Bio written by Mike's Father...
July 17, 1985
As I was sitting in the hospital waiting for the doctor to let me know when I could come in to see my second child being born, I remembered how guilty I felt for missing my daughter Stephanie's birth because I didn't sign up for childbirth classes. Since I did take the classes this time, I was well qualified to assist my wife Jeanne with the delivery. (Assist meaning soothe her while she threatened to kill me for doing this to her). The next thing I knew I was looking at a baby lizard, thinking, what the heck is that? The baby was pretty, but damn! At first glance the baby looked just like Stephanie the first time I saw her, and I was excited about having another beautiful girl! But then the doctor faced the baby's body towards me. "Wow! A boy! All the trucks, footballs, baseballs, baseball gloves and basketballs I had bought Stephanie will finally get used," I thought. (No matter how much I tried to make Stephanie a tom-boy, she still liked her dolls and books better. Thanks for raising me those six years Stephanie).
Michael was completely opposite. He loved balls, bikes, wrestling, and even fishing. The poor kid had to be the pupil in Stephanie's "make-believe" school room. (Thanks again Stephanie. You're the reason Mike made honor roll through his ten years of school). Michael had the best of all worlds: He had schooling at home with his sister. Love and discipline with his parents. And sports with his cousins while his aunt and uncle babysat. His cousins taught him about baseball, basketball, and football without me going through the agony of teaching him how to catch. They made him a natural. Mike hated coming home from their house. I had to pry his fingers off the front door to get him to come home. The only way that I would get him to come home peacefully was to promise to play baseball with him or take him fishing. His "day family" treated him with as much love as we had given him. The money we paid to babysit during the day didn't compare to the time and money they spent on him. Shoes, clothes, food, and games. (Thank you Connie, Butch, Steve and Jason).
There was a day when Mike got mad at Jeanne and I and he started to walk to his aunt Connie's from Milford to Goshen. It would have been about seven miles door to door. I decided to let him go just to see just how far he would get before he got scared and came back. He scared me after he turned the first corner in our sub-division without him even looking back. I believe to this day that he would have made it if Jeanne had not yelled at me to go after him. He was only four - with his football shirt and baseball spikes that were three sizes too big and the baseball hat that he always wore backwards.
On one of the promised fishing days I had taken Mike to a fishing pond that I always caught nice fish. Mike could never catch anything when we fished, but would stay right there with me the whole time and would hardly ever complain, unless he was hungry. On that day Mike kept bothering me for a chew of my tobacco. He wanted one. I told Mike that he didn't want to start that bad habit. (What the heck were Steve and Jason doing giving him dip? He was only six years old). Well I told Michael to stay there and fish while I went to the other side of the lake. "You're bothering me," I said. As I was fishing, I heard Mike yell, "Dad, Help!" I looked up and saw that Mike's fishing pole was bent over straight towards the pond. He had a big fish hooked. I ran around the pond. Mike was pulling back on his fishing poll trying to wind the reel, but his skinny arms could barely do it. He was saying, "Dad you have to get the fish in for me. I can't!" I said, "Mike, you're on your own buddy. It's your fish. Get him in." Well he struggled a while and finally got the fish in. He was so proud. And so was I because he finally caught his first fish!
This called for a little celebration. "Son, have a chew." I gave him one little leaf of tobacco. He put that chew in so proud. He just smiled and looked out into the water, spitting like a little farm boy. I walked back to the other side of the pond and started fishing again. Every few minutes I would watch Mike dribble spit down his chin. After a while I was getting into my fishing when I looked up and saw that Mike was nowhere in site. I ran to the other side of the pond and saw Mike sitting in my truck. As I approached the truck I could see Mike's breakfast rolling down the door. What had I done? His mother was going to kill me. I asked, "Mike? Why did you throw up in my truck when we are out on this farm with, I don't know, two hundred acre's?" He said, "I was dizzy." "Okay," I said, "Let's go home, but please don't tell your mother." "I won't dad," he said. I drilled him all the way home. "You won't tell your mom, right Mike?" "Right dad." "You'll tell her I fed you breakfast and you caught a big fish, right Mike?" "Right dad." As we walked up to the door of our house to go in, Mike threw up on the front porch. Jeanne saw him and asked, "What the heck is wrong with Mike?" I said, "Hell, I don't know!" The first words out of Mike's mouth was, "Dad made me chew tobacco!!" From then on Mike loved seeing me get in trouble that way. When his mom would come home from work late he would tell her that I didn't feed him even though we had just ate. He did this to the age of fifteen and she still believed him and yelled at me. And Mike would just grin the whole time I was getting yelled at.
