Memories of Danny

I first met Danny 35 years ago.  I remember climbing the steps to the Wallace Building at Eastern and thinking that it would never be home to me the way Ball State had been.  I could not have been more wrong.  That August of 1974 I entered graduate school as a teaching assistant in the English Department. There were eleven TA’s officially and then there was Libby, and Larry, Lavinia Bristow, (Danny always said her name sounded like the heroine of a romance novel,and asked her permission to use it if he ever wrote one) the dept. secretary,  Charlie Sweet, Jack Culross, his wife Terri, Dan White,  Edith Williams and so many others who became such a part of my life.

We partied…Libby and I lip-synched to “Steam Heat” and  “I’m So Excited” by the Pointer Sisters. (I was in a store the other day and my eyes welled up with tears when the latter song was played on the music loop).  Darrell and I played George and Martha at one party, and Darrell always had to do his famous “Prologue to Paradise Lost”  as Gomer Pyle.  We all cheerfully recited our little tag “Aaron and Mary went to the library at Vandy” in the deeply Southern accent of our  Milton professor.

The Lit. Crit. class was special.  I can remember Jack Culross leaning against the blackboard in sheer amazement at us.  I strongly suspect that was the same night that Danny said that he had a large  reunion picture of Chang and Eng and their families and “there they sat, on the back row side by side”, at which we all laughed and said, “Well, where else would they be?”  and never let him forget what he had said.

During those days in Grad School Danny and I  went Country Dancing at Berea, and picked daffodils along the roadside.  We spent many hours at my folk’s house on West Main St. in Richmond.  I came to know Danny’s mother well, and we shared Christmas cards and notes until her death. Danny came to my mother’s funeral and my father’s, and when I heard that Libby’s mother, my dear friend from Model Lab School, had died, he was the first person I called, because I didn’t know how to get in touch with Libby.

Danny and Darrell came to my wedding to Harold at the Chapel of Meditation at EKU in 1976, and to our daughter’s wedding in Muncie in 1999.  Danny and I  emailed and/or talked on the phone when our lives separated by my move west.  But whenever I was back in the area he would come and see me whenever he could in Richmond, and we would get together in Cincinnati when I came to visit my Aunt Helene.  We kept up with each others careers and I was so honored to have him remember me in the Introduction  to “Wingless Flights”.   He called me Dear Heart and our conversations too always ended with “I love you”.

I never imagined my life without Danny  in it.  The memories make it bearable, but I still miss not being able to email or call him and talk to him, to hear his voice saying my name and as usual, his wanting to know all about me, while I had to drag anything about him out of him.

So, Dear Heart, sleep well.  You are missed and loved.

Chris                                                P.S.  Libby, if you read this I’m at cmsmith@butler.edu

All that we are not stares back at what we are.  WH Auden

I was jolted overboard.  The buoyant wordrobe of Auden provided some Mae West-esque form of rescue.  Simply speaking, I am very grateful to have met Dr. Miller.  On behalf of the NKU Horticulture Department, we were extremely  appreciative of his input, questions and just plain friendliness.  Dr. Miller exuded enamoration as he actively  served the campus community and beyond.  I plan to further learn more from his writings and cherish what is yet to be…   John  NKU Hort. Dept. since 12/97

Doctor Miller was one of the nicest, most caring men that I have evermet.  I remember that I had Doctor Miller’s “American Short Story” class right before I went to take a class in England with what was then known as CCSB  –  the center for in Great Britain.  In fact, I remember telling Doctor Miller that I would probably wind up missing the last class or two of his that semester, but Doctor Miller was just a joy to have as a professor  –  that is why I said what I said about him in the Alumni Magazine  –  Doctor Miller was more interested in just teaching me while I was in class.  Doctor Miller’s class was the most interesting literature class that I took as an English Literature major, just because of Doctor Miller’s enthusiasm in presenting the subject matter and the fact that every class, no matter what, Doctor Miller showed up and was excited to be talking about what we had to learn in class that day.

