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Ohio Northern University Law Review 
Volume 42 Issue 3 Article 9 
Earning His Second Pair of Wings: The Inspiring Life of MikeLewis 
Joanne C. Brant 
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Brant, Joanne C. () "Earning His Second Pair of Wings: The Inspiring Life of MikeLewis," Ohio Northern 
University Law Review: Vol. 42: Iss. 3, Article 9. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.onu.edu/onu_law_review/vol42/iss3/9 
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873 
Earning His Second Pair of Wings: The Inspiring Life of Mike 
Lewis 
JOANNE C. BRANT* 
Mike Lewis came to ONU Law in 2006.  We had not met before his 
arrival.  That year the Supreme Court decided a major enemy combatant 
case, Hamdan v. Rumsfeld.  The court ruled that the statute creating military 
commissions to try Gitmo detainees was fatally flawed.  At the opening 
University faculty meeting, Mike sat beside me, jiggling a restless foot, and 
reading a printout of that long and complex opinion.  It was instant catnip.  I 
began whispering comments.  He scribbled back questions and replies in the 
margins.  Neither of us left that opening University meeting any wiser as to 
University business, but we kept talking about that decision for days.  It 
was, in many ways, a microcosm of our friendship.  We were fascinated by 
many of the same issues.  The fact that we saw those issues very differently 
was no barrier to our long and happy conversations.  Mike had no need—
then or ever—to be obnoxious in debate.  He was proudly conservative, and 
fiercely competitive, but what he really loved was an intellectual challenge.  
He was always scrupulously fair, and willing to credit another’s good point.  
He adored the give and take of courteous, respectful, well-reasoned 
debate—this was his favorite pastime—in the academy and in the world, 
and he was transparently happy when engaged in a verbal fencing match 
with a capable adversary. 
Mike sought out many kinds of honorable duels in his too-short life.  He 
pursued Top Gun status with the same intensity and determination that he 
would later bring to the debate arena.  His squadron handle was LULU, but 
he never traded on the glamour of that history, just as he never invoked his 
Harvard law degree.  Instead, he would tell you that his squadron mates 
loved to make him “unspool,” and lose his famous self-control.  He was 
deeply ambivalent about offering “watch Topgun with a Topgun” in the law 
school’s public interest auction, and had to be coaxed and persuaded that 
this would be a huge hit, was not unseemly, and would be one of the 
auction’s most profitable items.  As, of course, it was. 
In the classroom, Mike’s steady, even-keeled demeanor, and ability to 
clearly distill complex issues made him beloved by students, and earned 
him the law schools’ Outstanding Classroom Teacher Award.  Colleagues 
who attended his classes, as he rose through the ranks to be tenured, learned 
 
* Professor of Law, Ohio Northern University Pettit College of Law. 
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Brant: Earning His Second Pair of Wings: The Inspiring Life of MikeLewis
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874 OHIO NORTHERN UNIVERSITY LAW REVIEW [Vol. 42 
 