Mike's personality was very funny and friendly around our house. He loved to tease us and make us laugh. He used to make faces at us while we were disciplining him. When we looked at him he would change his facial expression back to normal. Everyone else in the room would be laughing and eventually we would end up laughing too. He hated making any of us angry with him and would always make up to us. He would always hug us and tell us he loved us and was sorry. When Mike and Jeanne would go to the store, he would talk to her and lean on her to guide her toward the exit door (automatic doors) and stop to let his mom walk right into the door.
Mike's favorite thing to do was play baseball. It was the only sport he was really serious about. He would always ask me to toss, pitch, or hit baseballs to him. If he didn't play too well that day, he would be waiting for me to get home from work so that I could hit him grounders. He would never give up and always practiced to get better. When he was younger he always had to share his position with another player - until he proved that he was the better player. Once, he was clearly the better player and was taken out of the ball game in the third or fourth inning three games in a row. I was getting mad about it. Then on the way home from the game I told Mike I was getting mad about him being taken out of the game and he said, "Dad, the other guys should get a chance to play too." Boy was I embarrassed, thinking if it doesn't bother him why should it bother me?
He never said anything bad about anyone. He seemed to love everybody he knew. He always talked about how good everyone was at one thing or another. Mike lived every day to the fullest. I heard someone say that if Mike had his life to live over again, he wouldn't change a thing. And I agree. Mike played his last baseball game on Saturday, June 16th. He went 3 for 4 that day with two triples. He enjoyed having the next two days off from baseball and hanging out with his friends. He got his temporary license on Tuesday, then back to baseball practice on Wednesday. Mike had a very good year in baseball that year. High school ball and summer league. The best he ever played. I was very proud of him.
On Thursday, Mike was hanging out with his friend Tommy. He came home to tell me about them driving down the road with a mattress in the back of Tommy's truck and how it blew out and they had to stop and get it. Mike was cracking up telling me and he said he felt like the Beverly Hillbillies driving down the road.
June 22, 2001
Mike was scheduled to play in a baseball tournament that weekend. As in the past, Mike and several of his teammates planned to spend the night together at a friend's house. Before leaving, Mike hung out with me for a little while, and of course, we wrestled a bit in our living room. As always, he told me that he loved me before he left. He had told his mom that he loved her earlier that day while she was at work. He told us he was going to have fun there……………and he did.
When Mike left our house that day, he appeared to be a perfectly healthy, vibrant, fun-loving, adventurous young man. Little did we realize that God was going to take him into His arms later that night.
Michael J. Pangallo, our beloved son, loving brother, and devoted friend to all that knew him, passed suddenly and peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of Friday, June 22nd.
We learned several weeks afterwards that the cause of death was a cardiac conduction disorder caused by fatty infiltration of the atrioventricular node - one of the two anatomical pacemakers contained in the human heart. Essentially, fat was growing in an area of that node that fat is not supposed to grow in. The fatty tissue prevented his internal pacemaker from sending a signal to his heart so it stopped beating. This type of condition is extremely rare and apparently there are no symptoms. There was no indication that Michael had a problem. And there was nothing that anyone could have done to save his life that evening.
Our heart goes out to the boys and the parents that were with him that evening. Teenage boys tend to feel they are invincible. Unfortunately, many of Mike's friends had to grow up too soon. God blessed Jeanne and I with two wonderful children. We had Michael for nearly sixteen years, and we thank God for the short time we had together. You were incredible, Mike. We'll miss you.
