Memories of Danny

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

I first met Danny as a freshman at NKU.  He taught my Honors English class.  I can still remember his excited and joyful voice while reading the Odyssey.  I still have the copy of the lyrics for “Carmina Burana” and can still see him he waving his arms is a circle while we listened to “O, Fortuna.”  And to this day, every time I hear that song, I picture him, and I proudy tell whoever is within earshot what the song means and wave my arms in the same way.  It was a few years later, when I decided to change my major to English that I saw him again.  He was so helpful and encouraging that I decided to venture on into the MAT program to become an English teacher.  I was saddened when I heard the news of his passing.  NKU has lost someone very special, and I know he will be missed greatly.

I first met Danny from my Mother at our annual fireworks party and immediately began referring to him as “the love of my life” as there was no one that I’ve encountered who demonstrated such a love of life.  Like many others, it was his smile, voice, energy, and those wonderful hugs that made him so endearing.  I’m so grateful that we just saw each other a few weeks ago and made plans to get together soon.  I had planned to surprise him at the KY Book Fair on Saturday.  I will be in Frankfort on Saturday and miss his memorial service.  But I will be serving tea breads, cheeses and fruits at a 90 year old Appalachian woman’s birthday party with lots of her family and buddies from the mountains.  I know Danny would appreciate me being there and enjoying the folks and stories from Clay County as my own way to memorialize him.  Danny, you will always be the love of my life.

My words are inadequate -  from Janet Frame instead:

“The smallest words have lifted the weight of centuries of knowing and carried it out of our reach. How far away you have been, and now your death is near; I hold in my hand the most distant star; the dead of yesterday dine with me at my table.”

We all know how great Danny was.  I saw him Wed. afternoon and even more than usual he was filled will joy and enthusiam.  We shared an exchange of friendly greetings, and talked about the election.  Our conversation went something like this.

Danny “Today is such a good day, I’m so relieved.”

Me”Today is a great day!”

Danny” Yes, today is a great day, I’m so looking to the future.”

Danny made this world, a brighter place, in his presence he always made me a better person.  His leadership and kind spirit will be missed.

Kevin Muente

I knew Danny for seven years since I started my under grad at NKU. He was amazing. He was the light of NKU and of the English Dept. as a whole. It shocked me when I was told today that he passed. I looked at my friends like they were kidding and in disbelief. I can’t believe that this had happened. This man was goofy and a big kid some times. He would make any one laugh and smile at any time.

When I was the department’s mail person I was always greeted by him and the office staff. One day, I was leaving to go to a different floor and he had a small ball of plastic and he threw it at me to be funny and playful. It was funny and goofy which made me laugh and ask at the same time, “why he did it”, but I threw it back and we began to laugh more. This was one of the first times I met Danny.

Then I was happy to see him at work and having him as a boss for three years. He was very helpful  with information about school and any other things I needed to talk to him about. I loved seeing him all the time and that bird statue, the sun catchers in his windows, then of course all his plants. His office was amazing and fun to look at when going into it. I liked helping him and had a great deal of fun. He was like a father to me. He was even more playful when I would bring my son into work with me and have him help out.

He loved his family, his friends, NKU, people in general. He was an amazing man and any one who was lucky enough to have their lives touched by him is blessed. He will be so so missed by everyone and truly everything. God just got himself an amazing angel.

We love U and Thank U for touching my life and so many others.

Candace Groves

Why so few pictures of you among my collection, Danny?  Because you always took them.  But I have so many memories, my heart snapshots over 38 years.  First from our days at Berea College.  You jingled your Morris bells with the Country Dancers; loved on the old ladies at Food Service when you were supposed to be serving vegetables; swooped down from the stands like a medieval knight to rescue Teresa from the gym floor when she fell while cheerleading; took on the role of mattress salesman in the play I directed.  Through Emily Ann Smith, we delved into Shakespeare and the Greeks.  We learned first at her feet.  Through Margaret Allen, you discovered “Carmina Burana.”  Years later, you would still sweep your arm in the giant circle of life to “O Fortuna.” 

Then came the masters program.  First night in lit crit class you shared you were related to the original Siamese twins by marriage.  It was relevant to the point at hand, now long forgotten.  We plowed through the reading and writing, created parodies to survive—“Out of the Classroom Endlessly Reeling” (sorry, Mr. Whitman); danced to disco and arced backward under a limbo broomstick with our professors—only first names at the parties, we dictated, no Dr. This and Dr. That. 

