Michael Francis Rebel Sr.
July 13, 1943 - May 15, 2026

Son, Little Brother, Mieko, Cousin, Friend, Husband, Daddy, Uncle Mike, Soldier, Medic, Blue Collar Guy, Sports Fan, Pittsburgher, Patriot, Traveler, Irishman, Animal Lover, Christian, Character.

Born on Pittsburgh’s North Side to Howard Rebel and Catherine Rebel (maiden name Cronin, from Ireland). He grew up poor in a humble house on a hill side on California Avenue. He took me over to show me the house when I was young. At that point the house was falling apart and he told me it was condemned. I could tell by the way he spoke of it and the stories he told of his early years there that it was a special place to him, despite the poverty. Even though there were raccoons living under the house, “Mummy” provided a loving home for them. She referred to him as “me Meekol” (My Michael, in her Irish brogue) and his twin brother Joe would tease him as “me meekol, me meekol”. Little sister Mary thought he was saying “Mieko” and the name stuck. From that point on he was known to the family as Mieko. Joe would always refer to my dad as “little brother” and I was a little confused by that since they were twins. Apparently, Joe was born a few minutes before my dad, and earned some bragging rights. It was endearing to me, and it showed the kind of relationship they had. My dad told stories of how Joe would beat him up, yet if any of the bigger kids in the neighborhood would lay a finger on Joe’s “little brother”, Joe would defend him to the end and beat the hell out of them. He was my dad’s protector, and my dad really idolized Joe. It was really sweet seeing them together at their 60th Birthday Celebration which I know they both enjoyed.

My dad really loved and valued his family. He had so many stories about their growing up years, and his eyes would light up when he was telling them, especially when he got together with his sister Mary, or his cousin Geraldine (Aunt Alma’s daughter). Some of them, Rachel and I never met. Uncles and aunts that had since passed away, but through the crazy and endearing stories we’d feel a connection to them. Those that were living, dad would take us to visit: Uncle Jim (who played the harmonica), Uncle Rocky (who referred to him as “cuz”), Aunt Rita (who worked at Gimbel’s, and reminded my of an old movie star), Cousin Dale (who had the cutest fluffy white dog that Rachel and I wanted to take home with us), and many others. Of course, his family was best experienced up close and personal on holidays or birthdays “up the Mount”. That was on Hallock Street in Mt. Washington where his Aunt Ann, Aunt Helen, and Uncle Joe lived. His brothers and sister would be there as well as his cousins and my cousins. Aunt Ann would prepare a meal for us all in the kitchen, while popping her head out to tell a joke with her Irish brogue. Aunt Helen was the family historian who had all the family tree mapped out in her head and would share so much family history and stories with us. Most times, my dad’s brother, our Uncle Buddy, would have everyone in stitches with one of his crazy stories. He was an expert storyteller, in the Irish tradition, and kept everyone laughing and entertained anytime we got together. We’d also often go with family to Christmas Eve services at his oldest brother Father John Rebel’s Catholic Parish.

After dad graduated he went into the Army and served two years stateside as a Medic. The medic part makes sense because my dad always had multiple first aid kits in the house growing up and always knew how to clean, treat and bandage wounds in an almost doctorly manner. He was stationed Texas at some point because he told me his unit was headed down to LBJ’s ranch for a barbecue in 1963, but it got canceled because President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Years later, his status as veteran would aid him immensely when he connected with the Butler VA, where he received so much help and supplies in his final years as a back injury and Parkinson’s limited his mobility and health more and more with each passing year. For years, the VA provided him and my mom with walkers, wheelchairs, a hydraulic lift, medical care, supplies, home healthcare workers, therapists and training that enabled my mom to give him the quality of life he so deserved up until nearly the end. He spent his last eight months at the Butler VA’s Community Living Center, where he received stellar care from a professional staff that truly cared for my dad and treated him with the utmost respect. Diana, Dan, Nurse Nadine, his doctor, and so many others made his last days as happy as possible through the slow demise of Parkinson’s and made my dad feel loved, valued and well taken care of to his final moment. Even when they delivered his body to the funeral director, they honored him with a prayer and procession that included salutes from residents and staff. My family is eternally grateful for the way my dad was treated at the VA. Many on staff there claimed he was their favorite patient, a joy to be around, and that he never complained. I’m not surprised.