WE LOVE YOU
Dad, Mom, and Stephanie
July 17, 1985
As I was sitting in the hospital waiting for the doctor to let me know when I could come in to see my second child being born, I remembered how guilty I felt for missing my daughter Stephanie's birth because I didn't sign up for childbirth classes. Since I did take the classes this time, I was well qualified to assist my wife Jeanne with the delivery. (Assist meaning soothe her while she threatened to kill me for doing this to her). The next thing I knew I was looking at a baby lizard, thinking, what the heck is that? The baby was pretty, but damn! At first glance the baby looked just like Stephanie the first time I saw her, and I was excited about having another beautiful girl! But then the doctor faced the baby's body towards me. "Wow! A boy! All the trucks, footballs, baseballs, baseball gloves and basketballs I had bought Stephanie will finally get used," I thought. (No matter how much I tried to make Stephanie a tom-boy, she still liked her dolls and books better. Thanks for raising me those six years Stephanie).
Michael was completely opposite. He loved balls, bikes, wrestling, and even fishing. The poor kid had to be the pupil in Stephanie's "make-believe" school room. (Thanks again Stephanie. You're the reason Mike made honor roll through his ten years of school). Michael had the best of all worlds: He had schooling at home with his sister. Love and discipline with his parents. And sports with his cousins while his aunt and uncle babysat. His cousins taught him about baseball, basketball, and football without me going through the agony of teaching him how to catch. They made him a natural. Mike hated coming home from their house. I had to pry his fingers off the front door to get him to come home. The only way that I would get him to come home peacefully was to promise to play baseball with him or take him fishing. His "day family" treated him with as much love as we had given him. The money we paid to babysit during the day didn't compare to the time and money they spent on him. Shoes, clothes, food, and games. (Thank you Connie, Butch, Steve and Jason).
There was a day when Mike got mad at Jeanne and I and he started to walk to his aunt Connie's from Milford to Goshen. It would have been about seven miles door to door. I decided to let him go just to see just how far he would get before he got scared and came back. He scared me after he turned the first corner in our sub-division without him even looking back. I believe to this day that he would have made it if Jeanne had not yelled at me to go after him. He was only four - with his football shirt and baseball spikes that were three sizes too big and the baseball hat that he always wore backwards.
On one of the promised fishing days I had taken Mike to a fishing pond that I always caught nice fish. Mike could never catch anything when we fished, but would stay right there with me the whole time and would hardly ever complain, unless he was hungry. On that day Mike kept bothering me for a chew of my tobacco. He wanted one. I told Mike that he didn't want to start that bad habit. (What the heck were Steve and Jason doing giving him dip? He was only six years old). Well I told Michael to stay there and fish while I went to the other side of the lake. "You're bothering me," I said. As I was fishing, I heard Mike yell, "Dad, Help!" I looked up and saw that Mike's fishing pole was bent over straight towards the pond. He had a big fish hooked. I ran around the pond. Mike was pulling back on his fishing poll trying to wind the reel, but his skinny arms could barely do it. He was saying, "Dad you have to get the fish in for me. I can't!" I said, "Mike, you're on your own buddy. It's your fish. Get him in." Well he struggled a while and finally got the fish in. He was so proud. And so was I because he finally caught his first fish!
This called for a little celebration. "Son, have a chew." I gave him one little leaf of tobacco. He put that chew in so proud. He just smiled and looked out into the water, spitting like a little farm boy. I walked back to the other side of the pond and started fishing again. Every few minutes I would watch Mike dribble spit down his chin. After a while I was getting into my fishing when I looked up and saw that Mike was nowhere in site. I ran to the other side of the pond and saw Mike sitting in my truck. As I approached the truck I could see Mike's breakfast rolling down the door. What had I done? His mother was going to kill me. I asked, "Mike? Why did you throw up in my truck when we are out on this farm with, I don't know, two hundred acre's?" He said, "I was dizzy." "Okay," I said, "Let's go home, but please don't tell your mother." "I won't dad," he said. I drilled him all the way home. "You won't tell your mom, right Mike?" "Right dad." "You'll tell her I fed you breakfast and you caught a big fish, right Mike?" "Right dad." As we walked up to the door of our house to go in, Mike threw up on the front porch. Jeanne saw him and asked, "What the heck is wrong with Mike?" I said, "Hell, I don't know!" The first words out of Mike's mouth was, "Dad made me chew tobacco!!" From then on Mike loved seeing me get in trouble that way. When his mom would come home from work late he would tell her that I didn't feed him even though we had just ate. He did this to the age of fifteen and she still believed him and yelled at me. And Mike would just grin the whole time I was getting yelled at.
