DAN MILLER'S NOTEBOOK

THE SECRET TO FABULOUS WEALTH

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 29, 2005)

I think I've discovered the secret to enormous riches, or at least a way to increase your odds.

While looking over several year-end reviews for 2005, I noticed a current list of the 400 richest Americans, as compiled by Forbes Magazine.

I started thinking.... there must be a common denominator among people who manage to accumulate billions of dollars.

Perhaps if I could just find that common thread among the super rich, I could devise a way to accumulate so much money that I'll no longer face the prospect of working until I'm 95 in order to get my 7-year old daughter through school.

One by one, I went down the list of names and -- suddenly -- it jumped out at me.... a common thread running through at least 78 of the 400 richest Americans.
And, truthfully, I suspect that common thread occurs far more often than is indicated on the Forbes list.

At least 20% -- probably many more -- of really rich people "inherited", or married into, their source of wealth.

Ahhh, so there you have it kids.... if you want to be incredibly wealthy, you must make sure you have incredibly wealthy parents.

(It can also be accomplished with fabulously wealthy spouses -- perhaps even uncles or aunts, if you're really, really nice to them.)

Who would have thought it could be that simple?

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THE PLEASURES OF A FIREPLACE

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 27, 2005)

On Christmas Day, one of the High Def cable channels showed several continuous hours of a video fireplace.

It was accompanied by gentle Christmas music.... a pleasant thing to have on the screen while opening gifts with family.

And it sure brought back some memories to me.

Hard to believe, but it was 25 years ago when I decided to give the gift of a crackling on-screen fireplace to viewers of my late night Channel 4 talk show Miller & Company.

The TV station managers (at least the ones I bothered to tell about it) thought I'd lost my mind.... but to their credit, they didn't object.

So we took a camera crew to the home of one of the folks who worked on the show.... set up the camera.... started the fire.... and recorded it.

The night of the broadcast, I opened by telling viewers how I knew many of them didn't have fireplaces in their homes or apartments.... so my holiday gift to them would be 22 uninterrupted minutes of an actual fireplace.
No music, no narration.... simply the sight and sounds of a crackling fire.

And that's what we did.

I'm still amazed at the response we got to that program.
Even today -- a quarter century later -- people tell me they remember the night I ran the fireplace.

And I wouldn't make this up.... two separate couples told me how that night's show had been especially significant for them since -- to put it delicately -- their babies arrived 9 months after being in front of that romantic, late night virtual fireplace.

You simply don't get any better feedback from viewers than that!

After the critical success of that programming experiment, I decided to do something for viewers who were shut-ins.... confined to their homes for whatever reason.

I decided to mount a camera on the front of a car and videotape a "real time" trip from Nashville to Murfreesboro.
Tom Griscom, our General Manager, argued that I shouldn't do it, since showing the trip would take more than 30 minutes with no commercial breaks. His priorities were a bit different from mine.

I've always regretted that I gave in on that one.
I wonder what responses I might have gotten from viewers....... a relaxing trip to Murfreesboro without having to watch the road, or keep their hands on the wheel.

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DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS MAN?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 23, 2005)

I'll bet you don't -- even though you've heard him everywhere you've been in recent weeks.

And next year, starting in November, you'll hear him again -- just like you did last year and each of the 45 years before that.

You can't miss him, he's everywhere.... in the stores and malls.... in the dentist's office.... on the radio.... on TV.... everywhere.

His name is Bobby Helms.
Bobby is the person singing "Jingle Bell Rock".
Year after year, it ranks as one of the Top 5 most performed Christmas recordings.

Bobby had a long career, first arriving in Nashville in the 1940's.
He died in 1997 at his home in Indiana at the age of 63.

But the year 1957 defined his career.
That year, he had 3 records at the top of the charts -- "Fraulein", "My Special Angel" and "Jingle Bell Rock".
Other than those 3 monster hits in 1957, I couldn't tell you another song he ever recorded.

"Jingle Bell Rock" has become an amazing perennial hit.
I've looked over several lists, ranking the most popular Christmas songs, and "Jingle Bell Rock" is always there near the top.

In case you're wondering which holiday recording is Number One nationwide, that would be Nat King Cole's beautiful version of "The Christmas Song".

But here in Nashville, the two songs I hear the most.... by far.... are "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" by Brenda Lee, and "Jingle Bell Rock" by Bobby Helms.
Brenda's classic also shows up every year on every list of top Christmas songs.

Hope you're rockin' around the holidays, and having a wonderful time.

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LITTLE BUMPS IN THE ROAD

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 21, 2005)

OK, I know there's a terrible war going on.....

And I know there's far too much crime and violence in Nashville and across the country.

I know there are many places in this world dealing with devastating natural disasters....

And I know there are political and social problems that dominate Washington and Tennessee's Capitol Hill.

I know we all have friends and family coping with rough stuff in their lives....

And on any given day, drastic weather can disrupt our comfortable routines.

It's a lot to worry over, but most days -- fortunately -- Nature has a way of shielding our minds from being overwhelmed by it all.
Without that emotional shield, we might simply shut down.... too much to deal with!
It allows us to go on about our business.

And yet, when you're the father of a young child, a slight little bump in the road can grab every ounce of your focus and emotion.

On Tuesday -- at least for a while -- my mind was focused on one thing only.... my 7 year old daughter had to get 3 stitches in the crown of her head, following a hard bump on the bottom of a cabinet door.

It was a day when one little bump trumped everything else in the world.

McKensie's fine.... in fact, her main topic of conversation now is about her newest area of expertise.... stitches.

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AN 85 YEAR OLD TATER

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 19, 2005)

I first remember hearing Jimmy Dickens sing in the early 1950's.

My next door neighbor, Millard Beckum, had an old Columbia 78 rpm record of "A-Sleeping At The Foot Of The Bed".
We kids would play that song over and over, trying to figure out why in the world the singer would get his nanny goat to sleep at the foot of the bed. It just made no sense to us.

We thought the lyrics were:
But I always did get my nanny-goat
To sleep at the foot of the bed.

Only years later, did I understand the lyrics actually say:
But IT always did get my nanny-goat
To sleep at the foot of the bed.

OK, that makes sense.... IT GOT HIS GOAT.... an old southern expression.

Here's another funny misunderstanding concerning Little Jimmy Dickens.
I read this one in Bill Anderson's book, "I Hope You're Living As High On The Hog As The Pig You Turned Out To Be"....
(and, yes, Bill Anderson did write a book by that title.)

Bill was writing about how performers are sometimes introduced on stage by the wrong name.... and he quoted Little Jimmy Dickens as saying he was once brought on stage by an emcee who said, "Here's Little Jimmy Dickerson... they tell me he's the king of the banjo!"

Not only did he get the name wrong, but Jimmy Dickens has never played the banjo in his life.

I've interviewed Jimmy several times over the years, and always find great pleasure in his company.
And you can still find him performing every week on the Opry.

Happy 85th Tater, and many many more!

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DON'T CHASE CARS

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 15, 2005)

I read in the Minneapolis Star Tribune last week about a woman run over by her own car.