     What was also so amazing was when I found out that Doctor Miller was a cousin of mine, I nearly fell over when I found out.  I remember finding out in either July or August of 2003, at a family reunion from a mutual cousin of Doctor Miller and myself  –  Sharon Hatfield  –  who had also written a book with Doctor Miller, just that year.  I remember that my response was something to the effect of “Get out of town!!  Doctor Miller is just one of the sweetest, kindest men in that department and he’s a great educator!!”

    I remember looking Doctor Miller up a few months later, when I was on campus to look some stuff up for a class that I was taking in Chase Law Library to ask Doctor Miller if he was related to a person named Ely Davis. When I asked Doctor Miller if he was related to a guy named Ely Davis, Doctor Miller said that he was related to Ely Davis and that Ely Davis was Doctor Miller’s uncle.  I was just amazed that I was even related to such a kind and caring educator, who made me want to go on with my college education, even though there were times where I got frustrated and I wanted to give up going to college.

     I wish that I could thank Doctor Miller for being the inspiration that I have to want to go on and get my Master’s Degree in English Writing.  I just wish now that I had gotten that letter of recommendation from Doctor Miller now, but like an old acquaintance of mine said to me at the memorial service reception:  “Just say that you’re a friend of Doctor Miller and you’ll be fine.”

    God speed and good night, Doctor Miller.  I hope that you know what a great inspiration that you were to all of us to become better people, Doctor Miller!

I first met Danny when I became an English major during my second year at NKU. He was so friendly and welcoming, and he greeted me like a long lost friend every time I saw him. His warm manner and attitude seemed to radiate throughout the entire department and inspire everyone. When I returned to NKU to teach, he remained an inspiration. Whenever you needed anything, Danny was always there and always smiling. To me, he was a model educator and human being. I keep thinking of a line from a recent Bruce Springsteen song about a friend passing away: “Sometimes something comes along and you know it’s for sure the only one.” Danny was a true original, and my thoughts are with all his friends and family in this difficult time.

I met Danny eight and a half years ago at my orientation for NKU. At the time, I was enrolled as an English major, but I intended to change my major to Theater. As I worked with Danny to plan my schedule for the fall semester, I was so impressed with his genuine concern for me, a complete stranger, that I decided to remain an English major.

I had the distinct privilege of taking Danny’s Bible as Literature course two years later, and it was one of the most amazing courses I have ever taken. Danny’s course gave me confidence in my writing, in my work as an academic, and offered me a renewed love of literature and of the Bible as a work of literature.

Danny was not only an amazing teacher–I cannot begin to articulate how much I learned from him–but he was a great inspiration to me both as a teacher and as a human being. When I decided to apply to graduate programs, Danny was one of my greatest cheerleaders. When I decided to dedicate my life to teaching, Danny was one of my role models–I have borrowed so much of my classroom identity from him. I have rarely met a more dedicated teacher, and I can only hope to be half the teacher he was.

I returned to NKU in 2006, having completed my MA in English, and I was hired as a part-time instructor in the English department. When I first saw Danny at the part-time instructor orientation, I was met with his always glowing smile and a hug. I felt I had come home. Danny was instrumental in that feeling, though many other people in the department (too many to possibly list here) contributed to that sense, as well–he ran the Lit and Lang department like a family. When I think of family, then, I always think of the department and especially of Danny.

During the two years I taught at NKU, I saw Danny nearly every day I was on campus. He always had time to talk to me, and he always showed a genuine interest in my life. I will forever remember that about Danny–no matter how busy his schedule, he always had time for anyone who wanted or needed to talk to him.

When I decided to complete my education, Danny once again threw his support behind me. I stopped by his office to say good-bye a couple of weeks before leaving town, and Danny quit working to talk to me and my husband for nearly an hour. I don’t recall exactly what we were discussing, but we were laughing a lot. That is the memory I will always carry with me of Danny–his laughter. He was one of the most joyful people I have ever known. I will forever remember his laugh, his smile.

Laura (Korfhagen) Detmering

Transferring into NKU from a small, private college, I was less than
eager to join a public university with a student body fifteen times
larger than what I’d become accustomed to. My first advising
appointment with Danny changed that: his enthusiasm and vivacity
assured me that I wouldn’t be merely another body in the department.
Indeed, over the following four years, I came to know Danny as a
passionate educator and an approachable chairperson. I consider myself
lucky to have had Dr. Miller as my chairperson, and I know that his
passion for education and for life will live on in the students he
touched.

