Milo Casagrande ~ MTTA Hall of Fame 2001
It is with a profound sense of loss and deepest sympathy that MTTA (Montana Tow Truck Association) acknowledges the passing of founder and staunch supporter Milo Casagrande of Milo's Towing & Repair in Butte. Milo died on Feb. 20, 2002, at his home following a courageous battle with cancer.
A native of Butte America, Milo was born on June 5, 1931, the son of Camillo and Evelyn M. (Berryman) Casagrande. After graduating from Butte High School, Milo proudly served his country during his stint in the Army.
Milo provided reliable and honest service to all. There was never a job that Milo wouldn't tackle and he never walked away until everything was wrapped up. His motto was "Never turn a job down, day or night, summer or winter." Milo was a perfectionist, a hard worker, and a fine businessman. He was at the helm when the Montana Tow Truck Association was founded and he served as president for over twenty years. He always considered the little guy, not just the big towers. His vision is very evident in MTTA and the Montana towing industry yet today. He had a lot of respect for everyone he met, and he quickly earned theirs.
Milo played a huge role in legislation. He had the connections, the gift of gab, and that ability to make things happen. Without him, Montana towers wouldn't be as far along as they are today. He was also a member of the Towing & Recovery Association of America (TRAA).
A pioneer in towing and recovery in the Northwest, Milo's legendary business remained in operation in Butte, Montana, under the management of Steve and Tom McGree until 2009. Milo left a lasting impression on towers in Montana and the industry at large. His lifetime passion was towing and recovery. He was and still is THE MAN.
Milo, the Man and the Machine
by Barbara Quanbeck
A massive living machine of a man,
Milo stood tall, proud, decisive,
the ultimate doer of good, not known
for spending much time in neutral.
Arms like pistons, powerful and strong
to hold the world in easy clasp,
hands with a grip that could bend iron
or stroke a stranger's heart.
Legs like a boom that hoisted
him to his feet, groaning under the load,
knees grinding gears now and then
without cortisone lubrication.
Torso, the framework that housed
his engine, fueled by barley pop,
with oversized valves that gave him
that huge Italian heart of all hearts.
Voice, booming, link and cable to
horsepower under the hood,
or soft, the purr of a motor
running sure and smooth.
Now the final thunder of the Jake,
the tires of his last breath
squealing to a halt on the
asphalt of his life,
turning 'round the last bend,
shutting down, going home.