She had left the engine running while she stepped into a shop, and when she came out, a thief was in the process of driving away in her car.

The woman jumped in front of the vehicle, shouting for the thief to stop.... but instead, she was hit by the car, and the thief drove away.

The next day, the car was found.... but the woman was in critical condition in the hospital.... and the thief is still at large.

I immediately flashed back more than 40 years to my hometown of Augusta, Georgia.
The main street in Augusta is Broad Street, so named because it is incredibly broad. (see attached photo)
In fact, next to Canal Street in New Orleans, I've always heard that Augusta has the broadest Broad Street (or main street) anywhere in the U.S.

It was five lanes wide in each direction, with the outside and inside lanes used for angled parking, and the three center lanes used for traffic.

On a hot summer day in 1963, I had parked my white Nash Rambler in the center parking while I went into a store.

When I came out -- whoa! -- I spotted my white Rambler being driven away down the middle lane of Broad Street.

I chased after it. Running straight down the center lane, yelling, "hey, stop, hold on"....

Traffic was heavy in downtown Augusta that day, and the car was soon forced to stop in a line behind other cars at a traffic light.
As I ran up behind the car, I quickly realized -- thanks to a sticker on the bumper -- that it was not my car after all, but a close match.

I stopped.... stood there in the middle of traffic for a moment.... ran my hand through my hair.... tried to look as nonchalant as possible.... quietly whistled as I walked across traffic over to the sidewalk, hoping no one had noticed a tall, skinny, maniacal man running down the middle of the street waving his arms.

Here's Dan's friendly tip for the day:
Don't chase cars!
Leave that to the dogs -- and let police handle things if your car is stolen.

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THE GIRLS' NIGHT OUT

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 12, 2005)

By my best estimate, McKensie's 7th birthday party Saturday evening brought between 39 and 47 girls to our house.

These were 6 and 7 year old girls, with a few 5 year olds thrown in just to stir things up.
She invited all her female classmates, and her girlfriends from church as well.

As far as we can tell, after the party they were all picked up by their parents, though we're still checking around the house, just in case.

Of course, the big decision for Karen and me now is whether to clean up the house, or simply put down some drop-cloths and -- from now on -- just tell people we're painting.

Actually, it wasn't as destructive as it could have been.
Only 8 or 9 spilled drinks (that we're aware of)....
Hardly any pizza sauce in the piano keys....
Relatively little cake icing on the good furniture in the living room....
Only one missing child, who we found hiding upstairs after about 20 minutes....
Crying was limited to just 4 girls and 2 adults, and each was soon comforted and OK....
There was no bloodshed whatsoever.

And it turned out to be worthwhile scientific experiment.
We'd been wondering about the strength and durability of our old house....
And we'd never known for sure whether our neighbors across the courtyard could actually hear screaming that reached triple digit decibels.

Now, we know these things.
And we have a better understanding of how youth gangs are initially formed.

In case you're wondering what the adjoining photo is.... that's me.... lovingly assembled with pipe cleaners by my, now, 7 year old daughter at the party crafts table.
She told me the orange pipe cleaner represents, quote, "the rust colored shirt that you wear every weekend!"
Hmmmmm.

Anyhow, the dust has settled.
The delightful and precious young girls seemed to enjoy themselves.... and without even trying, warmed the hearts of every grownup there.

By the way, a special thanks to the grownup girls who painted nails, applied glitter, worked on crafts, prepared and served pizza and cake, kept the peace, and helped with trips to the potty.

McKensie said it was her best birthday ever.

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OH CHRISTMAS CARD, OH CHRISTMAS CARD

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 8, 2005)

Receiving and opening Christmas cards is one of the true pleasures of the season.
But they're piling up at our house.
Not the cards we've gotten this year, but the ones from years past.

For the entire year, Karen keeps all our cards in a big red basket, and around early December we clear out the ones from the previous year and put in the new ones we've received.

The thing is.... it's becoming difficult to throw out old cards.

It used to be that everybody bought boxes of cards that were mass produced in a factory somewhere, then just signed their names.
Those were easy to eventually dispose of.

But nowadays, with digital cameras and printers, everybody's creating their own cards.... and, as often as not, they'll include photos of the family, or at least the kids.
And it's just plain unsettling to discard an actual photo of a child.... even if you can't remember whose kid it is.

Somewhere in boxes, I have stacks of pictures of the children of friends and distant family, who I couldn't identify if I were under oath in a court of law.
Whoever they are, I'm sure they're grown, and by now they're probably sending us pictures of their kids.

And speaking of Christmas (Holiday) cards.... I saw an advertisement for a company that will take a card you design at home..... clean up your design -- and print them -- so they look like professional, store-bought cards.

Wait a minute! Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a homemade card?
Isn't a homemade card supposed to look like you made it at home?
Why should I work on creating a card, then have professionals fix it to look like I went by Kroger and bought it?

Well, I need to go now.... I need to find another drawer somewhere to store all these photos....
And Karen and I are trying to decide which picture of McKensie to attach to our Christmas cards this year.

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THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 5, 2005)

I'm a bit concerned about the nature of my dreams.

I'm referring to literal dreams, the kind you have at night when you're sleeping.

When I was younger my dreams would take me to far away places.... or great adventures.... or romantic encounters that I would never have had the courage to pursue in real life.

They could be frightening, or funny.

They could also be downright embarrassing.
I've had those dreams where I'm called up in front of a group of people, and that's precisely the moment I realize that -- for some reason -- I've forgotten to wear pants that day.
And I figure maybe -- just maybe -- no one will notice!

On many nights I've dreamed I was back in the Army at Fort Jackson, having to go through basic training again.

I've often dreamed of being sent back in school, totally unprepared for the test that I've just been handed.

And every time I've started a new job or television program, I've had heart-pounding dreams of being thrown on the air, totally unprepared.

Nowadays, I don't dream as often as I used to, and when I do -- well...............

I'll tell you a dream I had a few nights ago.
When I woke up, I wrote it down, so I wouldn't forget.
Here it is, exactly as I dreamed it:

My wife and I were in the car taking some shirts to the dry cleaners.

Along the way, I spotted a dry cleaning establishment we'd never used before.

We decided to try it.
We stopped, and took the shirts inside.
I asked the clerk if she could please repair a button that had come off the shirt.

She assured me they could.

I then inquired about when the shirts would be ready.
“Two days”, she told me.

The clerk asked if we wanted starch.... my wife said, "light starch please."

We thanked her and left.

End of dream.

Oh, be still my heart!!!

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BILL HALL, EVERYBODY'S PAL

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted December 1, 2005)

It has never bothered me one bit that Bill Hall isn't a certified doctor of meteorology.
He's never needed to be.

For 30 years, he's been something unique and highly appreciated in this community.... he's simply been Bill Hall.

He's been our weatherman....
He's been our fishing partner....
He's been our teacher of hunting, and gardening, and cooking....
He's been our steady friend who -- without really being aware of it -- has instructed us about calmness, tolerance and generosity.

