Michael Wayne Crow

September 14, 1967 – October 26, 2026

Michael Wayne Crow, 59, of Collinsville, Illinois, passed away on Monday, October 26, 2026, at Gateway Regional Medical Center in Granite City, Illinois.

Born September 14, 1967, in Granite City, Illinois, to Dennis and Sharon (Byrd) Crow, Mike was known by many names. To some, he was Mikey, CrowDog, Crow Daddy, Mike, or simply “Crow.” But no matter what you called him, there was only one Mike Crow, and he was truly larger than life.

While 59 years may seem far too short, Mike managed to pack more living, laughter, adventures, and unforgettable memories into those years than most people could experience in several lifetimes. He lived life on his own terms, relentlessly and unapologetically. And if Mike was going to do something, he was going to go big or not at all.

Mike wasn’t a fancy guy, nor did he pretend to be. You could usually find him in a T-shirt, jeans, and a backwards hat, wearing that unmistakable side smile and giving that familiar wave anyone who knew him could recognize from a distance. He was the kind of guy who greeted you with a handshake or a hug, or both at the same time. Mike never met a stranger, and once you met him, he had a way of making you feel like you’d known him your entire life.

With more than 1,600 Facebook friends, Mike could tell you who every single one of them was—and that was just the recorded number. He knew many, many more. You couldn’t go anywhere with Mike without running into someone who knew him. His friendships crossed generations, communities, and every chapter of his life. He had one biological brother, but countless “brothers from other mothers,” along with just as many sisters and friends he considered family.

On his own from the age of 18—by choice or no choice is debatable—Mike was determined to make his own way in life. He learned many of life’s lessons the hard way: trying, failing, figuring things out, and trying again. He became a master at adapting, thinking on his feet, and finding a way forward. Street-smart and quick as a whip, Mike always seemed to have the perfect comeback and could make even the briefest encounter memorable. He wasn’t always one to follow the rules, and even the local cops knew Mike. The funny thing was, most of them liked him, too.

Never much interested in having someone else tell him how to live, Mike made his own path. He owned and operated Jammin Jumpers in Collinsville, a business that couldn’t have been more fitting for the man he was. Mike often said, “I deliver fun every day.” And that’s exactly what he did. Whether delivering bounce houses to a child’s birthday party or bringing laughter to a gathering of friends, Mike found genuine happiness in making other people happy. His business wasn’t just what he did for a living. It was who he was.

Mike was the life of the party, although he never needed to be the center of attention. He loved to gamble and play poker, craps, cards, and pool—you name it. If there was a game to be played, a strategy to figure out, a skill to master, and especially a wager to be made, Mike was all in. He was equally comfortable thinking several moves ahead across a chessboard as he was reading the person across a poker table. Whether he loved the competition, the big bets, the energy, or the thrill of the highs and lows more, nobody could really say. But one thing was certain: Mike loved every minute of it. And it certainly didn’t hurt that he was, without question, the luckiest guy most of us had ever known. Of course, Mike would probably say, “I’d rather be lucky than good,” but he would also remind you, “The same guys don’t get to the final table on luck.” And Mike was both.

Mike loved an adventure. If he wasn’t floating down a river, he was out exploring on his side-by-side. And if he wasn’t doing either, chances are he was planning his next concert, playing pinball, or enjoying another game with friends. He loved music, traveling to concerts, grilling, firing up his smoker, and gathering with the people he loved. Wherever Mike went, fun and laughter were rarely far behind.

Mike’s love of adventure didn’t end when summer was over. When the weather turned cold, his attention shifted from the rivers and trails to football and hockey. A passionate St. Louis Blues fan, Mike truly bled blue. He loved football just as much, and not simply because there might be a wager riding on the outcome. He genuinely loved the game, the competition, and every questionable call along the way. If Mike was going somewhere on a weekend, there had better be a television with the game on.

And watching sports was never a solitary activity for Mike. It wasn’t unusual for family and friends to be watching the same game from different places while calling and texting each other throughout. “Can you believe that play?” “How could they make that call?” “That’s incomplete!” “No, that’s a touchdown!” The debates could be as entertaining as the game itself. For Mike, sports were another reason to bring everyone together, even when they weren’t in the same room.