I’d like to thank my mom and sister for how they took care of him this last year. They visited him, fed him, set up weekly FaceTime calls for him and I, and made him as comfortable and cared for as possible in his last days.

After the Army, my dad worked in a machine shop at Miller Printing for a few years, also working part time as an usher at Forbes Field, Three Rivers Stadium and the Civic Arena in the late 60s and into the 70s. He would tell the story of how he was right there working that Steeler game when the Immaculate Reception happened. He turned just in time to see the famous play. He assured us that the ball never hit the ground and Franco caught the ball clean. Not sure how far away my dad was from the play, or if he did actually turned to see the play live. With each passing year, and each telling of the story, my dad seemed to get closer and closer to the play, so much so that I began to think that maybe the ball bounced off my dad’s head and into Franco’s arms or my dad stepped onto the field from his usher post and simply handed the ball to Mr. Harris. I guess only my dad knows what really happened, and he’s taking that secret with him now. He did meet Mario Lemieux in an elevator at Consol Energy Center a few years ago and I have a signed sweatshirt that proves that one.

In 1966, my dad met, as he said many times and recently “the most beautiful girl in Lawrenceville”, Kathleen Mastuzsek, and married her in 1968. They moved into a tiny row house in Lawrenceville on Banner Way. I can remember him in the 70’s singing along to Charlie Rich to my mom “Hey, did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world? And if you did was she Polish?” Charlie sang “crying”, but my dad substituted “Polish” to personalize it to my mom.

In 1969, I was born. In 1970, a year and 11 days after that, Rachel was born. He’d joke that we were “nearly Irish twins”, missing the requirement by those 11 days. He would refer to each of us as “the apple of my eye”, and to ld us he loved us so many times through our lives that we’ve lost count. He would take us places, on little adventures, around Lawrenceville. Fish sandwiches at the 43rd Street Bar, hot sausages or hot dogs at Frankie’s, Virgie’s for ice cream, a whole summer of free lunches at the park when he was on strike once. Fun times, good food, and great memories created. He handled those “rite of passage” moments with us so well. He taught me how to catch and hit baseball. When it was time for dad to teach his son to drive, we took our huge “78 Dodge Charger we has gotten from his brother Father John Rebel to an empty lot on 51st street in Lawenceville where he had set up 8 or 10 old tires spaced apart so I could barely drive between them to practice my serpentine driving skills that he knew would be on the drivers test. I don’t think any of that would top the rite of passage moment that most dad’s live for: walking your daughter down the aisle at her wedding. He got to do that in 2013 when Rachel married Brian Dorben. That, and the father daughter dance, were the proudest moments of his life. After that slow dance, he and my mom went out on the dance floor and cut it loose as I’ve seen them do at so many weddings. Now, I’ve seen the Grand Canyon and the Eiffel Tower, and they’re amazing, but my mom and dad on the dance floor was really something to behold! Those two had the moves, and it was a real joy to see your parents so in sync and having such fun.

Michael Francis Rebel, Sr. was a blue collar man and a hard worker. I saw him get up at 4am and leave for his job at Equitable Gas in Sharpsburg day after day, year after year, before it was light outside, in horrible weather to dig ditches and repair gas pipes. Providing for us. He had so many great stories about what his co-workers did or said that day. I got to know all the names and meet many of them. Several came to see him and pay their last respects, and that would mean the world to him because he loved his years at the Gas Company. I remember when I got in a fight in 6th grade at St. Mary’s in Lawrenceville, I was kept after school and my dad had come in and talk to the principal. Jimmy Midouski, a classmate, who was a pretty tough kid must’ve seen my dad come into the school. Later he asked me “Was that your dad?” I said yeah it was. He said “Man your dad is so cool! Most dad’s come in their suits, but your dad was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt like a normal guy. He’s a cool dude!” I already loved my dad, but I was so proud to be his son at that moment, and really have been so many times in the ensuing years. In the 1990s, he got out of the street and became a backhoe driver at Equitable Gas. One time, in 1995, I was driving Pam to her graphic design job from Lawrenceville to downtown along Blvd of the Allies. We were running a little late, and then we hit a strange traffic jam. “I said what the hell is causing all this traffic?” Crawling along at 25 miles an hour I looked ahead and saw a big construction vehicle slowing everything down. Cars were passing it and so did we eventually. It was a backhoe. As we looked up, there was my dad in his bomber jacket and Indiana Jones hat (which, for the record I wore first, but not to be left out he had to get his own bomber jacket and Indiana Jones hat, which he really did look cool in and kinda became his “brand” in the 90s). I honked the horn and my dad smiled and waved. Once again, proud of my old man.