Bill has never much concerned himself with all the fancy TV slogans and electronic weather gimmicks.
His real concern has been the people on the receiving end of the information he dispenses.

I cannot count the times Bill has said to me, "I don't want to unnecessarily alarm people."

But on those scary, stormy nights, it's always been comforting just to know Bill was there experiencing it with us, and talking us through it.
No weather machine can do that.

From now on, when rough weather happens, I'll know that Bill is somewhere nearby, checking things from his window at home.... or hurrying inside from the garden.... or taking shelter on a lake or farm.
And I find a certain comfort in that.

By the way, I have a particular 20-year old picture of Bill that I'll post here as soon as I find it, because it underscores that fact that -- for years -- I've kidded him about his stomach.
I used to tell him he was blocking our view of Jackson every time he stood in the radar picture.

Bill would always say something like, "Well, things are improving.... before I lost weight, we were losing Dickson and Clarksville as well."

Good luck pal.

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MY GRANDCHILDREN

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 29, 2005)

The two youngest members of my family live far away in Germany....

Our grandkids, Elouise and Felix.

Believe it or not, I've discovered (through emails) that -- besides my daughter Jennifer -- I actually have a few readers in Germany.
I now understand why it's called the World Wide Web.

Matter of fact, I hope everyone in Germany who reads my blog will feel a special kinship to Nashville.

You should all pay us a visit, and check out the Opry, the Schermerhorn, Cheekwood, the Zoo, the Predators, the Sounds, the Titans, Channel 4, the Parthenon, etc.
(You can all stay at Tanya Tucker's house..... I don't think she'll mind!)

Anyhow, I thought you might like to see Jennifer's two cuties (before they're completely grown!).

Elouise is a year and a half.
Her big brother Felix is almost 5.

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POST-THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS

BY DAN MILLER
(Originally posted November 25, 2005)

For me, Thanksgiving in Tennessee this year was the way Thanksgivings should be.

Crisp, perfect weather.... a healthy family.... and a peaceful community.
In light of all the disasters the world has seen since the previous Thanksgiving, it was a good day for reflection.

I tried to take it all in....
seasoned with a sense of sadness for the people who -- for whatever reasons -- cannot, or don't know how to, appreciate life's ordinary little gifts.

I was listening to WPLN as I drove to my sister-in-law's house to join other family members for lunch.
The host of the program was interviewing a poet, who was attempting to define poetry.
(You know some people feel if it doesn't rhyme, it ain't poetry).

But this poet -- whose name I didn't catch -- was explaining, far more eloquently and clearly than I could ever do, what poetry is all about.

She said.... (and this is a very rough paraphrase).... poetry attempts to put into words the feelings and fullness of life's little thoughts and moments.... even when those thoughts and moments are beyond expression.

For me, Mary Oliver is a poet who often accomplishes that.
Here's an example.
A poem written (and copyrighted) by Mary Oliver, titled "WILD GEESE":

WILD GEESE

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

MARY OLIVER

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SAY SO LONG TO SAM

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 23, 2005)

I guess by now you've heard the sad news, Sam -- the World's Ugliest Dog -- has died.

It happened this past weekend in Santa Barbara, California.

Back in the Summer, when Sam won the World's Ugliest Dog contest (for the third straight year) we did a story about it on our newscast, and showed Sam's picture.

After the story, Demetria and I chuckled about Sam's looks.... and judging by the emails I received, several people thought we had been insensitive buffoons who had offended the dog.

I answered the emails, explaining how Sam's owner was happy with her dog's looks, and took great pride in showing him off, and entering him in the Ugly Dog contest every year.

I pointed out that Sam was living a wonderful life.
He traveled many places.... he appeared on television shows.... he was pampered, well fed and loved.
He even met Donald Trump.

Sam was responsible for bringing together his owner, Susie Lockheed, and her current boyfriend.
The boyfriend had apparently spotted Susie and Sam pictured together on an internet dating site.
(I'm not sure which of the 3 was looking for a date).

Sam was just shy of his 15th birthday when he died -- well over 100 in dog years.
Not a bad life.

And here's a bright side to all of this.
Since Sam was a shoo-in for the Ugly Dog title every year, the door is now wide open for a whole new generation of ugly dogs.

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VANDERBILT

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted 11-21-2005)

It might actually be a good thing that Vanderbilt won't be going to a bowl this year.

For Vandy fans -- and I suspect for the players and coaches -- there's simply no way to top what happened Saturday in Knoxville.

While no one likes to admit it, the Vandy - UT game is always sort of a Pseudo Bowl for the Commodores, and this year they won that bowl in poetic, heart-stopping fashion.

Now, don't get me wrong.
I'm always proud of the University of Tennessee and their dependable success on the gridiron year after year, and the sports spotlight that shines on our state because of their success.
One of my daughters even graduated from UT.

But when it's Vanderbilt versus the Vols, my heart is always with Vandy.

For the majority of the 36 seasons that have come and gone since 1969 when I first moved to Nashville, I have been a season ticket holder for Vanderbilt football games.
Even while I was living in California, I kept my tickets for one season.

I was there at Dudley Field in 1982, the last time Vandy had defeated UT.
And the taste of that one victory stayed with the Vanderbilt faithful for 23 years, as we all craved another piece of the pie.

Congratulations to coach Bobby Johnson, his staff, and an inspiring group of players.
It was a great start, and a great finish....
And a sweet tasting piece of the pie.

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A FACE IN THE PILE

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 18, 2005)

Who needs an alarm clock when it's leaf-blowing time?

Did somebody, somewhere, make a rule that leaf blowing should always begin before the first light of day?
Seems to me, these leaf-blowing machines would work just as well around midday.

Anyhow, the men with the leaf-blowers quickly rounded up all the leaves in our driveway into one huge pile.
But before they could haul them away, (fortunately) my wife spotted a hidden jewel right in the middle of the stack.

Actually, this has become a bit of an Autumn tradition at our house... something McKensie anticipates all season long, beginning with the first leaf that falls.

Of course, great care is always taken to make sure a visiting neighborhood dog hasn't already covered "another pile" before McKensie covers herself.

You can go ahead and spend your hard earned money on expensive outdoor playthings for your kids if you like.... but, take it from me, they like this kind of stuff best.

Just find a big pile of leaves, and they're happy.

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THE FALLEN LEAVES

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 16, 2005)

Someone once called Autumn "the year's last, loveliest smile."

And, driving around Nashville in Autumn, I'm convinced the loveliest lawns are the ones left unkempt.... unraked.

Years ago, I often made that case to my Daddy, but he didn't buy it.... he liked the yard raked.... and he liked it raked by me.

Of course, my intention in trying to convince Daddy about the beauty of the leaves was, in reality, nothing more than trying to avoid having to rake the yard.

Now, as an adult with no ulterior motive, I still cringe when I see folks raking up the leaves too soon.
Those leaves should be left to grace the ground for awhile.
For months, they shaded our heads from the hot sun.... now, they cushion our feet with a soft, stunning carpet of rich colors.
And what a magical wonderland for children.

