Michael S. Chait

Michael was my big brother. He was also my friend, my guide, and cohort, of many of my most cherished, childhood memories. We grew up together in what was the remnants of an old walnut grove — We climbed the trees, ate their fruit, found shade beneath their branches, and built a bond rooted deeply in the soil of that place, and in each other. Michael was kind, loving, supportive, and inclusive. He looked out for me from the very beginning. We swam together, rode bikes, and I tagged along with him and his friends — always feeling welcome, always feeling safe. Our childhood in the San Fernando Valley, before sidewalks and subdivisions, was joyful, idyllic and adventurous, and much of that joy came from sharing the time with him. Michael’s life as a young child and teenager was full — our parents made sure he had birthday parties, family gatherings, vacations, swimming pools, ski trips, camp, horses, sports and sailboats. And he embraced this life with joy and energy. As he grew older, his curiosity expanded beyond borders. He studied abroad in Sweden, as he always felt that was where his ancestors originated. In the summer of ‘75, I had the chance to travel to Sweden to visit him. When I arrived, I found him completely immersed in Swedish life — speaking the language with ease, enjoying the camaraderie and repartee with other Swedish and intl exchange students, navigating the culture and country as though it had always been his home. We traveled throughout Europe, together that entire summer, reveling in the culture, architecture, and art of each country. No matter where we went if there was a map or not, he knew where to go and how to get around. He was confident, composed, and always up for the next challenge — with an uncanny sense of direction - a truly remarkable travel partner. This was the most meaningful and unforgettable experience I ever shared with him. But behind his strength, I also sensed his sensitivity. There were times when I could feel a quiet sadness in him, even as a child. Moments when he felt insecure, distant or uncertain. I didn’t understand it then, but over time I came to see that Michael sometimes wrestled with feelings of not belonging, and not fitting in— wondering about his birth family, where they were, and why they hadn’t come for him. Despite these inner struggles, Michael was an extraordinary force. He was a graceful athlete — he was a junior lifeguard, excellent swimmer, tennis player, knee-boarder, skier, sailor, and a perfectionist in everything he pursued. Michael was conscientious, loyal, and deeply dependable. He had a wonderfully creative mind. He could also sit for hours designing beautiful homes, or work for hours in the garage crafting kneeboards and surfboards. When he went off to UC Berkeley to study architecture, I admired his independence. I was inspired when he graduated with a Masters in Architecture, and duly impressed when he began designing homes with his own unique vision. His aesthetic was rooted in minimalism, but evolved as he worked alongside the inimitable Frank Gehry, embracing innovative and whimsical forms. Michael had one dream above all: to design, build and live in his own home. Years later, he found a 10-acre walnut and fruit farm near Davis — with trees, reminiscent of our childhood home. When I saw photos of it, I was genuinely touched as he had carried an integral piece of our past, into his present and future. I always cheered for him from the sidelines, celebrating his achievements: When he graduated from Berkeley, when he built his dream home, when he found his birth family, and when he became a father to Evan, Danny, Alexandra and Emma, and grandfather to Elle and Esti. For in them, he achieved the bloodline and connection he had always longed for — a genuine family bond to the past and a path to the future, beautifully intertwined. Michael built a beautiful life. He surrounded himself with a circle of steadfast friends — Bob Bailey, Leland Sandler, Jeff White, & Larry Axelrod — friends who stood by him for over five decades. The kind of friendships that speak volumes about the man he was. Though his time with us was far too short, he left a lasting legacy in the lives he touched, the architecture he designed, and the family he created. I will miss him dearly. Kimberly Chait Frankel