He loved pets, and animals in general. He was so good to our family cat, an incredible orange cat who we called simply “Cat”. We’d had Cat only a few years. We’d let him out for a bit, then call him and he’d come back in. One night, after being out way too long, Cat came dragged himself home looking like he was on Death’s doorstep, bloody with his mouth hanging open. We were crying, and dad fixed up a box with a blanket in the bottom for Cat. He waited up with him until the vet opened in the morning. Cat had a broken jaw that had to be fixed and then wired shut to heal. Dad fed him and gave him medicine through a dropper for weeks until the wiring was removed. We had Cat for maybe 13 more years and he, to this day was still our family’s best and favorite pet.

He was an Irishman. When I asked him through the years “How are you?”, he’d most times respond “Oh, fair to middlin’”. I figured he go that from his mom or one of his Irish aunts or uncles. He celebrated St. Patrick’s Day every year like it was Christmas. Those were his people. In 2000, me and him got to go on a bus tour through Ireland for 10 days. It was the trip of a lifetime for him. By chance Mellon Bank sent Rachel to Dublin for a few weeks at that exact time, so we got to walk around Dublin with her and go out to eat. What a treat for him to spend time in the land of his ancestors with two “apples of his eye”.

My dad loved movies, and that’s putting it mildly. Loved black and white movies. Loved comedies. Loved his westerns above all. John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Errol Flynn were his favorites. The Outlaw Josey Wales and The Blues Brothers were his two most quoted movies. He would tell me all the actors and the backstories and I’d soak it all in like sponge. I love the old movies and movie stars as much as he did now and I thank him for that. In later years, he’d ask my about obscure actors or movies, so I had log a lot of movie trivia in my head that I don’t think will ever leave. FYI Walter Brennan is the best supporting actor of all time. My dad would want you to know to know that.

He loved Arizona and his many visits out there, as many of the photos on his photo slideshow can attest to. A cowboy at heart, he really came to life out there. He got to see up close many of the places his westerns were filmed in. Sedona was maybe his favorite place on earth. A few times he came out with my Uncle Dave to see spring training baseball games. They were like two brothers visiting. Uncle Dave would joke it was like the movie Awakenings, that my dad would come alive out in Arizona. My dad loved our pets, and was so good with them. He enjoyed the hell out of our pool and our road trips were epic. Me and Pam would be in the front seat and dad would be in the backseat. We just got done listening to my Billy Joel playlist, which had 4-5 hours of music on it. We asked “OK, dad, what music should we listen to now?” From the back seat the man says “Billy Joel!” I told him we just listened him for four hours, but still he wanted his Billy Joel. Really glad that me, Rachel, Brian and Pam got to take him to a Billy Joel concert in Pittsburgh a few years ago. I’m so blessed to have all those visits and travels with him, sometimes for a month at a time.

Most importantly, and especially now, I see that his faith was the most important thing for him as is for all of us when that final day comes. He was raised Catholic which instilled in him an understanding of God. In the late 1970’s he developed a deeper relationship with God. He would talk about how Jesus told Nicodemus that a man must be born again of the spirit, and how St Paul said that if a man believe in his heart and confess with his mouth that Jesus Christ is lord he will be saved. My dad told me at the time that Jesus was his Lord and Savior. Like the good thief on the cross next to Jesus who asked Christ to remember him when Jesus entered his Kingdom, my dad believed that and took those words to heart. Like that thief, I knew last Friday when I heard of my dad’s passing, that he would that day be with Jesus in Paradise, according to Jesus’ own promise made as he he hung on his cross. In 2019, while the five of us attended or church in Phoenix, my dad decided that he wanted to baptized as a declaration of his faith. I checked with him through the years I can say the man never wavered on his belief. This has brought me great comfort at a time like this, and it really enabled him to be as loving, caring, joyful and forgiving, and the man of character that he was. And of course, he was a character. One of kind, really. I’ll miss his call every birthday, as some others here also will, where he’d sing Happy Birthday in his best Bing Crosby voice. Rest in peace, dad. I thank God that he gave me a dad that modeled God the Father’s unconditional love so well.