-Kyllikki Brock Persson (’08)

A recent NKU grad, and beloved former student of mine, emailed me today from his Peace Corps post in N.W. Africa.  Having learned of Danny’s death, he shared his own story of how Danny had personally, and doggedly, helped him  clear all barriers to graduation.  He expressed, as well, great concern for the English Department’s well being.  As it turns out, my reply to him, which was meant to comfort and reassure a former student, did as much for this professor.  For until I wrote the following words, I had not been able to put my grief into words.  Nor the hope that is Danny’s lasting legacy for my colleagues and students both in the English Department and throughout NKU .  Here, then, are excerpts from my note to “T”:

I was planning–but not looking forward –to let you know of Danny’s sudden death.  Weird how news travels so far, so quickly.  I guess, then, that … you … have heard, as well, of Barack Obama’s  … (win).

That miraculous event had the entire department dancing through the hallways for, as it turned out, all of one day.  In fact, the last time I spoke with Danny was November 5th, when I went to him offering a congratulatory hug on the US’s victory.  When I was told of Danny’s stroke the next morning, I cried “But we were having such a good week”!

We’re all in a daze, here.  Our shock was mitigated, somewhat, on Saturday, 11/16, when NKU hosted a beautiful memorial service in Danny’s honor.  Many shared stories, like yours, of Danny’s genuine compassion and selfless willingness to serve others.  Some, like Bob Wallace, Andy Miller, and a current student shared poems they had written for Danny.  Others shared their favorite “Dannyisms,” such as this keeper: ‘I’m not sure if this is right, or true or even makes sense, but I’m just going to say it….’

He was LOVE, simply and thoroughly.  He leaves an nonrefillable void in the heart of the department.

The department will be fine, nevertheless.  Danny’s eight-year tenure as department chair was to end with the school year.  Now, our unanimous pick, Jonathan Cullick, will begin his tenure in January.  Jonathan is amazingly smart, capable, and thorough and will lead the department well.  Still, I’m so saddened that Danny didn’t get the chance to enjoy the relative leisure of a post-administrative life.

Be Well, My Friend.

P.S.  A memorial blog has been set up.  You should share there the memory of Danny you shared with me.  http://memoriesofdanny.english-nku.org/memories/

Tiffany N. Hinton, Ph.D.
Assistant Professor
Department of English

Words cannot express this weekend and the experience that my family and I had. Danny was my Uncle. Living in the Appalachian mountains of North Carolina I did not get to see Danny as often as I should have. Every time we did get to see him, however, is a cherished memory. Uncle Danny would usually come home to Ashe county for Christmas at Mother’s and maybe a few other times during the year. A lot of our conversing would be about our genealogy but then would always wind up with hilarious stories of my Dad and Uncle Jim (the twins). My family and I have come to find out that Danny was a very modest person. When he was home he never mentioned the fondness that people had for him at NKU and in the community. It was an amazing and very pride-filled day Saturday at the memorial service to see the love that everyone had for Danny. He was a very loving man and that love was returned very much by his friends, co-workers, and by us his family. There was a moment at the memorial service while we were all teary eyed as my 4 year-old cousin Laney took her tissue to wipe the tears from my eyes she with her “older than her age” intellect began to cry with full understanding why she was crying. But her words after the ceremony will go with me forever: While holding one of the many pamphlets we had with a picture of our Uncle Danny, with his flailing hands, she said “Even though Uncle Danny is passed away we can still see him (holding open the book), see.”

You will be greatly missed. We Love you!

It is truly amazing and inspirational to read through these posts and see the many lives touched by Danny, my beloved cousin who certainly touched my life and inspired me in profound ways. It is no understatment to say that I would not be who I am today without Danny Miller, and evidently many, many others can say that too, which makes me very, very proud.  Someone asked me at the memorial service yesterday why I became interested in Russian history, which I currently teach, and the answer is that when I was in High School I read Dostoevsky’s Crime & Punishment, which I loved.  Guess who gave me that book? Danny of course. He was my role model and my inspiration, he truly made me feel that I could do anything I set my mind to, and obviously he made many others feel the same way.