Mike also had a love for the eclectic and an eye for anything that caught his interest. His pole barn, home, office, and bar were less like ordinary spaces and more like an emporium of everything Mike Crow. From antique gas station memorabilia and a massive buffalo head to eight-ball figures of Jerry Garcia and The Beatles, framed concert posters from Widespread Panic and the Grateful Dead, and countless other treasures, every corner told a story. Mike loved antique shopping and finding that next unusual piece that simply had to come home with him. Nothing needed to match, follow a theme, or make sense to anyone else. If Mike liked it, that was reason enough. And in true Mike fashion, he didn’t just collect the things he loved. He proudly put them on display for everyone to enjoy.

But behind the wild adventures and larger-than-life personality was a man with an extraordinary capacity for generosity.

Mike would give someone the shirt off his back, often without anyone else ever knowing. He opened his home to people who needed a second chance, sometimes giving them a place to live rent-free while they got back on their feet. He believed in giving people an opportunity, then leaving it up to them to make something of it.

Whenever someone had a problem they couldn’t solve, Mike had a familiar response: “I know a guy for that.” And the remarkable thing was, he usually did. His countless friendships were more than acquaintances. They were a community of people he cared about and who cared about him.

But if there was one thing Mike held above everything else, it was family. And like most things in Mike’s life, his approach to family was anything but conventional.

Growing up, Mike gave his parents, Dennis and Sharon, plenty of stories to tell. As a little boy, he generally did what he was told and played well with others. But as he got older, well, Mike became Mike. Curfews were more like suggestions, being on time was negotiable, and rules were often subject to Mike’s own interpretation. He certainly tested his parents’ patience, but through it all, there was never any question how much he loved his mom and dad.

His brother Jody was his best friend growing up, although that didn’t mean Jody always had it easy. Mike gave him plenty of grief, and the two had their fair share of brotherly battles. But they were inseparable when it came to having fun. From fiercely competitive ping-pong tournaments and countless parties to attending the infamous Guns N’ Roses concert when a riot broke out, the two shared enough adventures and stories to fill a book. Losing Jody at just 24 years old was a heartbreaking chapter in Mike’s life. No one could ever replace his brother, but throughout his life, Mike surrounded himself with countless friends who became brothers and sisters in every sense but blood.

For all the mischief he caused growing up, Mike never stopped loving his mom and dad. Fiercely independent, he rarely asked them for help, but he always knew they were there. And as the years passed, he made sure he was there for them, too. Whether it was lunch with his dad, breakfast at their house, or simply stopping by between bounce house deliveries, Mike was a regular presence in their lives. Sometimes there didn’t need to be a reason to visit. He just stopped in because they were Mom and Dad.

That same devotion extended to his sister Hope, with whom he shared a close bond from childhood. From neighborhood football games, where Hope was sometimes the only girl on the field, to the many adventures they shared growing up, Mike and Hope made memories that lasted a lifetime. Their closeness continued into adulthood. With Hope living hours away in Doniphan, Missouri, Mike would often make the long drive to pick her up for family gatherings and take her home afterward. To Mike, the miles didn’t matter. Having his family together did.

Mike was equally devoted to his sister Leah (Crow) Ogle, affectionately known to him as “Squid.” And there may not have been a bigger fan of hers than Mike. He couldn’t have been prouder of the woman she had become. He admired her determination, the years of schooling and hard work, and the responsibility she carried in the working in emergency room. He was genuinely amazed by how many people relied on her knowledge and abilities, and he never missed an opportunity to brag about her accomplishments. He sometimes referred to her as “Dr. Leah,” a reflection of the admiration and pride he felt for his sister. But beyond her professional accomplishments, Mike was every bit as proud of the mother she had become and the family she was raising. To Mike, Leah wasn’t just his sister. She was someone he admired tremendously, and he wanted everyone to know it.