Mike's personality was very funny and friendly around our house. He loved to tease us and make us laugh. He used to make faces at us while we were disciplining him. When we looked at him he would change his facial expression back to normal. Everyone else in the room would be laughing and eventually we would end up laughing too. He hated making any of us angry with him and would always make up to us. He would always hug us and tell us he loved us and was sorry. When Mike and Jeanne would go to the store, he would talk to her and lean on her to guide her toward the exit door (automatic doors) and stop to let his mom walk right into the door.
Mike's favorite thing to do was play baseball. It was the only sport he was really serious about. He would always ask me to toss, pitch, or hit baseballs to him. If he didn't play too well that day, he would be waiting for me to get home from work so that I could hit him grounders. He would never give up and always practiced to get better. When he was younger he always had to share his position with another player - until he proved that he was the better player. Once, he was clearly the better player and was taken out of the ball game in the third or fourth inning three games in a row. I was getting mad about it. Then on the way home from the game I told Mike I was getting mad about him being taken out of the game and he said, "Dad, the other guys should get a chance to play too." Boy was I embarrassed, thinking if it doesn't bother him why should it bother me?
He never said anything bad about anyone. He seemed to love everybody he knew. He always talked about how good everyone was at one thing or another. Mike lived every day to the fullest. I heard someone say that if Mike had his life to live over again, he wouldn't change a thing. And I agree. Mike played his last baseball game on Saturday, June 16th. He went 3 for 4 that day with two triples. He enjoyed having the next two days off from baseball and hanging out with his friends. He got his temporary license on Tuesday, then back to baseball practice on Wednesday. Mike had a very good year in baseball that year. High school ball and summer league. The best he ever played. I was very proud of him.
On Thursday, Mike was hanging out with his friend Tommy. He came home to tell me about them driving down the road with a mattress in the back of Tommy's truck and how it blew out and they had to stop and get it. Mike was cracking up telling me and he said he felt like the Beverly Hillbillies driving down the road.
June 22, 2001
Mike was scheduled to play in a baseball tournament that weekend. As in the past, Mike and several of his teammates planned to spend the night together at a friend's house. Before leaving, Mike hung out with me for a little while, and of course, we wrestled a bit in our living room. As always, he told me that he loved me before he left. He had told his mom that he loved her earlier that day while she was at work. He told us he was going to have fun there……………and he did.
When Mike left our house that day, he appeared to be a perfectly healthy, vibrant, fun-loving, adventurous young man. Little did we realize that God was going to take him into His arms later that night.
Michael J. Pangallo, our beloved son, loving brother, and devoted friend to all that knew him, passed suddenly and peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of Friday, June 22nd.
We learned several weeks afterwards that the cause of death was a cardiac conduction disorder caused by fatty infiltration of the atrioventricular node - one of the two anatomical pacemakers contained in the human heart. Essentially, fat was growing in an area of that node that fat is not supposed to grow in. The fatty tissue prevented his internal pacemaker from sending a signal to his heart so it stopped beating. This type of condition is extremely rare and apparently there are no symptoms. There was no indication that Michael had a problem. And there was nothing that anyone could have done to save his life that evening.
Our heart goes out to the boys and the parents that were with him that evening. Teenage boys tend to feel they are invincible. Unfortunately, many of Mike's friends had to grow up too soon. God blessed Jeanne and I with two wonderful children. We had Michael for nearly sixteen years, and we thank God for the short time we had together. You were incredible, Mike. We'll miss you.
WE LOVE YOU
Dad, Mom, and Stephanie
Bio written by Mike's Father...