I rather selfishlessly never imagined a world without Danny, without his hugs and his laugh and his great stories in a booming voice. Now we have such a world, and it is much less beautiful. Yet the world does go on, and somehow we must go on without him.  For me and the rest of the family seeing the tremendous number of people at yesterday’s memorial service was truly remarkable. Danny was so darn humble none of us really knew just how much he was loved nor how much he had made an impact on the NKU community. Thank you to all those involved for a truly beautiful ceremony–Danny would have definitely loved it, and indeed he loved everything about NKU (he spoke to me about his pride and love for the school constantly).  Thank you all for keeping his wonderful spirit and memory alive.  Jeff Jones (UNC-Greensboro, History Dept.)

Danny and I had a unique friendship.  When I served as President of NKU, I found him to be an outstanding faculty colleague that made him stand out among his peers.  When I returned fulltime to the classroom,  we encountered each other many times.  His professionalism, his humanity, his sense of humor, and his rememberance of his roots deepen our relationship.  We never left each other wihtout a smile on our faces.  He always impressed me as someone who truly cared about the University and his colleagues.  I shall miss him deeply and dearly.  The University will not ever be the same without him.

God b less,  Leon E. Boothe

One of the photos in the montage at Saturday’s celebration showed Danny with his map of the Appalachian region, its yellow highlighting ranging from New York to northern Georgia and Alabama.  When I noted that my paternal grandparents hailed from a part of Pennsylvania within that “official” region, Danny was delighted that I could claim Appalachian heritage.  Danny was always doing things like that, drawing you closer to him and, more importantly, pointing out that perhaps there’s more to “you” than you might suspect.

Dave Arnold, Broomall, PA (ex-WNKU)

The last time I saw Danny was at my son’s graduation.  Jake, my son, rode the elevator with him.  He was not an English major and had never had Danny for a class but by the time they got off the elevator it was like they had known each other for years.  Jake came up to me with Danny in tow, ( I was in a wheelchair after an accident) and said, “hey, do you know this guy?”  What a wonderful surprise.  I simply cannot believe that those serendipitous types of meetings with him will never occur again.  What I remember most were the Halloween parties but I will have to take the 5th on the rest of that. Danny was the founding inspiration for our writer’s group, which was successful enough to boast a real writer and two (count ‘em) editors.  I went to his memorial today and wept and laughed with a packed auditorium.  I cannot add anything to what those accomplished writers have done as tribute, my words are more like mud than the music they produced, so I will only say, the world is not as bright a place without him.  But what I think sums up Danny’s life, what is so obvious from the outpouring of love from him and from those who remain, was said a couple of thousand years ago:  “What you leave behind is not what is carved in stone monuments but what is woven into the lives of others.” Pericles.

Carol Ann Curren fka Carol Lubbers

One of the things I’ll remember most — and miss most — about Danny is his voice. It was always full of warmth and enthusiasm, and it had a melodic quality with (for me) familiar Appalachian strains that made it especially comforting.

Angie Lipsitz

I was 16 when I met Danny in 1991. He was the English instructor for the NKU branch of Upward Bound.

I think a lot of the UB kids were like I was…just poor kids from “the holler” or even the inner city–we saw our parents struggle every day without good jobs, real careers, or a lot of money, mainly because of a lack of higher education. Somewhere we were lucky enough to get found by UB and our parents, while anxious to see us leave home, were hopeful for us. I remember my stepdad telling me— “They’re sending you up there to get a free education—don’t you mess it up now!” My mother was worried about what kind of people I’d meet, she was always on the lookout for “bad influences”–she wanted to see me finish school, something she hadn’t done, for reasons I’m sure most could guess. They both were reassured the first weekend I came back home and told them how excited I was about the program, but especially our English class, and its instructor, Danny Miller.