Mike spent most of his life loving his freedom, but that never diminished his devotion to his children or the rest of his family.

Nothing brought Mike more pride than his children, Kaeann and Mcartney. When they were little, he would proudly show their pictures to anyone willing to look, declaring, “That’s my baby. I made that!” He was never shy about letting people know how proud he was to be their dad. Some of their favorite childhood memories were the basement campouts, complete with snacks, movies, and the simple joy of spending time together.

As Mcartney grew older, their relationship became something especially meaningful. They worked together, spent countless hours together, and became not just father and son, but best friends. They were so close that even their mannerisms began to mirror one another. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether Mcartney had picked something up from Mike or Mike had picked it up from Mcartney. Each had become a reflection of the other in ways only those closest to them could fully appreciate.

Kaeann was always Mike’s “little love,” his very own “bunny rabbit.” From arts and crafts and tea parties to elaborate Valentine’s Day boxes, Mike never hesitated to enter her world and make it special. He loved to shower her with affection, sometimes playfully laying on her or sitting on her like a mother hen. Whatever captured her imagination, Mike was right there beside her, sharing in the things she loved rather than simply watching from the sidelines.

As Kaeann grew older, Mike took tremendous pride in watching her build her life, pursue her education, and work toward her future. He encouraged her to live life to the fullest, just as he did. And through everything, he never gave up on her. To Mike, she would always be his little love.

Mike also took tremendous pride in being an uncle, and his nieces and nephews held a special place in his heart. From the day they were born, he made sure he was part of their lives. Whether it was showing up with hockey goals and sticks, introducing them to his love of cards and games, or taking them on bike rides and adventures through Forest Park in St. Louis, Mike was always finding ways to make memories with them. As they grew older, his place became a favorite gathering spot for video games, bubble hockey, a little friendly gambling, and plenty of laughter. He didn’t just watch them grow up; he grew with them, sharing his interests and making sure they knew how much he loved them. And if anyone ever wondered how proud he was of his nieces and nephews, they only had to look at his phone. Their pictures were always right there on his screensaver.

Mike was loyal beyond measure, even if he wasn’t always predictable. Anyone who knew him knew he wasn’t necessarily going to be on time, and sometimes his plans could change without warning. Another name for Mike was “No Show Crow”. Mike was going to do, what Mike was going to do. But there was one thing you could always count on: if you truly needed Mike, he would find a way to be there. He never sugar-coated anything and would tell you exactly what he thought, whether you wanted to hear it or not. Yet when it mattered most, his loyalty never wavered. And as much as he would do for his friends, his devotion to his family went even further. There was simply no measuring how far Mike would go for the people he loved.

Mike believed in second chances, and third chances, and however many chances someone he loved might need. He never needed recognition for the good he did. He helped because he could, because someone needed him, and because that was simply who he was.

Mike is survived by his loving parents, Dennis and Sharon Crow; his son, Mcartney Crow of Highland; his daughter, Kaeann Crow of Highland; his sisters, Leah Ogle of Edwardsville and Hope Richardson of Doniphan, Missouri; his four nephews, Ian Richardson, Tyler Richardson, Stehl Ogle, and Sayr Ogle; and his two nieces, Renee Potesky and Raelen Ogle. He also leaves behind countless cousins, extended family members, lifelong friends, and the many brothers and sisters he gathered along the way.

He was preceded in death by his brother, Jody Crow.

Mike’s life cannot be measured simply by the number of years he lived, but by the adventures he experienced, the friendships he built, the laughter he created, and the countless lives he touched along the way.

As Mike would say, “Wishing you a great day, everyday!” ….

“Now, who wants to go to Bobby’s and get me an Ice Cream?!”

Visitation will be from 1:00 p.m. until time of service at 4:00 p.m. on Friday, October 30, 2026 at Wojstrom Funeral Home & Crematory in Granite City, IL. A private burial will be held at a later date.

In memory of Mike Crow, donations are warmly appreciated. Checks may be payable to Dennis Crow, c/o Mike’s children.

Online guestbook and obituary available at www.wojstrom.com