He wanted to build the Jack Daniels of cannabis and left a vision bigger than most people dared to dream

Michael S. Doherty died last week at 47 years old.

I worked for him. And whatever else I can tell you about Michael Doherty, the thing I keep coming back to is this: he believed.

Michael Doherty believed fully, completely and without reservation. He believed in Lansing. In cannabis. In second chances. In himself. He believed in a city that a lot of people had already written off and in an industry that most people still didn’t take seriously.

That kind of belief is rarer than it sounds.

Doherty grew up in Okemos and graduated from Ball State University with a degree in architecture, that’ll come back in a moment. He spent years traveling the world, living broadly, seeing things and accumulating the kind of experience that doesn’t fit neatly on a resume but shows up at the right time.

He came back to Lansing and built the DeFye Clothing label from scratch, designing and manufacturing his own line in-house using the artistic skills he’d developed from living life on his own terms. It worked. For five years, he made something out of nothing.

When cannabis legalization came to Michigan, Doherty saw something most people didn’t. He didn’t think small. He looked at the iconic and architectural John Bean Building on South Cedar Street — a 460,000-square-foot brick fortress that had sat largely dormant for years — and he saw the future. He bought the building. He started rewiring it. He believed it would become one of the largest cannabis growing operations in the world.

He stood on the John Bean roof in the middle of a global pandemic and told anyone who would listen that he was going to make Lansing a name in this industry.

He called his company Rehbel Industries, fitting. Michael was always a little bit of a rebel, someone who colored outside the lines and someone who saw possibilities where others saw obstacles. He would bet on himself when the safer play was to walk away. At its height, Rehbel had active cultivation facilities, approved retail licenses, and a workforce to be proud of. Doherty talked often about hiring people who needed second chances. That wasn’t a talking point. It was a conviction. He believed in the underdog because he had been one.

Rehbel billboards went up across Lansing. The brand had energy and identity. For a moment, it felt like something real was being built.

But the cannabis industry in its early years was unforgiving. The capital requirements were brutal. The regulatory environment was unrelenting. The market moved faster than almost anyone anticipated. A lot of people who dreamed big in those early years found themselves overwhelmed by forces larger than anyone could manage. Michael was not the only one who struggled. He just dreamed louder than most.

I watched some of it happen. It was hard to watch. Michael deserved better than the way things ended up, and I think somewhere underneath all of it, he knew that too.

What I choose to remember is the man on the roof of the John Bean Building — full of fire, full of ideas, full of a love for this city. That’s the love that never really wavered, even when everything else did. Doherty wanted to build something lasting in Lansing. He wanted to give people jobs and opportunity and a reason to believe the city could be something bigger. It came from somewhere real and genuine.

He was 47. He had a little boy, Maverick Chase, who will grow up hearing stories about his father. I hope those stories include Doherty standing on the roof.

Rest in peace, Michael.

Michael S. Doherty is survived by his son Maverick Chase; his parents Mike and Sharon; his sisters Nicole (Jason) Jarrad and Amber (Brett) Harte; and his niece and nephews Makayla, Jaxon, Bodhi, Haydn, and Carter. Services are being handled by Mortensen Funeral Home.

Chris Silva writes the Lansterdam column for City Pulse. He previously worked for Rehbel Industries. Reach him at silvachr@gmail.com.