But there's more to it than just the beauty of the leaves.
I read an article by an lawn expert saying that you get more beneficial organic matter into your soil by not raking the leaves at all.
He advises just run your lawn mower over the leaves.... chopping them up into little pieces.... and then leave them right there.

He says, the chopped leaves will quickly break down and disappear, making your lawn even healthier and more beautiful the next Spring.

Wonder if my Daddy would have bought that?

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EYES IN THE BACK OF HIS HEAD?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 14, 2005)

The psychic secret of a WSMV co-worker has been revealed.

Whenever I approach the office (cubicle) where Scott Sutton manages the WSMV website, I witness a psychic ability that would amaze even the Amazing Kreskin.

Long before I'm anywhere near his line of sight, Scott will say something like, "Hi Dan, what can I do for you?"
And by the time I round the curve into his cubbyhole, he already has my blog up on the screen, since I'm usually there to fix an error in that day's essay.

Now, I assure you, Scott is surrounded by tall partitions.
There are no mirrors, no reflections, no security cameras, no way of seeing who's coming his way -- yet he knows.

I always ponder, "how could he possibly know it's me?"

And I'm not the only one.
He can call out the names of others as well, while they're still 20 or 30 feet from his view.

Just when I was ready to accept his unnatural powers, he revealed his secret.
And it's simple.... it all has to do with Scott's keen attunement, when it comes to the sounds around him.

Most of us -- Scott has discovered -- create a unique "sound" (other than our voices) as we move about.

For me, he says the jingling coins and keys in my pockets are a giveaway.
There's another person whose loud breathing gives him away every time.

Someone else wears a huge batch of keys on his belt, and Scott immediately knows his sound.
Some folks, he says, have a habitual little cough, or perhaps they hum or whistle.

And many of us -- though we might not know it -- have signature squeaky shoes.

Scott says there's one particular person (a middle management type I won't name) who moves with sort of a spooky, quiet "presence" that permeates the room. (I'm staying out of this person's way!)

Scott says he can tell when the big guy (general manager) approaches because all the horseplay and small talk seems to stop, and everybody nearby gets real busy and overly dedicated to the job at hand.

This is an interesting talent Scott has developed.
He says it's all a matter of working silently and alone, in a blind area, and tuning in to all the sounds around him.

Now, I must confess, in my case it's really not so magical.
Most every time we're out in public, my wife reminds me to stop rattling the keys and coins in my pockets.
(One of only a very few of annoying habits I have)

By the way, if you want to see and know more about Houdini, uh, Scott, I wrote one of these essays about him last year.
CLICK RIGHT HERE ... and Scott (who programs the WSMV website) will magically take you there.

You're also invited to click on and visit the WSMV station website .

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DANCING (AND LYING) IN THE STREET

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 10, 2005)

Surely you remember the song "Dancing In The Street" by Martha and the Vandellas.

Martha Reeves was the lead singer of that popular Motown group.
Martha is 64 years old now, and this week -- for the first time -- she jumped into politics, being elected to the Detroit City Council.

She still performs occasionally, but says she wants to serve on the council to represent those who feel their opinions don't matter.

Good for her.
Now I'll tell you what crossed my mind when I saw her name in the news.

It was 1965, and I was hosting a Saturday dance show (Bandstand-style) on WRDW-TV in Augusta, Georgia.

My co-host was a local comic and newspaperman named Doug Harris.
We often wore matching sweaters (not unlike the Righteous Brothers) and between the songs, we would interview the kids and do some comedy skits.

One nice summer weekend, we decided it would be fun to stage the show outdoors, with the kids dancing on the front lawn of the TV station.
We had to clear it with a funeral home directly across the street, just in case there was a service scheduled for that day. There wasn't, and they gave us their blessing.

So we set up our cameras and big speakers there on the lawn.
And what better way to begin our big dance on the street, we figured, than with Martha and the Vandellas singing "Dancing In The Street".

What we hadn't counted on was the extent that traffic would back up along busy Georgia Avenue in North Augusta, as people slowed down to see the show.

As the teenagers danced on the grass and sidewalk, and Martha Reeves belted out her song, one car suddenly slammed into the back of another, and there -- not 20 feet from the dancing feet of teenagers -- a woman was lying in the street next to her wrecked car.

As the old adage dictates, the show went on.... though we did keep our cameras from showing the accident.

Next, James Brown belted out "Papa's Got A Brand New Bag" as people attended to the woman.
Then -- she got up, and as they were helping her into a car seat -- came blasting through the speakers our third musical selection, "You've Got Your Troubles, I've Got Mine" by the Fortunes.
Strangely, I remember thinking, "that's a nice song, maybe it'll make her feel better."

We later checked, and the woman was OK.... not badly hurt.
I do wonder if she ever thinks about that day.

Later, we were told by the North Augusta police -- and station management -- and the neighboring funeral home -- that there would be no more outdoor dance shows.

By the way, congratulations to Martha Reeves on her election in Detroit.
I'm sure her supporters are dancing in the streets.
Be careful.

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THE MAJESTIC SCHERMERHORN

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 8, 2005)

During a sneak peek inside the new Schermerhorn Symphony Center last week, I learned several things.

First, I learned why OSHA requires visitors like me to wear hardhats while walking through a construction site.
That lesson began with a thud when I bumped my head on a metal conduit.... and was reinforced just minutes later by a head butt against a piece of scaffolding.
By my third strike, against a pipe hanging from the ceiling, I had become a crusader for the value of hardhats.

It's also a stylish look, you'll have to admit.

My wife was disappointed that we couldn't keep our hardhats.
I think she figured it could help me whenever I spend time in the basement.

But here's the best thing I learned during our tour.
Nashville -- without a doubt -- is going to have a symphony hall ranked among the finest on this planet.

During our tour, as symphony and construction executives bragged about the Schermerhorn, I kept hearing one specific word, over and over.... "acoustics".

There will be no electronic amplification when the Nashville Symphony performs.
They won't need it.
The acoustics (reflected sounds), we were assured, will be astounding.
On opening night -- the experts promise -- along with the beautiful music, you'll hear "gasps of astonishment" from those in attendance, at the pure sound filling the hall.

OK -- being a lifelong skeptic, I asked, how -- before the facility is even built -- they could be certain the acoustics will be so wonderful?

Here's how they know.
The designers and builders work with precise scale models -- filled with nitrogen -- so they can see and measure how the sound waves will bounce and resonate inside the actual hall.
I'm impressed.

As concertgoers arrive at the Schermerhorn, they’ll be encouraged to check their overcoats before entering the hall -- because coats hanging over the backs of chairs can actually hinder sound waves resonating through the hall.

Here's another fascinating fact.... the Schermerhorn is actually 2 buildings.... one fitted inside the other like a nesting doll.
That creates an air pocket, about 2 inches wide, between the outer structure and the concert hall -- from roof to foundation -- to absorb all sound coming from the outside.

Another tidbit....
When designers were planning the Schermerhorn, they could never resolve which way the front of the building should face, so they ended up with 2 fronts.... the North Front (facing Broadway), and the West Front (along 4th Avenue South).
Take your pick.