Then a Ph.D. for you; law school for me.  You and Darrell saw me through the bar exam with a joke-a-day, through the mail, through the phone.  You found my first home when I moved here.  We painted, remodeled, and cleaned—your homes; my homes—(I still insist Comet is not meant for scrubbing telephones); cut Christmas trees, drank Long Island iced teas, played Trivial Pursuit and charades; watched cult movies; sang Emily Dickenson’s poems to the tune of “Hernando’s Hideaway”; danced and danced til the wee hours to Grace Jones’ “Saved.”  

Our families shared the years, too, with visits, weddings, birthdays, performances, births, graduations, you name it—you cut my sister’s grass an hour before her outdoor wedding.  We loved our many cats (yours) and dogs (mine).  I called you when my big Ben died.  You dug up the cold earth so I could bury him in my yard.  We buried our parents in different ways, first your dad, then mine.  My mom called you to come and break the news to me.  Then my mom left us.  Last, your beloved mother, who married at 14 and had you at 15, birthed you in her mother-in-law’s mountain home.   

Oh, we had some grand talks, Danny.  History, family, politics, art, pedagogy, the meaning of life, silly stuff.  I still don’t get why the “Cool Whip” line was so funny to you.  But in 38 years, we never ran out of things to talk about.  Or do.  Here, or beyond Cincinnati—Pine Mountain to see the comet; the Renaissance Festival; flea markets; Red River Gorge; Stratford, Ontario (Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, and us—all there to watch Christopher Plummer define Lear); and of course North Carolina where we canoed in water so shallow we had to get out and walk—past your mother’s house, Jim’s place, Mother Jones’s house, Tobe’s place.  A lot of family, all right there.  Their love for you was always palpable, Danny, you, so very special; them, so very proud.  The Smartest Man in Ashe County, North Carolina, they called you, and we all laughed together. 

I will miss you so much.  Your wearing black socks with sandals and shorts.  Your laugh.  Your bringing Annie the perfect 90^th birthday gift, a photo of the ship that carried her family across the Atlantic.  Your face, always, at my performances, at anything important in my life, really.  Your spur-of-the-moment weeding of my flower beds as you came to dinner.  Your delight in your colleagues and students.  Your beeline to the oldest member of any group, so you could learn about him or her—and find out how you were related. 

Last Tuesday evening, that historic Election Day, we talked after Barack Obama’s acceptance speech.  We cried, with pride and joy for what this nation had accomplished, with hope that we felt for the future.  “I love you,” one of us said.  I don’t remember who went first.  “I love you, too,” the other responded, before we hung up. 

This spring, I will hike up the mountain with your family and friends, past the falling-down cabin of your great-grandparents to the awe-inspiring vista from atop the Johnisee Rock.  We will take your corporal remains back to the mountains, Danny, but I will always carry you in my heart.

In the 1990’s when the Non-Tenure-Track Faculty Association was being formed their were two Department Chairs who attended the early meetings and made it clear that they were fully in support of justice for all of us part-time and full time Lecturers: Jerry Richards and Danny Miller.  I knew Jerry well because he had hired me fresh from getting my Ph.D. in 1994. I instantly could sense that Danny too was a wonderful person. His friendliness, his caring and his love of life were completely interwoven with his strong commitment to justice for all.  

Over the years I got to know Danny better as a colleague who continued to show respect to anyone who would want to talk with him. I often heard from friends about his skill and his caring as an administrator. Last year my wife and I attended the showing of the movie “Coal Miner’s Daughter”, sponsored by the Women’s Empowerment organization. Danny’s talk at the end of the movie was one of the drawing cards for a large number of us who came that Friday night. Since Jane and I had served churches in Eastern Kentucky for four years we really appreciated Danny’s sharing about his background and insights into the movie and into Loretta Lynn’s life. Jane said afterward, “I like him. He seems to be a great guy.” I said, “He is. He is well respected here as a scholar and as a leader and especially as a person who cares about students and faculty.” I saw him several times after that but just to say “Hi” , which he always did. Danny, though, was one of those people who, even if you only encountered him from time to time defintely affected your life and for the better.

Bob Kenney

I too knew Danny from University of Cincinnati graduate school days. Then and to the recent present, as a student and as an university administrator, Danny never let his academic training and intelligence interfere, reduce, or compromise in any way his broad and deep humanity. Regrettably, because of aging parent issues in Cleveland, I will not be able to attend this weekend’s celebrations of Danny’s life. Though a hugfest would not make me comfortable, that will be my figurative vision of Danny’s participation in the events.

Danny had a wonderful, vibrant and down-home personality.  Whenever I had to talk to him in the English department he would always lift my spirits, at least a little, with his charming demeanour.  I am grateful to have had him touch my life.