July 17, 1985
As I was sitting in the hospital waiting for the doctor to let me know when I could come in to see my second child being born, I remembered how guilty I felt for missing my daughter Stephanie's birth because I didn't sign up for childbirth classes. Since I did take the classes this time, I was well qualified to assist my wife Jeanne with the delivery. (Assist meaning soothe her while she threatened to kill me for doing this to her). The next thing I knew I was looking at a baby lizard, thinking, what the heck is that? The baby was pretty, but damn! At first glance the baby looked just like Stephanie the first time I saw her, and I was excited about having another beautiful girl! But then the doctor faced the baby's body towards me. "Wow! A boy! All the trucks, footballs, baseballs, baseball gloves and basketballs I had bought Stephanie will finally get used," I thought. (No matter how much I tried to make Stephanie a tom-boy, she still liked her dolls and books better. Thanks for raising me those six years Stephanie).
Michael was completely opposite. He loved balls, bikes, wrestling, and even fishing. The poor kid had to be the pupil in Stephanie's "make-believe" school room. (Thanks again Stephanie. You're the reason Mike made honor roll through his ten years of school). Michael had the best of all worlds: He had schooling at home with his sister. Love and discipline with his parents. And sports with his cousins while his aunt and uncle babysat. His cousins taught him about baseball, basketball, and football without me going through the agony of teaching him how to catch. They made him a natural. Mike hated coming home from their house. I had to pry his fingers off the front door to get him to come home. The only way that I would get him to come home peacefully was to promise to play baseball with him or take him fishing. His "day family" treated him with as much love as we had given him. The money we paid to babysit during the day didn't compare to the time and money they spent on him. Shoes, clothes, food, and games. (Thank you Connie, Butch, Steve and Jason).
There was a day when Mike got mad at Jeanne and I and he started to walk to his aunt Connie's from Milford to Goshen. It would have been about seven miles door to door. I decided to let him go just to see just how far he would get before he got scared and came back. He scared me after he turned the first corner in our sub-division without him even looking back. I believe to this day that he would have made it if Jeanne had not yelled at me to go after him. He was only four - with his football shirt and baseball spikes that were three sizes too big and the baseball hat that he always wore backwards.
On one of the promised fishing days I had taken Mike to a fishing pond that I always caught nice fish. Mike could never catch anything when we fished, but would stay right there with me the whole time and would hardly ever complain, unless he was hungry. On that day Mike kept bothering me for a chew of my tobacco. He wanted one. I told Mike that he didn't want to start that bad habit. (What the heck were Steve and Jason doing giving him dip? He was only six years old). Well I told Michael to stay there and fish while I went to the other side of the lake. "You're bothering me," I said. As I was fishing, I heard Mike yell, "Dad, Help!" I looked up and saw that Mike's fishing pole was bent over straight towards the pond. He had a big fish hooked. I ran around the pond. Mike was pulling back on his fishing poll trying to wind the reel, but his skinny arms could barely do it. He was saying, "Dad you have to get the fish in for me. I can't!" I said, "Mike, you're on your own buddy. It's your fish. Get him in." Well he struggled a while and finally got the fish in. He was so proud. And so was I because he finally caught his first fish!
This called for a little celebration. "Son, have a chew." I gave him one little leaf of tobacco. He put that chew in so proud. He just smiled and looked out into the water, spitting like a little farm boy. I walked back to the other side of the pond and started fishing again. Every few minutes I would watch Mike dribble spit down his chin. After a while I was getting into my fishing when I looked up and saw that Mike was nowhere in site. I ran to the other side of the pond and saw Mike sitting in my truck. As I approached the truck I could see Mike's breakfast rolling down the door. What had I done? His mother was going to kill me. I asked, "Mike? Why did you throw up in my truck when we are out on this farm with, I don't know, two hundred acre's?" He said, "I was dizzy." "Okay," I said, "Let's go home, but please don't tell your mother." "I won't dad," he said. I drilled him all the way home. "You won't tell your mom, right Mike?" "Right dad." "You'll tell her I fed you breakfast and you caught a big fish, right Mike?" "Right dad." As we walked up to the door of our house to go in, Mike threw up on the front porch. Jeanne saw him and asked, "What the heck is wrong with Mike?" I said, "Hell, I don't know!" The first words out of Mike's mouth was, "Dad made me chew tobacco!!" From then on Mike loved seeing me get in trouble that way. When his mom would come home from work late he would tell her that I didn't feed him even though we had just ate. He did this to the age of fifteen and she still believed him and yelled at me. And Mike would just grin the whole time I was getting yelled at.