I had one other unexpected revelation from this tour.
After hearing detailed explanations about sound waves bouncing off surfaces and objects.... and how the clothes you wear -- or don't wear -- can affect acoustics.... I'm beginning to understand why I sound so darned good singing or whistling in the shower.
I almost never wear an overcoat into the shower.

By the way, the last picture in that stack is the way the Schermerhorn should look when it's completed next year.
The picture next to the bottom is my lovely wife Karen, who never bumped her head -- not even once!

(**NOTE -- the Schermerhorn is now open and functioning beautifully!**)

___________________________________

THE INTERSTATE FREIGHT YARD

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 4, 2005)

Do you ever get the sensation, as you travel along the Interstate, that you're trapped in a freight yard?

I often feel I'm an intruder on the shipping lanes of big trucks.
And it can be frightening.

Big tractor trailer rigs now make up roughly 45% of the traffic along our Interstates.
And, think about it.... those trucks are probably 3 or 4 times longer than a car, or an SUV.... so it's only logical that the trucks occupy -- by far -- more actual space on the Interstates.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against truckers. Most are good, courteous drivers simply doing their jobs.
But I believe this country's biggest mistake -- or lack of vision -- when we first constructed the Interstate system, was not creating "dual highways".... one for commercial use, and one for personal vehicles.

Some stretches of Interstate highway were actually off limits to big trucks for awhile.
One example is I-44o through Nashville.
It was initially called "I-440 Parkway", designated for cars and small vehicles only.
Then, once the threat of losing federal dollars came into play, the state quickly opened I-440 to the big rigs.

Now I'm thinking there might be another way to solve the dilemma of highways cluttered with the monster trucks.

Perhaps the answer is the old reliable railroad.

What if the government built new railroad tracks, parallel to existing tracks?
It would allow a high volume of trains moving freight and passengers in both directions.
And since the rights-of-way are already in place for these tracks, it could probably be done at a fairly reasonable cost (at least when compared to what we spend rebuilding other countries, or exploring other worlds).

High speed train tracks could also be built -- in both directions -- right along our existing Interstate highway routes.

A rejuvenated, expanded and booming railroad industry might be just what the country needs.
If nothing else, it would provide great fodder for country songs.

By the time you read this, a new rule will be in effect restricting big trucks to the 2 right hand lanes on Tennessee highways.... but it only applies to highways that have 3 or more lanes in each direction.

Will it help much? I doubt it.

In the meantime, I'm attracted more and more to the old State routes and U.S. highways.
There's much less chance of finding yourself stuck between exits -- held hostage by traffic that's backed up for miles.

And, traveling those old highways, what fun to see Tennessee's enchanting little towns -- most with an old train depot, that's all-but-abandoned.

__________________________________

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted November 1, 2005)

When I was a kid, trick or treating was simple.... you just did it.

But, this year, my daughter McKensie introduced a whole new wrinkle.

Since there aren't a lot of sidewalks near our house, McKensie's cousin Mary Morgan took her to other -- "trick or treat safe" -- neighborhoods.... where her effort would produce a bigger payoff per distance walked.

But earlier.... as darkness settled over our little neighborhood, and McKensie waited to join her cousin.... she did something unique.

She practiced.
She walked to the few houses nearby....
She would ring the doorbell and say, "this is a practice trick or treat!"

The neighbors would say something like, "then, do you really want candy?"

McKensie would answer, "Well, OK, if you want to practice handing out candy."

Before her "practice" was over, she actually did pretty well.

I'll practice eating some of it tonight.

______________________________

HERSHEY'S, SNICKERS, AND ARNOLD PALMER

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 31, 2005)

Halloween stirs up great visions of sweets in my mind, even though I don't go trick or treating anymore.

But McKensie does.... and she always comes home with a bag full of candy.

The amazing thing is -- unlike many 6-year olds -- McKensie doesn't eat much candy.
She may sample a piece of two, but she actually prefers carrots, grapes, apples, cantaloupe, strawberries, bananas, etc.... even broccoli.
(No, I'm not worried.... she has many other traits that clearly confirm she is my biological child.)

While she's asleep after making her trick or treat rounds, I discreetly inventory her bag(s) of candy, hoping there'll be plenty of Hershey's and Snickers.

And I know exactly why I prefer those two particular candy bars.
It goes back many years.

My next door neighbor (and best childhood pal) Millard Beckum (actually his Mom) always stocked Hershey Bars in the top, left drawer of the sideboard in their dining room.

Mrs. Beckum would keep dozens of Hershey Bars there, both plain and with almonds.
They were always fresh, and always available to us after school or play.
And, to this day, no chocolate has ever tasted better.
It's the kind of thing you don't forget, even though many years -- and many Hershey Bars -- have come and gone.

As for Snickers, my fondness for them really blossomed at the 1964 Masters Golf Tournament.
I was standing with hundreds of people -- part of Arnie's Army -- as Arnold Palmer walked up to the 10th tee at the Augusta National.

As Arnie waited for his turn at the tee, he reached into his golf bag and took out a Snickers.
He carefully unwrapped it.... and with two big bites, devoured the candy bar.
I suppose it was sort of a mid-round energy boost.

At that moment, a strong craving for a Snickers was triggered in my brain, and as soon as Arnold headed down the fairway, I headed for the concession stand.

Even now, whenever I get a hankering for a Snickers, I think about Arnold Palmer.
And whenever I see a picture of Arnold Palmer, I still think about a Snickers.

1964 was a great year.... Arnold won the Masters, and I had only one cavity.

___________________________________

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 27, 2005)

Being around my six year old, I hear lots of interesting observations worth repeating.

Three examples:

(1)...
McKensie is thrilled that she can now put letters together and figure out words.
So Karen and I have to be careful when we talk in "adult code", spelling out words.
McKensie can usually break the code.

Last Sunday, as we rode along West End, my wife was telling me about meeting with the head of a charitable organization on whose board she'll be serving.

Karen said, "I've already met the C-E-O, or C-O-O."
McKensie.... from her perch in the back seat.... said, "Mom, you know I can spell now, and I know exactly what those words are!"

I didn't call her bluff.

(2)...
The same day, still riding in the car.
McKensie: "Dad, did you know there are 2 important rules?"
Me: "Really, what are they sweetie?"
McKensie: "First, you should never let the American flag touch the ground.... and second, girls should always wipe from front to back."

I have no idea why those two "rules" where on her mind at that moment.

(3)...
McKensie always enjoys attending plays and musical events at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center, but it's been several months now since she's attended anything.
So the other day she asked her mother, "When are we going to another show at the T-CUP?"

Hey, that's close enough!

_______________________

CAN ONE PERSON CHANGE THE WORLD?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 25, 2005)

__________________

Sure, every now and then it happens.

COURAGE DOESN'T ALWAYS ROAR

_____________

Rosa Parks

1913-2005

____________

WHO'S BURIED IN LENIN'S TOMB?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 20, 2005)

I've decided to share a personal humiliation I suffered while visiting Lenin's tomb in Moscow about 17 years ago.

First, a few thoughts about that tomb.

