sucked, but if you knew Mike, you’d know how genuine he was when he said those sorts of things, so I seized the opportunity and volunteered to teach him to play piano. He wholeheartedly agreed. I was hardly even a beginner myself so I wasn’t much of an instructor, but we were no longer living together and these piano lessons would give us an excuse to hang out just about every week. Looking back, I am so happy I had those weekly sessions with Mike, and I would do anything to spend an hour practicing ‘Row, Row, Row, Your Boat’ with Mike again.

In 2019, I packed up and moved from Madison to Milwaukee with my then fiancée, Allie, and shortly thereafter, we bought our first house. After that it became much tougher to see Mike and I regret that I didn’t call him as often as I should have. Mike struggled with his mental health the last few years, and he often wasn’t feeling like himself. This struggle took a great toll on Mike and stole a lot of his joy. I have many regrets about the things I never told Mike or shared with him. I never got to give Mike a tour of Allie and I’s new house. I never got to make him an old-fashioned at the bar in my basement. The last time I saw Mike in person, almost 12 months ago, we played a round of golf and got dinner downtown. We talked about everything and reminisced about old times. It was a tearful day a few weeks later when I found out he wouldn’t be able to attend Allie and I’s wedding, but I found solace in the idea that there would come a day when he and I would hang out and jam on guitar or practice piano or just spend the afternoon talking about our dreams or the the state of the world like we used to. I was so convinced that Mike would always be a part of my life, I couldn’t bear the thought that someday he might not be a phone call or short commute away. I still can’t.

Mike was such a kind soul, and I admired how he was often very passionate in advocating for what he believed was right. When we lived together, he often spent nights volunteering on State Street handing out meals to the homeless population in Madison. That’s the type of person Mike was. He was also a fierce advocate for racial and social justice. He was hilarious and loved making people laugh. He was just a really good friend, and the world will be a darker place without his light. He was someone I looked up to a whole lot for all of these reasons, and I respected him immensely. He showed a ton of courage in his battle with mental illness, and he never deserved any of the pain he encountered the last few years. So many of the best memories of my life are moments I shared with Mike. I know that Mike had a positive influence on so many people. So many of the positive decisions and positive changes I made in my life are thanks to Mike. It feels so unjust that I’ll never be able to repay him for that, and I feel incredibly sad knowing that those memories may be all that I have to hold on to. I still can’t really grasp the permanence of him being gone. The world would be a much better place if everyone had a friend like Mike, and even better yet, if everyone was a friend like Mike.

Rest in peace, brother. I love you and I’m gonna miss you.