Mike's personality was very funny and friendly around our house. He loved to tease us and make us laugh. He used to make faces at us while we were disciplining him. When we looked at him he would change his facial expression back to normal. Everyone else in the room would be laughing and eventually we would end up laughing too. He hated making any of us angry with him and would always make up to us. He would always hug us and tell us he loved us and was sorry. When Mike and Jeanne would go to the store, he would talk to her and lean on her to guide her toward the exit door (automatic doors) and stop to let his mom walk right into the door.
Mike's favorite thing to do was play baseball. It was the only sport he was really serious about. He would always ask me to toss, pitch, or hit baseballs to him. If he didn't play too well that day, he would be waiting for me to get home from work so that I could hit him grounders. He would never give up and always practiced to get better. When he was younger he always had to share his position with another player - until he proved that he was the better player. Once, he was clearly the better player and was taken out of the ball game in the third or fourth inning three games in a row. I was getting mad about it. Then on the way home from the game I told Mike I was getting mad about him being taken out of the game and he said, "Dad, the other guys should get a chance to play too." Boy was I embarrassed, thinking if it doesn't bother him why should it bother me?
He never said anything bad about anyone. He seemed to love everybody he knew. He always talked about how good everyone was at one thing or another. Mike lived every day to the fullest. I heard someone say that if Mike had his life to live over again, he wouldn't change a thing. And I agree. Mike played his last baseball game on Saturday, June 16th. He went 3 for 4 that day with two triples. He enjoyed having the next two days off from baseball and hanging out with his friends. He got his temporary license on Tuesday, then back to baseball practice on Wednesday. Mike had a very good year in baseball that year. High school ball and summer league. The best he ever played. I was very proud of him.
On Thursday, Mike was hanging out with his friend Tommy. He came home to tell me about them driving down the road with a mattress in the back of Tommy's truck and how it blew out and they had to stop and get it. Mike was cracking up telling me and he said he felt like the Beverly Hillbillies driving down the road.
June 22, 2001
Mike was scheduled to play in a baseball tournament that weekend. As in the past, Mike and several of his teammates planned to spend the night together at a friend's house. Before leaving, Mike hung out with me for a little while, and of course, we wrestled a bit in our living room. As always, he told me that he loved me before he left. He had told his mom that he loved her earlier that day while she was at work. He told us he was going to have fun there……………and he did.
When Mike left our house that day, he appeared to be a perfectly healthy, vibrant, fun-loving, adventurous young man. Little did we realize that God was going to take him into His arms later that night.
Michael J. Pangallo, our beloved son, loving brother, and devoted friend to all that knew him, passed suddenly and peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of Friday, June 22nd.
We learned several weeks afterwards that the cause of death was a cardiac conduction disorder caused by fatty infiltration of the atrioventricular node - one of the two anatomical pacemakers contained in the human heart. Essentially, fat was growing in an area of that node that fat is not supposed to grow in. The fatty tissue prevented his internal pacemaker from sending a signal to his heart so it stopped beating. This type of condition is extremely rare and apparently there are no symptoms. There was no indication that Michael had a problem. And there was nothing that anyone could have done to save his life that evening.
Our heart goes out to the boys and the parents that were with him that evening. Teenage boys tend to feel they are invincible. Unfortunately, many of Mike's friends had to grow up too soon. God blessed Jeanne and I with two wonderful children. We had Michael for nearly sixteen years, and we thank God for the short time we had together. You were incredible, Mike. We'll miss you.
