When attorney Michael Kramer died on March 28, many community leaders across Michigan mourned our loss. That including retired Michigan Gov. Jim Blanchard, one of Michael’s dear friends, who delivered a eulogy at Michael’s funeral, telling lots of funny stories from Michael’s long life, describing his strong commitment to justice—and concluding with: “Michael Kramer—generous and kind, fun and hilarious, a loyal citizen of America, a memorable person, a wonderful person—my friend and yours.”
So, now, what can I say about this lifelong friend?
Well—without Michael Kramer my entire family would not exist.
It’s true! Michael was my late husband’s best friend since he and Burton were five years old. When I was a senior at the University of Michigan, Michael was dating my roommate. They introduced me to Burton.
Losing Michael feels like losing another piece of the man to whom I was married for 56 years.
Michael Kramer made us laugh. What a supreme gift that is. With his wisecracks and ability to laugh at himself, he brought joy not to just Burton and me, but to a legion of friends. Several hundred of them attended his funeral at Ira Kaufman last week.
Michael’s son David, who spoke beautifully, inherited his dad’s sense of humor. The Kramers are lifelong, loyal Democrats. Wife Zina worked in the Blanchard administration for Doug Ross at the Dept. of Commerce. She raised funds for many Democrats over many years. (For more about Zina, read “Sam Kramer’s Bar Mitzvah is a Victory for Holocaust Survivor Zina Kramer and Family”)
Approaching the microphone at the funeral service, David Kramer observed the full house of mourners. He quipped, “I’d say something about the size of the crowd today, but we’re not a Trump family.”
David’s sister Lisa inherited her dad’s sense of humor, too. She conceived the grandkids’ nicknames: Samarama, Maxerbaxer, Maddie Baddie and Syder Bidder.
Michael faced serious complications with his eyesight over the years. They didn’t stop him. He developed a successful legal career and also served on and chaired the board of Oakland University among other community involvements.
But friends loved Michael most for his sense of humor and wisecracks. When especially happy with a meal, Michael would tell his server, “You’re in the will.”
This was sometimes followed up with, “There’s nothing in the estate.”
Michael’s driving ability was dubious, perhaps due to his lifelong vision problems. Bump shop owners loved him. At Starbucks recently, Michael ran into Autometrics owner, Larry Smith, who said, “I’m glad to know you’re alright. We haven’t seen you in six months.” (Likely because in recent years Zina drove when possible.)
Michael and pals adored playing golf together. BFFs Curt Slotkin and Barry Shapiro both said Michael “either hit the ball a mile or whiffed it.” Upon whiffing a shot, Michael would claim, “I’ve never done that before.” Once he hit the ball so hard it ricocheted back at him. Burton video’d Michael’s golf swing; they both laughed about it.
Burton, a good golfer, loved playing with Michael, David and Curt at Franklin Hills CC, Burton had plaques made with their names. Burton nailed the plaques to trees along the seventh hole in honor of his foursome, whose balls landed there so often. (Nevertheless, both Burton and Michael served as president of FHCC.)
Some years back, David Goldburg went fly-fishing with Michael. Casting his rod, Michael snagged the boat captain’s hat. The captain dislodged the fly and returned it to Michael who promptly caught the captain’s hat again.
David recalls the captain’s reaction. The captain said to Michael, “If you f— the way you fish, I don’t know how you ever had a family.”
Kramers celebrated big birthdays at the Cheeca Lodge in Isla Morada, FL. Getaways included a night at a dive bar featuring the band Big Dick and the Extenders. Dick encouraged revelers to stand up and tell brief jokes, preferably off-color. I’m a decent joke teller, but my best jokes require set up. Burton insisted I take the mike. Some 30 seconds in, Big Dick shooed me off the stage. I returned to our table, mortified.
That same night, the Shapiros recalled, our group was ready to leave. Kramer cousin Kathy Goldberg was missing. She was found in the ladies’ room, trying to convince some strippers to give up their lascivious ways. I’d guess her suggestions were about as well received as my joke.
As teens, Michael and Burton cruised Woodward Avenue from Royal Oak’s Totem Pole to Bloomfield Hills’ Ted’s Drive-In, picking up girls. Their aliases: Burt Fay and Mike Kellogg.
Fay and Kellogg mischief goes way back. Once Burton dared Michael to back up his parents’ car. Michael promptly took out part of the front porch.
Burton, on the other hand, was a good driver. His sister Anita recalls that as a young teen Burton figured out how to hotwire the family car. He and Michael would cruise to Robin Hood’s restaurant. Anita says, “Sometimes Burt drove in reverse so the added miles didn’t show on the odometer.”
Michael was known for his wit, his legal prowess, his love of friends and family, his fashion. He wore colorful matching cashmere sweaters and socks. When friends commented on his style, he said, “You only live once, baby.”
Beloved Rabbi Ammi Hirsch says, “Laughter is courage. It takes courage to laugh at yourself. To laugh is to affirm life. Laughter is a sign of resilience. It means we’re fighting back.”
Michael kept us laughing to the end. Supported by his loving and ever patient wife Zina, Michael fought back against cancer as hard as he could, as long as he could.
Godsigns readers know how blown away I am by the Universe’s ability to astonish us. Burton, who liked to arrive at a party early and leave early, predeceased his best pal by just under two years. While on earth, the twosome spoke every day. Zina says the day before Michael died, he kept talking about my husband, his forever best friend Burt.
That day, Zina says, at Royal Oak, MI’s Corewell Hospital, Michael was visited by a therapy dog. Burton adored big dogs, especially Labrador Retrievers. Our first Labs were Duke and Alfie (in honor of our sons’, David’s and Andy’s, initials). Labs reflected Burton’s easy-going temperament, though my husband had a tough edge when needed.
The therapy dog that visited Michael was mostly Labrador retriever, part Pit Bull. Therapy dogs at Corewell come with their own calling cards. The name of the therapy dog that visited Michael just hours before he died: Burt.