A bookworm since I was big enough to turn the pages, I was utterly thrilled when I was given the set of stories and plays we’d be reading that summer…it was all authors I hadn’t heard of yet…and Danny was the most enthusiastic teacher I think I’d ever had. He was so welcoming…it didn’t matter to him one bit where we’d come from (the projects, poor backwaters, broken families) it only mattered where we were going, and he aimed to help us get there. It was a new experience for most of us, and over the course of that summer, through that one class, our lives were changed.

In the years since, I along with many other UB kids have gone on to get our college degrees, and pursue successful careers. Many of us studied English at NKU. I know if it weren’t for Danny’s teaching, guidance and encouragement, we never would have gotten where we did.

I know for me personally, Danny was so influential in making me the person I am now—through UB, the English dept. at NKU and even on into my adult life. I asked him earlier this year to write a letter of recommendation for me, and I was just sure he’d be too busy to do it, but of course he happily said he’d love to, and many e-mails went back and forth between us. I am so glad I asked him to do that. Not for the letter, but for the last chance it gave me to talk with Danny, and have him shed some of that abundant light he had into my life again.

I recently found my evaluation from that 1991 class…Danny found so many unique things to write about me (handwrite, even!), and was so encouraging. And I am sure he did that for every student. He didn’t have to, of course–it’s not like he got paid more or anything. But he still did it. That was the kind of teacher, and person, that Danny was. He took the time. How many of us can say that? He never hurried—he could be so busy, but he always took the time for you, and he could always tell when you needed him to. You never had to ask.

A friend of mine wrote me a note this week, and in it was a quote about how we owe it to the person who has passed on to “act like we met them”—take what they taught us, be better people because of that and pass it on to the world—all of us who knew Danny, even briefly, owe this to him—go out in the world and give the goodness that he gave us. That way, he’ll never really be gone.

Being in the chemistry department, I didn’t have many opportunities to interact with Danny for my first few years at NKU. That didn’t stop me from hearing about him through others, though. When we did cross paths during campus meetings, I always enjoyed his witty banter and lively conversation. However, that didn’t prepare me for the bus ride…no, coach ride…one morning in England.

I’ve had the pleasure of teaching a science history-based study abroad course in London twice, which meets for two weeks between Christmas and the start of the spring term. It’s an exhausting time, but a very fun one. Danny and I were both instructors during the program last December, and our classes were always on the same coach (English speak for “chartered bus”) when we would go on group field trips away from London. These early, early trips would always have a bright spot from Danny’s presence, and the students loved him for it. During one of these rides (to Bath, I believe) I was in a particularly blue mood. I was having a hard time being away from my wife and (at the time) 14 month son, and those feelings were compounded that morning after hearing from my wife that she had been in the emergency room with him the night before due to a very high fever. It didn’t end up being anything serious, but to a relatively new parent it was quite scary. I felt really isolated and alone that morning being so far away from my loved ones. Strange as it might sound, Danny must have sensed my feelings that morning and sprang to action. He sat down next to me (which was initially surprising since there were lots of other vacant seats) and proceeded to talk with me about many different subjects (NKU, teaching, my recent tenure promotion, and my English ancestry, to name a few) for the whole drive. We never talked about my family (being a rather private person), but we didn’t have to. For those couple of hours I didn’t feel so alone, and it gave me a much better outlook for the rest of the trip.

I’ve had several interactions with Danny in London and NKU since then, but none will be as special as that cold morning in a bus…er, coach… Thanks, Danny.

I met Danny more than a decade ago at an Appalachian Studies Association Conference.  I attended his session and was so impressed by his presentation — his obvious passion for the subject;  his excitement in presenting the information; his completely animated delivery all intrigued a young history graduate student such as myself. I talked with him afterwards, and as typically happened with Danny, became fast friends. Danny was that truly unusual person that could immediately make you feel special by simply smiling, or being in his presence, or receiving one of his big hugs. He always concentrated on *you* when you were talking and treated everyone the same. In a field (academics) where ego is so often the rule, Danny was unassuming, real, and utterly wonderful. I took down his amazing book, “Wingless Flights” the other night and read his inscription to me. “I am so glad that we met. I know we will be friends forever.” He meant that, and I always appreciated his love of life and his faith in humanity. When I heard of Danny’s passing, I was stunned. I could not get the news out of my head. It was unfathomable to me that this wonderful, caring person was no longer a part of this world, enriching it and making it better. Solace is felt by those who realize what a startling privilege we had to have ever known him at all. I will always remember Danny’s love of Appalachia - its people and land. He understood the love and connection of place, appreciated the people and land. . . and for that, we are all richer. His loss leaves a real void in the study of Appalachian Literature. I know he would appreciate and connect with the following passage of a woman’s love of the land from “A Patch of Earth” by West Virginia Poet Laureat, Louise McNeill.