that he met all praise with a simple question: “How can I make it better?”  
His students quickly learned how kind he was, and how much he loved 
sports, especially his Liverpool soccer team, and those tragic Washington 
Redskins that he never abandoned, no matter how sorely they disappointed 
him.  Others bonded over cartoons, or video games, or hockey.  He was a 
good friend to his students, ready to dish sports, attend a wedding, deliver a 
heartfelt eulogy, and be an awesome mentor.  And he could do call and 
response for every damn line of The Princess Bride. 
As a colleague, Mike was simply the gold standard.  Always helpful, 
cheerful, ready to pitch in wherever needed, stay late, and show up as 
needed, wearing ONU orange and black.  He generously read and 
commented on colleague’s articles in progress.  He took on the toughest, 
thankless tasks of law school self-governance: strategic planning, self-study 
drafting, and never needed special credit or acknowledgment.  Everything 
he did as a law professor—from teaching, to scholarship, to debates across 
the country, to judging moot court, advising students—he did eagerly and 
superbly well.  He loved this job, and he brought his A game to every task, 
to every challenge. 
I doubt anyone but his family knew all of Mike’s talents, because he 
kept most of them dark.  It was not until he came bouncing down the 
corridor, excited about a law student who was a nationally ranked bridge 
player that we learned he was one as well.  He had a near eidetic memory, 
and was a crazy fast study.  But he was just as eager to hear about books he 
hadn’t read, to listen to music he didn’t know, or to be a guinea pig for a 
new recipe. 
It was only after Mike showed up at my son’s track meets, and tutored 
Geoff’s running style, that we learned about the marathons he had run.  
Once again, self-deprecation was the hallmark of the narrative.  Mike ran 
the Boston Marathon with a blind man and—he recounted this with an 
abashed countenance—he repeatedly lied to the blind guy about how close 
they were to the finish line in order to keep him going.  He finished that 
story saying: “I know if I don’t get to heaven, it’ll be for that.” 
All those who knew Mike saw his devotion to his family.  His daughter 
Sarah was a baby in a carrier when he arrived at ONU.  We all saw her 
grow up, shared children’s books (he was especially delighted to borrow 
children’s versions of the Iliad and the Odyssey) and we saw Mike’s deep 
involvement in Sarah’s milestones and achievements.  When she was three, 
he couldn’t wait to show off her use—and correct pronunciation of—the 
word metamorphosis in a sentence.  When she took up soccer, he coached 
her team.  When she turned to gymnastics, he was always there, knew 
exactly what moves she was working on, and was completely invested in 
her happiness.  He was determined to be active and have fun with her—to 
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2016] EARNING HIS SECOND PAIR OF WINGS 875 
 
chase her around as he put it—so that she wouldn’t feel that having an older 
dad meant he was no fun.  Sarah knows better than any of us how much fun 
he was—from that crazy Australian shark voice to the wrestling tips—and 
how much he loved her—more than life itself—and she will carry that 
knowledge in her heart forever. 
As for Danya, everyone who saw them knew that they were made for 
each other.  Danya was Mike’s intellectual equal, his devoted partner in 
parenting and in life.  She was generous enough to feed Mike’s peripatetic 
soul—by enabling him to travel to many law schools every year for the 
debates he loved and that made his name.  She followed him to Japan during 
his military service and married him there, and they saw each other through 
the challenges of both law school and medical school.  They were partners 
in every sense of the word, and his unswerving loyalty to her was one of his 
very best qualities. 
Before he became ill, Mike had shared with some of us his desire to be 
Dean.  He felt he was too junior, too recently tenured to put his name 
forward, but he hoped to do so down the road.  I think many of us would 
have happily crowned him.  He inspired trust and confidence in all who 
worked with him.  He would have been a wonderful leader.  But Mike’s 
bottom line was excellence—and he brought that quality wherever he was, 
to any setting. 
So, in the first of what I am sure will be many one-sided conversations: 
Mr. Mike, I trust that St. Peter has already made clear that you lying to that 
blind guy is not a problem.  Also, I have to tell you that your abrupt 
departure has backed me into this coping strategy that I’m pretty sure is 
lousy theology and as lame a piece of Pollyanna-ness as you’ve ever seen 
from me.  But maybe, one last time, I can amuse you.  I’m imagining a 
heavenly debate squad—you see, I know you’re laughing already.  But 
perhaps C.S. Lewis had it right, and the angels really do have a persuasion 
squad, pulling each of us toward our better selves.  At any rate, it appears 
that this debate squad couldn’t get by without you.  So, I’m envisioning a 
room full of such folks, sitting and chatting amongst themselves.  And a 
chair, empty, as you approach.  Perhaps the seat beside you holds a 
squadron buddy—one of the friends you lost during your service.  Perhaps 
it’s no one you know, yet.  I hope they look up as you approach, and smile, 
and are so keen to kibitz and start making you feel at home that you miss at 
least some of the opening remarks from the Welcome Committee. 
It was a privilege to be your friend, your colleague, your student.  Go 
with God, buddy.  But—break a rule once or twice.  Because now, you can. 
3
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