On May 26th, Wenatchee lost an icon in the local theatre world. Milo Klanke passed away during a medical procedure leaving a hole in the community that could never truly be filled. His one of a kind sense of humor (and style), his creative abilities (dude was a MacGyver with a power drill) and his tireless efforts to build a thriving theatre presence in this little town will be deeply missed. The Comet reached out to some of those that knew him - they have shared their thoughts with us here. Starting with Milo’s wife, Cynthia.
In 2002, Mission Creek Players decided to create a “Haunted Theater” for Halloween to make some money.
I was training volunteers and doing the makeup. Milo showed up to volunteer and stood out like a sore thumb—the only adult in a sea of teenagers, wearing a three-piece suit. We all referred to him as “that accountant guy.” With his curly afro, we placed him in our strobe light disco room as a zombie. I glued a wig to his chest, and makeup artist Rick Vara created a latex zombie face, which we applied each night. I thought he was delightful and immediately started trying to fix him up with all my single girlfriends.
On teardown day, Milo shocked us all by showing up with his own cordless drill to take down the sets. He wasn’t an accountant after all. He was a professional cabinetmaker.
A few weeks later, Milo showed up to help with a basement cleanout at the theater. It was a dirty, dark, jumbled nightmare down there. After about four hours of hard work, Milo caught up with me and point-blank asked what I thought of him. I stammered out something awkward about how great I thought he was, and he said, “If you like me, why do you keep trying to fix me up with other people?”
The truth was, I’d stopped dating. I was through trying to be appealing to men. Then he went on—“Why do you think I’m here, doing this?” he said, indicating the dirt covering both of us, the dark piles of theatrical detritus. “I’m here because I want to be around YOU. I want to get to know YOU.”
I was shocked. Not because I was a middle-aged, poorly dressed fat dork and a man was interested in me. I was shocked because he was interested, and he was so brave and honest to get my attention and admit it.
So we set up a coffee date, and he told me about himself. He told me that he had been married for 26 years to his first wife, who had died earlier that year after suffering from MS for a good part of their marriage. As we got to know each other in the months to come, he was still grieving his wife deeply, and I think he was glad to have my support.
This is what you should know about Milo, and why I was so very lucky he found me. He wasn’t rich, but he was frugal and a wise investor. He wasn’t suave or social, but he was extremely bright, and he trained himself to be a fine public speaker. He was extremely private. He was so private that as I looked through his things after his death, I was terrified I would discover some awful secret he’d been keeping.
I did find a secret. I found every note I’d ever written to him, every greeting card, ticket stubs from shows I’d been in or directed (only the ones he liked), every receipt from our wedding in Vegas that he paid for, and a piece of that fucking latex zombie skin I had glued to his face in October of 2002.
Milo’s big secret was how deeply he loved me, and how precious he knew our life was.
~ Cynthia Brown
From Adam Eagle
I could talk to you about his amazing construction skills; about his poetry; his endless and terrible puns; how supportive he was on stage; or about how well-read he was. I could tell you how 19 years ago he built an impossible rotating two-story set for a farce and the cast was so grateful that we scraped together the little money we had to buy him the most expensive bottle of Glenfiddich I have ever held and a person-to-remain-unnamed was so excited to give it to him they went sprinting to present it but tripped and the bottle shattered on the ground in front of his feet in one of the most beautiful moments of irony I have ever seen to this day.
I could tell you about his directorial debut. I could tell you about him giving me my first suit, and all that represented.
What I will tell you is the best place to be in a theater is wherever Milo is. On dress runs the night before an opening where everything goes wrong; when people are talking in circles and everything feels like a waste of time; when the ship is being stress-tested and the seams start to buckle and the emotion overtakes you and you feel your hands begin to shake because it is all falling apart: the best place to be in the theater is wherever Milo is.
Because Milo’s best talent was finding peace.
And if you could find him in those moments, he would share it with you. A calm in the eye of a hurricane, a finger joyfully biting at the wind. I am going to miss finding those spaces, but I won’t stop looking for them.