If most present-day Russians have their way, Lenin's tomb won't contain the remains of Vladimir Lenin much longer. They hope to take that ghastly thing out and bury it somewhere.

And it's not just because of the expense.
Time Magazine reports that Russia spends roughly $1,500,000 a year to keep it on display in that creepy mausoleum there in Red Square.

Time Magazine doesn't explain whether that cost is calculated in U.S. dollars, or Russian rubles.
If it's U.S. dollars, that would translate into roughly 45 million rubles a year.... way, way too much to spend preserving one surprisingly small, grotesque, waxy looking corpse, that's been lying there for 81 years.

No, the reason so many Russians want it removed is because they now understand that Lenin was a ruthless dictator whose tyrannical regime took their country far down the wrong road. They no longer have any reverence for the father of the Bolshevik Revolution.

And they probably think -- like I did -- that it's really bizarre to have Lenin's corpse on display, still sporting his neatly trimmed little beard and mustache.
I've heard the corpse even occasionally sprouts fungi. Just plain peculiar.

But, back to my humiliation.

It was 1988, three years before the demise of the Soviet Union.
I traveled to Moscow with some friends, on sort of an adventure-trip.

We waited in line at Lenin's tomb for quite a while, and when we finally got to the door, a uniformed military guard approached me with a stern look on his face.

Obviously, he suspected I was about to breach security.... perhaps by sneaking a camera or recording device -- or something much worse -- inside the tomb, which was strictly forbidden.

What raised his suspicion was the outline of a large object, that I had clearly attempted to conceal beneath the front of my sweater, just below my chest.

So right there in line.... in front of everyone.... he made me pull up my sweater and shirt, to reveal MY FAT STOMACH!

Such humiliation! Needless to say, I've never been back.

_________________________________________________

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?: POSTSCRIPT

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 19, 2005)

Here are updates on a few more former Channel 4 folks I worked with.

Thanks for all the emails letting me know I overlooked some people.
But remember, I'm posting only folks I actually worked alongside.

And, no, Oprah did not work at Channel 4.

Mike Machak... now a successful real estate agent here in Nashville.

Carole Houser... (a registered nurse who was our medical reporter & occasional anchor)... now the senior information officer and spokeswoman for Vanderbilt Children's Hospital, where she goes by her married name, Carole Bartoo.

Laura Faber... now an anchor on Channel 17.

Annie Price... (she was a reporter on "5 o'clock with Dan Miller" in 1992)... now a producer at Oprah Winfrey's Harpo Productions in Chicago.

Keith Bilbrey... a DJ on WSM-AM and a Grand Ole Opry announcer.

Jay Prater... chief meteorologist at KAKE-TV in Wichita, Kansas

Neil Barton... news anchor at KETK-TV in Tyler, Texas

Jim Travis... retired from Channel 4, but we still call on him most every time there's an election.

More later.... maybe.

____________________________________

AND THE ANGELS SING

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 17, 2005)

On Sunday, my six-year old sang in "the big church", as she calls it, for the whole congregation to hear.

She wasn't alone.
There were dozens of kids in the youth choir, and it was McKensie's first time to be part of it.

For days beforehand, spontaneous rehearsals would erupt at any time -- while riding in the car, or just sitting in the kitchen.
If she was nervous, it never really showed.

Sunday, as the choir director led the singing, McKensie made eye contact with Karen and me several times.
I'm fairly certain she sang at full volume, though we couldn't actually isolate her voice from all the rest.
Together though, those young voices sounded like caroling angels.

It was Children's Sabbath -- a day when the kids pretty much conduct the whole church service, leading prayers, and even passing the collection plate.

As I watched McKensie, I thought to myself -- as I often do -- how I wish my Mother and Father had lived to see their unexpected, later-in-my-life granddaughter.

From my vantage point on the third row, I thought how -- at certain angles, with certain little expressions -- McKensie slightly resembles my Mother, whose middle name (Giles) we borrowed as McKensie's middle name.

About midway through the service, I glanced down at the little church bulletin and noticed the date, October 16, 2005.
A date that rang so familiar.....

And it struck me....
It was my Mother's birthday.

She's been gone for 16 years.... and when there are no longer cards and gifts to send, or telephone calls to make.... even something as meaningful as her birthday can suddenly show up unannounced.

Mama (her name was Frances, but "Mama" is all I ever called her) would have turned 91 on Sunday, and -- if she could have been there -- would have so enjoyed hearing those kids sing like angels.

But, you never know.... maybe some real Angels were there on Sunday....
And maybe one of them celebrated the day by hearing her granddaughter sing in "the big church", in front of the whole congregation.

_________________________________________

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 13, 2005)

OK, by popular demand, here's the scoop on some of my former Channel 4 colleagues.

Last week I listed some folks I've worked with in the past, and judging by your emails, lots of you are wondering "where are they now?"
Some of them still live in Nashville..... some have moved away..... some I simply don't know..... and some are deceased.

Here's what I know about some former Channel 4-mates.:

Jud Collins... (he was king-of-the-hill.... Mr. Television in Nashville for years)... Sad to report that Jud passed away on Dec. 26, 2008 at the age of 89.

Teddy Bart... (perhaps the most versatile broadcaster I've ever worked with)... Teddy is living on a farm in Coffee County, Tennessee. He ended his long running radio show Teddy Bart's Roundtable. Teddy has written a new novel.

Dave Overton... deceased.

Bob Olsen... (was weathercaster and announcer when I first came here)... Bob's a retired corporate attorney, still living in Nashville.

Lonnie Lardner... (my co-anchor here for 5 years)... Lonnie's living in Los Angeles... conducting corporate art workshops... shooting a documentary... opening a safe school for South Central L.A. kids.

Sir Cecil Creep (Russ McCown)... deceased

Ben Thomas... (former, brief host of Noon Show in 1980s, and one-time soap opera actor)... I'm told Ben died in NYC in summer of 2008

George Goldtrap... (weatherman who used to toss the chalk in his pocket)... he's now a public speaker and author, living in Florida.

Huell Howser... (long time feature reporter here)... Huell has his own production company in Los Angeles, where he produces several popular shows for KCET public television.

Pat Sajak... (was announcer and weathercaster here)... Pat lives in Maryland most of the time... still hosts Wheel of Fortune... also owns radio stations and part of a baseball league... and yes, we're still pals.

Paul Eells... (was sportscaster and voice of Commodores)... more recently the voice of the Arkansas Razorbacks, Paul sadly died in a car crash in the summer of 2006.

Mike Bohan... (the most naturally funny person I've ever known)... Mike is the announcer and sidekick on Gerry House's morning show on WSIX-FM.

John Tesh... (we co-anchored for a year in the 1970s)... now popular musician and radio show host.

Maria Beale Fletcher (former Miss America & Noon Show co-host)... I've lost track of Maria.

Bob Jordan... (was announcer here)... Bob anchors the news, and reports, on WGN-TV in Chicago.

Charlie McAlexander... After a stint as voice of the South Carolina Gamecocks, he moved with his family back to Nashville. He's now doing play-by-play on football games for MTSU, and remains one of the best.