WE LOVE YOU
Dad, Mom, and Stephanie
July 17, 1985
As I was sitting in the hospital waiting for the doctor to let me know when I could come in to see my second child being born, I remembered how guilty I felt for missing my daughter Stephanie's birth because I didn't sign up for childbirth classes. Since I did take the classes this time, I was well qualified to assist my wife Jeanne with the delivery. (Assist meaning soothe her while she threatened to kill me for doing this to her). The next thing I knew I was looking at a baby lizard, thinking, what the heck is that? The baby was pretty, but damn! At first glance the baby looked just like Stephanie the first time I saw her, and I was excited about having another beautiful girl! But then the doctor faced the baby's body towards me. "Wow! A boy! All the trucks, footballs, baseballs, baseball gloves and basketballs I had bought Stephanie will finally get used," I thought. (No matter how much I tried to make Stephanie a tom-boy, she still liked her dolls and books better. Thanks for raising me those six years Stephanie).
Michael was completely opposite. He loved balls, bikes, wrestling, and even fishing. The poor kid had to be the pupil in Stephanie's "make-believe" school room. (Thanks again Stephanie. You're the reason Mike made honor roll through his ten years of school). Michael had the best of all worlds: He had schooling at home with his sister. Love and discipline with his parents. And sports with his cousins while his aunt and uncle babysat. His cousins taught him about baseball, basketball, and football without me going through the agony of teaching him how to catch. They made him a natural. Mike hated coming home from their house. I had to pry his fingers off the front door to get him to come home. The only way that I would get him to come home peacefully was to promise to play baseball with him or take him fishing. His "day family" treated him with as much love as we had given him. The money we paid to babysit during the day didn't compare to the time and money they spent on him. Shoes, clothes, food, and games. (Thank you Connie, Butch, Steve and Jason).
There was a day when Mike got mad at Jeanne and I and he started to walk to his aunt Connie's from Milford to Goshen. It would have been about seven miles door to door. I decided to let him go just to see just how far he would get before he got scared and came back. He scared me after he turned the first corner in our sub-division without him even looking back. I believe to this day that he would have made it if Jeanne had not yelled at me to go after him. He was only four - with his football shirt and baseball spikes that were three sizes too big and the baseball hat that he always wore backwards.
On one of the promised fishing days I had taken Mike to a fishing pond that I always caught nice fish. Mike could never catch anything when we fished, but would stay right there with me the whole time and would hardly ever complain, unless he was hungry. On that day Mike kept bothering me for a chew of my tobacco. He wanted one. I told Mike that he didn't want to start that bad habit. (What the heck were Steve and Jason doing giving him dip? He was only six years old). Well I told Michael to stay there and fish while I went to the other side of the lake. "You're bothering me," I said. As I was fishing, I heard Mike yell, "Dad, Help!" I looked up and saw that Mike's fishing pole was bent over straight towards the pond. He had a big fish hooked. I ran around the pond. Mike was pulling back on his fishing poll trying to wind the reel, but his skinny arms could barely do it. He was saying, "Dad you have to get the fish in for me. I can't!" I said, "Mike, you're on your own buddy. It's your fish. Get him in." Well he struggled a while and finally got the fish in. He was so proud. And so was I because he finally caught his first fish!
This called for a little celebration. "Son, have a chew." I gave him one little leaf of tobacco. He put that chew in so proud. He just smiled and looked out into the water, spitting like a little farm boy. I walked back to the other side of the pond and started fishing again. Every few minutes I would watch Mike dribble spit down his chin. After a while I was getting into my fishing when I looked up and saw that Mike was nowhere in site. I ran to the other side of the pond and saw Mike sitting in my truck. As I approached the truck I could see Mike's breakfast rolling down the door. What had I done? His mother was going to kill me. I asked, "Mike? Why did you throw up in my truck when we are out on this farm with, I don't know, two hundred acre's?" He said, "I was dizzy." "Okay," I said, "Let's go home, but please don't tell your mother." "I won't dad," he said. I drilled him all the way home. "You won't tell your mom, right Mike?" "Right dad." "You'll tell her I fed you breakfast and you caught a big fish, right Mike?" "Right dad." As we walked up to the door of our house to go in, Mike threw up on the front porch. Jeanne saw him and asked, "What the heck is wrong with Mike?" I said, "Hell, I don't know!" The first words out of Mike's mouth was, "Dad made me chew tobacco!!" From then on Mike loved seeing me get in trouble that way. When his mom would come home from work late he would tell her that I didn't feed him even though we had just ate. He did this to the age of fifteen and she still believed him and yelled at me. And Mike would just grin the whole time I was getting yelled at.