From Althea Castro
I met Milo in 2002 as just my mom’s (Cynthia Brown) next boyfriend, not knowing that he would soon become my step-dad. I remember reading this poem that I loved as a kid, but could never remember the title or author- only one line that went “the vorpal blade went snicker-snack.”
One day I told him about it and he immediately said, “Oh, that’s the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll!” and began reciting it word for word perfectly as if it was ingrained in his head. He wrote it down for me so I never forgot the poem. That’s just the kind of Renaissance man he was.
Thank you, Milo, for being a pillar of order and whimsy in my and my mom’s life.
From Meg Sanders
Milo was part of the fabric of our theatre community here in the Valley long before I arrived, and I feel so privileged to write a few words in tribute to him. Many knew him better than I did, but the generosity and kindness he showed me will never be forgotten.
My family and I moved to Wenatchee from Olympia in 2013 and immediately began exploring the local theatre scene. As we started to settle in and audition, it became clear that we had landed in an extraordinary little corner of the world—full of like-minded, passionate, and dedicated community theatre folk. Milo stood out from the very beginning as just such a person.
It wasn’t until November of 2023 that I had the opportunity to share the stage with Milo and play opposite him in MTW’s winter production of An Inspector Calls. Until then, I had only known him as a quiet, immensely talented set designer and builder—someone who seemed to be working on every show imaginable, sometimes several at once. I was immediately impressed by the quality of his work and admired his quick smile and generous spirit. “Affable, hard-working, and mild-mannered Milo” is how I came to think of him.
To my surprise and delight, during Inspector, I met a different side of Milo—the assertive and downright feisty performer—and I loved every bit of it. We got along famously, and sharing the stage with him as he explored one of the biggest roles he had taken on to date was an absolute joy.
Milo, you will be sorely missed for so many reasons. You leave behind an incredible legacy of talent, dedication, and hard work—one that will continue to ripple through our community in innumerable positive ways.
Rest in peace, friend.
From Matthew Pippin
I think when it comes to the passing of people involved in the arts, it’s like mourning the passing of two lives. The person themselves and their work.
Not only was Milo a lovely, funny, talented, patient man; he created some sets that became a character of their own. The details on sets like Wait Until Dark, Men Sex and War, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and so many others were just as important as any actor that you’d see on the boards.
Anyone who had the privilege to play on his creations was lucky, indeed.
To say that Milo Klanke will be missed is an understatement. The person and the designer were a huge part of Wenatchee’s theatre, and it’s a space that won’t be filled anytime soon.
From Lauren Loebsack
Fred Rogers said “look for the helpers.” That was Milo. So when I wanted to be of use but wasn’t sure what to do during set strike or any kind of workday, I’d look for Milo because he was the guy doing the hardest, most thankless stuff even after everyone else had called it quits. Without ever telling me a word about it, he mentored me in the importance of being willing to do the work, because it’s the crucial bridge between an idea and reality. Milo was rarely the star or the headline. He was more essential than that. He was the doer. He was the helper, and that’s where magic is made.
From Vicki Michael
I had the great fortune to meet Milo some 13 years ago through his wife Cynthia Brown and Music Theatre of Wenatchee. His talents were multifaceted - he built our sets during the day, then he would act on them in the evenings. I can’t believe that he won’t be in the shop listening to NPR while building something ever again.
During the heat of the battle usually while building a set I would ask Milo, “Can you build this or that?” I’d get a resounding and immediate “No!” The next day it would be there exactly like I wanted. He always had a clever story or a political rant ready for me when we worked together.
I respected his values and how he would fiercely protect his family. He was a craftsman, he was funny, he was an actor, he was intelligent and the shop at MTW will not be the same without him. I will miss him forever.
A celebration of life will be held 4 pm Sunday June 8th at the Riverside Playhouse. Attendees are invited to take home a book from his collection. All will be welcome to share their memories of Milo, or of mighty Ron. In lieu of flowers, please go see a good play, or donate to the Music Theatre of Wenatchee Building Fund via mtow.org or at PO Box 3042, Wenatchee WA 98807