Carol Marin... (my co-anchor for a year or so)... now a columnist for Chicago Sun Times.... investigative reporter for WMAQ-TV in Chicago... and independent documentary producer.

Aaron Mermelstein... (popular, long time reporter)... Aaron is now a freelance writer and TV producer and director, living in St. Louis.

Dave Daughtry... (former anchor and News Director at Channel 4)... now hosting a radio show in Pensacola, Florida.

Joe Fisher... (worked here at Channel 4 from the time he was a mere teenager)... now the play by play voice of the Vanderbilt Commodores.

Boyce Hawkins... deceased.

Elaine Gannick... (she co-hosted Noon Show with Teddy Bart)... now a media consultant here in Nashville, and shows up on various TV projects from time to time.

Jeff McAtee.... Jeff was recently a news anchor at WWMT-TV in Kalamazoo, Michigan, but resigned in mid 2008 to become full time Commander in U.S. Navy.

Virg Jacques.... (was weekend anchor and reporter here)... Virg became an anchor in Detroit, Baltimore, and -- last I heard -- Washington DC.

Bill Williams (the rhyming weatherman)... deceased.

Al Tompkins... (world class journalist and former News Director at Channel 4)... now staff member and teacher at Poynter Institute in St. Petersburg, Florida.

The Noon Show Band... unfortunately, I've lost track of Dutch, Joe, and the guys, but I'm told almost all are now deceased.

Charlie Chase... (hosted midday show here)... Charlie's now hosting morning show on Channel 17.

Ralph Christian... deceased.

Carolyn Lawrence... (former consumer reporter)... recently worked in public relations at Cheekwood.

Tony Lyons... (former entertainment reporter and Opry announcer)... runs Mulligan's Pub downtown.

Floyd Kephart... (former political commentator and my sidekick on election nights)... Floyd was back in town for awhile, we had dinner a few times, but now I've lost contact with him.

Bill Markham... (weekend anchor here)... now anchoring the news at WRCB in Chattanooga.

Faith Fancher... (was Faith Baugh when she worked at Channel 4, and her life story is remarkable)... deceased.

John Siegenthaler... now working in family's PR firm in New York City.

Sharon Puckett.... hosting early morning newscast on Channel 17.

Lamar Alexander... (was political commentator)... Lamar is doing quite well... now a U.S. Senator.

Jeanne Downey... (former reporter and weekend anchor)... I lost track of Jeanne after she left WCBS-TV in New York.

John Bibb... (worked for the Tennessean, but did Sunday night sports with me for a while in early 70s, on Nashville's very first hour long newscast)... deceased.

Ralph Emery... semi-retired, but does some commercials, and I'm told is working on a new internet country program in Nashville.

Al Voecks... (former anchor and News Director) now newscaster and part of the House Foundation morning show gang on WSIX-FM, and also regular on Tennessee Crossroads on WNPT.

Andy Pearson... anchoring news in Little Rock.

James Lewis... is now working as photographer here in Nashville.

Ernie Freeman... morning show host for WHBQ in Memphis.

For now, that's all I know.

___________________________________

THE SPOOKY OLD TENNESSEE WALTZ

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 11, 2005)

I was thinking today about the Tennessee Waltz.... the song.... not the recent FBI sting.

It was in 1965.... 40 years ago.... when it was adopted as our state's 4th official song.
Of course, Tennessee now has 5 official state songs, though it's a rare person who can name them all.

While the Tennessee Waltz is unquestionably beautiful, it's also a song caught in a strange Twilight Zone-ish time warp.
I recall first discussing this with college pals more than 40 years ago, so chances are you've thought about the same thing.

The Tennessee Waltz was written about itself.

The composers (Redd Stewart and Pee Wee King) wrote lyrics lamenting the end of a romance, which dissolved while a band, somewhere, was playing a song called the Tennessee Waltz.

It begins:
I was dancin' with my darlin'
To the Tennessee Waltz...
When an old friend I happened to see...

And the lyrics end:
I remember the night
And the Tennessee Waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes, I lost my little darlin'
The night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz.

Think about it.
It could just as easily have ended this way:
Yes, I lost my little darlin'
The night they were playing
This song I'm composing right now.

How could the composers possibly remember the night the band was playing the Tennessee Waltz, when they hadn't even written it?

Don't get me wrong, the Tennessee Waltz is beautiful... it's a classic.
It became the signature song for Patti Page.... it made lots of money for Redd Stewart and Pee Wee King.... and is Tennessee's most recognizable state song.
And I still enjoy hearing it.

Hmmmmm.... maybe if I write a song about remembering the night I won Powerball.............

Perhaps I need some rest.

__________________________

THE AIR CASTLE OF THE SOUTH

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 6, 2005)

What fun.... being invited to be a part of the 80th birthday celebration for WSM-AM.

During all the years I've been connected to Nashville and WSM, I had never set foot on the property of that iconic AM radio tower in Brentwood..... until Wednesday.

There's an official historical marker at the site on Concord Road, and for good reason.
The radio signals from that giant tower deserve much of the credit for the evolution and growth of Nashville.

And it's no stretch to say country music probably owes its very existence to WSM-AM.

_________________________

The transmitter building is a virtual museum of broadcasting.
Just one flight down a spiral staircase takes you directly into the past.

_________________________

The top photo next to this essay shows a phone still hanging on the wall, where it was used by WSM radio technicians before World War II.

_________________________

The next photo shows an old boiler still in place, though no longer used. I seriously doubt they could move it even if they wanted to.

__________________

The third photo is a sign hanging on the wall of the old engineers' workshop, giving advice to the long-ago technicians that's still sound advice today.
The workshop is filled with ancient radio parts, and tools, and equipment so old that -- whatever it was used to fix -- no longer even exists.

There are wonderful historic photos stacked and stashed in the basement.....
And there are boxes of old 45 rpm records and vinyl albums that Eddie Stubbs obviously hasn't discovered yet.

The fourth photo shows Eddy Arnold and me talking out front. (One of us is older than WSM-AM.... though the other is closing in.)
I talked with Eddy (again) about the time -- in the 1950s -- when a kid named Danny Miller saved up his money, and lined up in front of the Imperial Theatre in Augusta -- hours before the show -- in order to get a front row seat for Eddy's performance.

Eddy likes to say he remembers me. "Weren't you the skinny kid in short pants?"
Of course I was..... but that was just a lucky guess on his part.

The bottom photo shows George "Goober" Lindsay resting his head on my shoulder (as he often does!)

We were standing near huge tents, filled with tables of barbecue, beans, slaw, desserts, drinks and lots of other goodies.
I asked George if he'd like to go to the tent and get something to eat.
"No", he replied, "I brought my own lunch."

It was a fun day.

___________________________________________

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted October 4, 2005)

Actually, the writing was on a piece of paper, taped to my daughter's bedroom door.

Just when Karen and I were secure in the knowledge that our 6 year old liked nothing better than the constant pleasure of our company..... there it was..... the note on her door.