“And how the earth holds us is still a dark question. It is not the sucking deepness that draws us, for the earth is mother, protector, the home; but the oppressor too. It requires, sometimes, the very lifeblood of its own, and imprison the fly-away dreams and bends the backs of men and women. Yet, to love a familiar patch of earth is to know something beyond death….”

God bless those left to grieve the passing of this great man. We are all blessed to have  known him.

Shirley Stewart Burns, Charleston, West Virginia

New to NKU and the Scripps Howard Center for Civic Engagement a year ago, I met Danny at a Friends of Steely event — and from that moment on it was as if I had known him for years. He was welcoming to me, and as importantly to the work of the Center. He unfailingly supported the Center’s work, introduced me to the language and literature faculty and was a ready partner each time the Center sought to connect campus and community.

For his many friends who knew him for years, what a good fortune. For those of you who, like me, were new friends, the loss is deep, too.

In “The Friends of Youth,” Yeats wrote words that describe a man like Danny, whose joy was life and friendship: 

“Laughter not time destroyed my voice
And put that crack in it…. “ 

Each of our lives, I suppose, is a story. Danny’s was too short, but whatever his lacked in length it made up for in a soulful of embrace of being human and humane. Maybe its our cause now, to assure no deficit in kindness and laughter.

I was saddened to learn of Danny’s passing.  This last summer, we exchanged a few emails as we did every now and again, usually in connection with an email update or request that he would periodically send to alumni.  I always felt compelled to respond to his alumni requests for information or notices about upcoming alumni events, not because I had any burning updates to share or because I planned to attend whatever event was on the horizon (driving 2 hours from Columbus, OH on a weeknight was usually not an option).  Rather, I responded because the email was from Danny, and I liked Danny. 

I’m not exactly sure where or when I first met him.  As others have described, it was probably more like him initiating with me at some department function or another.  At any rate, a group of us Literature and Language students, as well as a few students from other majors,  started hanging out with him in the mid-80’s, and we came up with the idea of trying to organize social events and outings to which faculty and students alike would be invited.  LaLink was “born,”  and Danny was its founding father.  Danny was really the person who got behind the idea and secured the administration’s blessing.  We went on to have  many good times together.  Thank you, Danny.

As a non-traditional student on campus in the late 90’s and as a staff member here since 2000 I have had a magical, life changing journey. I met my NKU heroes, my heroes come in many shapes and sizes but all have the inclination to elicit change. My heroes have taught me to not only find my voice but to use it often and loudly if necessary. (Yes even if it means using it when the President of the U.S.A comes to visit campus)My heroes have shown me how to gather and use supporting evidence to move communities together. (Hmmm… you mean like run for staff congress president, I am not qualified). My heroes have taught me that persistence, courage and the propensity to laugh as you work tirelessly to bring about positive change is the only way to go. (Even during the easy times like cheering the NKU ladies Basket Ball team to NCAA National Title).One of the last time I got to spend time with my collective heroes was at the April 28^th meeting of the Board of Regents. That day was historic for many on this campus. I sat with and celebrated with my heroes who started a battle years before. I remember looking around at my heroes very aware of their power and flabbergasted as to why I was allowed in their presence. Just then Dr. Danny Miller grabbed my arm as he does and hugged me in celebration (like he needs an excuse). The Board of regents had passed the Extended Family Benefits package for this university. He whispered in my ear “What a great day for NKU”. My selfish heart morns for another lifetime with Danny Miller in it. My NKU heroes have taught me to shift past my selfish ways and move forward with courage, strength and most of all love. Thank you for the lessons of love and kindness Danny Miller! Hugs!

