Wayne Michael Cisewski

Wayne Michael Cisewski, a proud Marine, Vietnam veteran, and lifelong character, passed away on April 12, 2025, stubbornly fighting – as expected – to the very end. Born on June 23, 1948, Wayne spent his life loving, helping, and occasionally, confusing everyone around him.

Wayne grew up on the South Side of Milwaukee, the son of Miles and Anna (Anita), and attended South Division High School. In his younger days, he leaned into a bad boy image – racing cars and partying with his classmates before late-night runs to Maria’s Pizza. For those who knew him well later in life, this early history might seem unbelievable. Wayne was destined to become one of the slowest drivers on the planet. The man who tore through Milwaukee’s streets as a teenager later would come to a (very) complete stop before making a right turn on green.

Stationed in Da Nang during part of the Vietnam War, Wayne was fiercely proud of his service and never stopped advocating for veterans alongside his longtime friend, Jeff Dentice, and his many other brothers in uniform. But his commitment to helping others extended far beyond the veteran community. Wayne was always the first to offer a ride to the airport, lend a hand with a project, and open his home to those in need. He would open his wallet, too, though mostly for dramatic effect, since it was usually empty.

Anyone who knew Wayne knew he was a man of unforgettable paradoxes: He loved food but, being among the dentally challenged, sometimes had a hard time eating it. He cared about style but famously decorated his house with hot pink shutters that surely puzzled his Fox Point neighbors. His sartorial choices could only be described as courageous and bold. Always keen to do things himself and in his own way, Wayne began (but did not finish) dozens of home improvement projects, none of which improved his home in any conventional sense.

Wayne could be an armchair philosopher, launching into deep – if sometimes meandering – conversations about life, family, career, the universe, and everything in between. He delivered his musings with hilarious conviction, and usually incorrect vocabulary – warning of the perils of “old timer’s disease,” among other malapropisms. His conversations shattered every rule of grammar, but his words were sincere and carried the wisdom that comes only with life experience.

Wayne was incredibly hardworking and a steadfast provider, working two jobs throughout much of his life. For the better part of 34 years, he would head to the Miller Brewing Company factory floor after 5:30 a.m., only to return home in time for a night shift bartending. He worked through countless holidays, meeting his family’s light protests with a shrug and his usual refrain that he “had to do what he had to do.” Wayne never asked for credit, but his children and grandchildren’s futures are being built on a foundation that he quietly laid – one shift and one sacrifice at a time.

Wayne always put food on the table, but at times, he probably shouldn’t have. In truth, he survived years of culinary gambles that should be considered some of the most significant medical feats of the 21st century. One of his boldest flirtations with the limits of food safety involved eating an industrial payload of uncooked shrimp he bought – on clearance – from Menards. In the same spirit, he once calmly assured his family that a frozen chicken buried in a basement freezer for more than ten years was “probably still good.” Wayne’s approach to food proved that bravery isn’t just found on the battlefield.

Unknown to most, Wayne also shaped the landscape of television history – simply by watching it. He undoubtedly played a role in keeping some of the worst television shows ever made on the air. If you’ve ever wondered, “Who on Earth watches that show?”… odds are, it was Wayne. He was a loyal viewer, more than once abandoning a perfectly good phone call or vacation to watch a rerun of one of “his programs” that no one else remembered airing in the first place.

By the time Wayne retired, his life had begun imitating art. His grumbles every now and then bore a striking resemblance to an Archie Bunker monologue. He protected a collection of leisure suits from anyone that dared to make room in his closet, leaving an inheritance that would render Mr. Furley speechless. One ridiculous episode of Mob Wives was all it took to resurrect his signature Italian-Polish Wisconsin accent.

And Fox Point was blessed with its own Fred Sanford. Like the eponymous character, Wayne treated junk as treasure and space as optional. His home reflected an unwavering belief that everything was “still good” and could be useful to someone in need – a broken fan from 1994, a half-stripped screw, a single rollerblade, or a $75 mail-order stamp collection that, in his mind, was practically a lost Picasso.

As much as Wayne believed everything had value, he believed everyone did, too. He always made time to listen. Family, friends, and random telemarketers have lost a polite, patient, trusting, and sympathetic ear. He also made time to talk. Wayne spilled personal news with the enthusiasm of a gossip columnist and the discretion of a foghorn. Life updates, medical reports, and bits of local drama were shared with pretty much anyone who couldn’t get away fast enough.

That was Wayne: open, trusting, hardworking, and always in service to others. He was kind. He was one of a kind. And he was exactly the kind this world needs more of.

He is survived by his best friend of 45 years, Antoinette (Toni), who began her journey with Wayne in 1980 when he offered her a Sicilian steak sandwich at Cataldo’s on Milwaukee’s East Side. He had no idea how life-changing – and expensive – that sandwich would turn out to be. He is also survived by the families of his two children: his daughter, Alexis, her son, Aiden, and Alexis’ longtime partner, Jake; and his son, Joseph (Joe), daughter-in-law, Joanna, and their two children, Ethan and Charlotte. Wayne also leaves behind his sister Debra, his most trusted confidante (who survives her late husband and Wayne’s close pal, Randy), along with a large and loyal group of friends and extended family.

Most importantly, Wayne leaves behind a lifetime of memories and a family and community who will miss his humor, generosity, and optimistic view of absolutely everyone.

Wayne saw the best in people, even when circumstances cautioned him not to. He never hesitated to give someone a hand-up, though this led to more than one questionable venture, like the time he paid a down-on-his-luck stranger at Potawatomi Casino several hundred dollars for a “gold” chain. Initially pitched as a win-win, the chain turned green within days, leaving a faint ring around Wayne’s neck but no dent in his conviction that the transaction was both helpful and worthwhile. He always bet on people, even if the odds weren’t great.

Wayne’s final words weren’t exactly profound, but they were fittingly hysterical: “Don’t forget my dentures.” Don’t worry, Dad, we remembered.

Semper Fi.

A committal service with military honors and inurnment will be held on Friday, May 9, 2025, at 11 a.m. CT, at the Southern Wisconsin Veterans Memorial Cemetery, 21731 Spring Street, Union Grove, WI 53182. A celebration of life will follow at 1 p.m. CT, at Pizza Man, 2597 N. Downer Avenue, Milwaukee, WI 53211.

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