Mike's personality was very funny and friendly around our house. He loved to tease us and make us laugh. He used to make faces at us while we were disciplining him. When we looked at him he would change his facial expression back to normal. Everyone else in the room would be laughing and eventually we would end up laughing too. He hated making any of us angry with him and would always make up to us. He would always hug us and tell us he loved us and was sorry. When Mike and Jeanne would go to the store, he would talk to her and lean on her to guide her toward the exit door (automatic doors) and stop to let his mom walk right into the door.
Mike's favorite thing to do was play baseball. It was the only sport he was really serious about. He would always ask me to toss, pitch, or hit baseballs to him. If he didn't play too well that day, he would be waiting for me to get home from work so that I could hit him grounders. He would never give up and always practiced to get better. When he was younger he always had to share his position with another player - until he proved that he was the better player. Once, he was clearly the better player and was taken out of the ball game in the third or fourth inning three games in a row. I was getting mad about it. Then on the way home from the game I told Mike I was getting mad about him being taken out of the game and he said, "Dad, the other guys should get a chance to play too." Boy was I embarrassed, thinking if it doesn't bother him why should it bother me?
He never said anything bad about anyone. He seemed to love everybody he knew. He always talked about how good everyone was at one thing or another. Mike lived every day to the fullest. I heard someone say that if Mike had his life to live over again, he wouldn't change a thing. And I agree. Mike played his last baseball game on Saturday, June 16th. He went 3 for 4 that day with two triples. He enjoyed having the next two days off from baseball and hanging out with his friends. He got his temporary license on Tuesday, then back to baseball practice on Wednesday. Mike had a very good year in baseball that year. High school ball and summer league. The best he ever played. I was very proud of him.
On Thursday, Mike was hanging out with his friend Tommy. He came home to tell me about them driving down the road with a mattress in the back of Tommy's truck and how it blew out and they had to stop and get it. Mike was cracking up telling me and he said he felt like the Beverly Hillbillies driving down the road.
June 22, 2001
Mike was scheduled to play in a baseball tournament that weekend. As in the past, Mike and several of his teammates planned to spend the night together at a friend's house. Before leaving, Mike hung out with me for a little while, and of course, we wrestled a bit in our living room. As always, he told me that he loved me before he left. He had told his mom that he loved her earlier that day while she was at work. He told us he was going to have fun there……………and he did.
When Mike left our house that day, he appeared to be a perfectly healthy, vibrant, fun-loving, adventurous young man. Little did we realize that God was going to take him into His arms later that night.
Michael J. Pangallo, our beloved son, loving brother, and devoted friend to all that knew him, passed suddenly and peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of Friday, June 22nd.
We learned several weeks afterwards that the cause of death was a cardiac conduction disorder caused by fatty infiltration of the atrioventricular node - one of the two anatomical pacemakers contained in the human heart. Essentially, fat was growing in an area of that node that fat is not supposed to grow in. The fatty tissue prevented his internal pacemaker from sending a signal to his heart so it stopped beating. This type of condition is extremely rare and apparently there are no symptoms. There was no indication that Michael had a problem. And there was nothing that anyone could have done to save his life that evening.
Our heart goes out to the boys and the parents that were with him that evening. Teenage boys tend to feel they are invincible. Unfortunately, many of Mike's friends had to grow up too soon. God blessed Jeanne and I with two wonderful children. We had Michael for nearly sixteen years, and we thank God for the short time we had together. You were incredible, Mike. We'll miss you.
WE LOVE YOU
Dad, Mom, and Stephanie
Gravesite Details
Death as a result of a Heart Abnormality
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