Michael Robert Harris

Michael Robert Harris died on May 6.

He was father of Rose Palmer, grandfather of Riley, husband and friend of Pam, brother of Donald and Bruce and a friend of Sisters and Oregon.

Mick was born in Portland during World War II to George Robert and Emily May Harris. He moved with his parents, but against his will, to San Diego in 1950 and spent most of his youth trying to get back to Oregon, running away several times and finally joining the Navy and serving for three years.

While he was in the Navy, Mick's Dad passed away and he took over as the man of the family. After marrying Pam and the birth of Rose, Mick lived for a while in Julian, near San Diego, and in the Seattle area, but finally packed the family up and moved back to Oregon where he belonged, eventually settling on 50 acres a few miles to the east of Sisters.

Mick was a local fixture in Sisters for nearly 30 years, a unique combination of unreconstructed hippie and grizzled cowboy, with a touch of biker thrown in for good measure. Mick met nearly everyone in town, and nearly everyone in town came to like and respect him. A sign of those feelings is the Roast held for Mick last year at Coyote Creek where there was standing room only and the line of local citizens and relatives eager to say something about him was so long that if all had been given a chance to speak we would just be finishing up today.

Though he looked like a gruff old cowboy, Mick had a heart of gold and was always there for friends or family in time of need.

He supported his mother after his father died, staying with her through thick and thin, bringing her back with him to their beloved Oregon and sticking by her for the rest of her life until her death in 2000.

She remains in the soil of the land she loved, as Mick, Rosie, Donnie and Bruce rode into the Cascades to spread her ashes when she finally took her leave.

Mick has been a beloved father to Rose, who has lived with or near him for all her life.

He was also the one and only "PaPa" to his grandson, Riley, and their scorched earth shopping expeditions to Wal-Mart are locally legendary.

And he has been like a father to a group of developmentally challenged ladies, including Becky, Heather, and Joyce, all of whom were part of the family for 30 years or more.

He was a bit of a throwback, a man from a previous time. He hearkened back to old-fashioned values of the sort we seem to have precious few of anymore but of which he had enough for ten men. He did not go in for political correctness; he said what he thought and felt. The simple and honest qualities that were in his heart meant that he was well-liked by those who knew him and loved by those who knew him well.

The world is a poorer place with Mick no longer around, and those who love him will move on with difficulty and with a deep and abiding sense of loss that can never be fully overcome. But at the same time we recognize that we have been blessed, that we are better people and that we, in turn, treat people better for having had the incredible good fortune to walk with Mick for as long as we did.

And right about now it's likely that Mick is cruising up to the Pearly Gates on a chopper with about a fifteen foot extension, his hair flowing in the wind with a cowboy hat partly covering the bandana on his head; poor St. Peter is probably thinking whoa, this guy must have taken a wrong turn. But after a "Howdy" from Mick and a short conversation, we reckon old St. Pete is likely to start thinking something like "Damn, maybe its time to shake this place up a bit" and not long after that he'll say "Well, Mick, what are you sitting out here for - come on in! Your Mom and Dad are waiting....." Information provided by the family and friends of Mick Harris.