Jenny Wagner

How can we measure a life in words, especially a life that meant so much to us? The obvious and only answer is we can’t. Our best is to set down personal impressions and thoughts that might touch others who also experienced that life in their own ways. One of my last in person contacts with Danny Miller was when he introduced Kentucky writer Wendell Berry in Greaves Hall last month. Many of us who were there at that event could not help but be aware how appropriate and suitable it was for Danny to make that introduction, given Danny’s personal and scholarly commitment to the ideas that Berry espoused , about the sacredness of place, ecology,  and community, and how those values were being overridden by the impersonal and technological thrust of the modern world.
So it was not surprising that a book I bought at that event, Wendell Berry’s Art Of the Commonplace, should  resonate with passages that made me think of Danny, then and even more now after his dying. In my memorial to Danny, I would like to excerpt three passages from this book and indicate in my own subtitles how they relate, in my mind, to his life and how he touched me and perhaps others who knew him:

Taking His Path Through Our Lives

“The difference between a path and a road is not only the obvious one. A path is little more than a habit that comes with knowledge of a place. It is a sort of ritual familiarity. As a form, it is a form of contact with a landscape. It is not destructive. It is the perfect adaptation, through experience and familiarity, of movement to place; it obeys the natural contours; such obstacles as it meets, it goes around. A road, on the other hand, even the most primitive road, embodies a resistance against the landscape… Its wish is to avoid contact with the landscape; it seeks so far as possible to go over the country, rather than through it… [Like Interstate 71} it bears no relation to the country it passes through. It was built, not according to the lay of the land, but according to a blueprint. Such homes and farmlands and woodlands as happened to be in its way are now buried under it.” (Wendell Berry, “A Native Hill”)

Danny, as administrator and friend, did not try to build  roads.dismissive of our lives. He found and took pathways through our lives- a great number of them.

Do You Need A Hug?

“On January 3, 1994, my brother John had a severe heart attack… In the hospital [visiting him as family] what I will call the world of love meets the world of efficiency – the world, that is, of  specialization, machinery, and abstract procedure. Or rather, I should say that these two worlds come together in the hospital but do not meet….But that professional people can cross back into the amateur world, I know from much evidence….The most moving, to me, happened in the waiting room during John’s surgery. Toward the end of our wait, two nurses came in. The operation, they said, had been a success. They explained what had been done. And then they said that that after the completion of the bypasses, the surgeon had found it necessary to insert a ‘balloon pump’ into the aorta to assist the heart. This possibility had never been mentioned, nobody was prepared for it, and Carol [my brother’s wife, who had been a nurse] was not prepared for it. The two young women attempted to reassure her, mainly by repeating things they already said. And then there was a long moment when they just looked at her….
And then one of the nurses said, “Do you need a hug?”
“Yes,” Carol said.
And the nurse gave her a hug.
Which brings us to a starting place.”  (Wendell Berry, “Health is Membership”)

As Danny well knew.

Down to Earth

“I have been walking in the woods and have lain down on the ground to rest. It is the middle of October, and around me, all through the woods, the leaves are quietly sifting down. The newly fallen leaves make a dry, comfortable bed, and I lie easy, coming to rest within myself…
And now a leaf, spiraling down in wild flight, lands on my shirt at about the third button below the collar…The event, among all its ramifying cause and considerations, and finally its mysteries, begins to take on the magnitude of history. Portent begins to dwell in it.
And suddenly I apprehend in it the dark proposal of the ground. Under the fallen leaf my breastbone burns with imminent decay. Other leaves fall. My body begins its long shudder into humus…Days, winds, seasons pass over me as I sink under the leaves. For a time only, sight is left me, a passive awareness of the sky overhead, birds crossing, the mazed interreaching of the treetops, the leaves falling- and then that too sinks away. It is acceptable to me, and I am at peace.
When I move to go, I rise up out of the world.”  (Wendell Berry, “A Native Hill”)

Bill Mckim
November 12, 2008