I'm not sure why McKensie posted it..... she's made no effort to enforce her new rule.
In fact, she never even mentioned it.
When I asked her about it, she just smiled and looked at me, glowing with wisdom known only to children.... utter astonishment that we grownups have obviously forgotten what it's like to be a child.

But I didn't completely forget.
After seeing her little sign, I recalled how -- when I was about her age -- my neighborhood pals and I put a sign on the storage room door at Michael Danish's house, a place that had become our neighborhood club house.
Or, as my big sister Sara puts it, where “our neighborhood gang" hung out.

Our sign not only disallowed grownups, but banned girls as well.
What in the world were we thinking?
Needless to say, we changed our minds on that second part a few short years later!

Now that I'm deep into being "grownup", yet a relatively new father again, I find I'm more tolerant of, and intrigued by, the quirks of kids' behavior..... much more than I was with my first batch of young-uns' (now all in their 30s).

Today, I was thinking about the enchanting words that Kahlil Gibran wrote in his masterpiece, The Prophet:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

_____________________________________________

OH, IT'S A LONG, LONG TIME

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 30, 2005)

September 30th is a date that had a big impact on my life.

And no, it's not because on September 30th, 1960, I happened to be watching the final episode of Howdy Doody on TV when -- for the first time -- Clarabelle the clown actually spoke. He uttered the words, "Goodbye kids".
That was purely coincidental.

September 30th is significant because, for one thing, this year (2005) it marks the 55th birthday of this TV station, WSMV, which has been my professional home for the majority of my career.

Channel 4 signed on with regular broadcasting (as WSM-TV) on September 30th, 1950.

I first came to work here in August of 1969, shortly before WSM-TV celebrated its 19th birthday.
Wow! Channel 4 was still a teenager when I came here!
With the exception of a 6 year adventure in California, I've worked here ever since.

Anytime I feel the need to conjure up wonderful memories, I just reminisce about the remarkable people I've walked these halls with over the years.... former WSM/WSMV employees.
You may remember some of them:
Jud Collins
Teddy Bart
Dave Overton
Bob Olsen
Lonnie Lardner
Sir Cecil Creep
George Goldtrap
Huell Howser
Pat Sajak
Paul Eells
Mike Bohan
John Tesh
Maria Beale Fletcher
Bob Jordan
Bill Hall
Charlie McAlexander
Carol Marin
Dave Daughtry
Joe Fisher
Boyce Hawkins
Elaine Gannick
Jeff McAtee
Virg Jacques
Bill Williams
The Noon Show Band
Charlie Chase
Ralph Christian
Carolyn Lawrence
Tony Lyons
Grant Turner
Floyd Kephart
Bill Markham
Faith Fancher
John Siegenthaler
Sharon Puckett
Lamar Alexander
Jeanne Downey
John Bibb
Ralph Emery
Al Voecks
and many, many more.......

So you can understand why the birth of this TV station on September 30th, 1950, is so significant to me.

Oh.... and in a cosmic coincidence, September 30th is also my own birthday, though the year is not the same. One of us is an itsy, bitsy, teeny, weenie bit older.

________________________

THE PAT SAJAK - DAN MILLER "TRAFFIC SOLUTION"

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 27, 2005)

That's right, Pat and I made West End Avenue safer for everyone.... and here's how.

At the intersection of West End Avenue and 25th Avenue South, where Elliston Place begins, there was -- for many years -- a traffic light mounted on a big pole, standing right in the middle of the intersection.

Even into the mid 1970s, it stood.
I cannot imagine why the city had never moved the traffic signals onto lines above ground, and demolished that pole.

It was a frightening thing.... big and looming, with traffic zooming all around it.
From time to time, cars would scrape it, or slam into it..... and yet it prevailed.

A friend of ours, Gene Clark -- who operated Spotland Studios -- was the catalyst for finally getting it moved..... but it might not have happened without the brave actions of Pat Sajak and me.

It was around 1975 or so, when Gene crashed into the pole and was badly injured.... serious internal injuries.

Gene was recovering in the hospital, and had just been removed from intensive care.
That's when Sajak and I decided we should pay him a friendly visit.

Of course, we wanted to make our visit "special", so we stopped and bought a couple of those Groucho Marx party glasses -- the kind with the big nose and mustache.

As we nonchalantly walked into Gene's hospital room wearing our disguises, he started laughing - and coughing - and hacking - and wheezing - and turning an unnatural color.

The nurses didn't seem to be amused by our clever masks, and suggested perhaps Pat and I should leave.
We did.
Then, to our horror, we learned that Gene was back in intensive care.

Weeks later, Gene assured us that the timing was purely coincidental, though I'm still not convinced.
But I do know this.... primarily because Gene Clark was so badly hurt, city leaders decided it was time to remove that monster traffic pole, and to hang the lights overhead.

So the next time you pass through that tricky intersection next to Centennial Park, you'll know you're safer because Pat and I took the time to personally draw attention to Gene Clark's pain and suffering, by sending him back into intensive care.

____________________________________________

MILLER STANDARD TIME

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 23, 2005)

My wife and I both do something that, truthfully, makes no sense -- but we can't stop.

Each of us.... in our respective automobile.... keeps the dashboard clock set at 9 minutes ahead of the actual time.

We're keenly aware that the correct time is 9 minutes earlier than what is displayed, so it really doesn't trick us into arriving early for appointments.... and it doesn't keep us from being late.
Anytime I glance at the clock, I immediately subtract 9 minutes from whatever is displayed.

Karen and I never discussed setting both clocks 9 minutes ahead.... it just happened.
It's one of those spontaneous rhythms of couples.

Recently, we considered perhaps resetting the clocks to the correct time, but we quickly realized they've been 9 minutes ahead for so long that it would quite likely cause undo confusion.... and we could easily, out of habit, subtract 9 minutes from the correct time.
Then we'd be 9 minutes late for everything.

There was one minor problem yesterday....
Karen told me that her clock had somehow jumped to 10 minutes ahead, and it's been throwing her off by a whole minute. She actually wants me to set it back one minute, so it's precisely 9 minutes fast.

By the way, I also keep my age set to 9 years ahead......
So no matter how old you might hear that I am, remember I'm actually 9 years younger than that!

___________________________________________

THE CMA -- START SPREADING THE CASH

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 21, 2005)

To me, staging the CMA Awards Show in New York City makes about as much sense as bringing the Tony Awards to Nashville.

Broadway shows are at home in New York, and country music is at home in Nashville.

Now comes the astounding announcement that the CMA is shelling out $500,000 to fly country stars, their bands and crews, to New York to participate in the awards show in November.

Thanks to the CMA, the stars will fly first class to NYC, for free.
Crew and band members will fly coach, for free.
They'll all be provided with free ground transportation.
The stars will stay at leading hotels, for free....
The bands and crews will stay free in more modest accommodations.

And while I don't begrudge the country stars a thing, let's not forget that some of the top acts earn tens of millions of dollars a year.
I'm certain many will consider this a bribe of sorts, to assure a turnout of big names.

The CMA says assistance will also be offered to some other performers and presenters.
I wonder who determines which other performers will get free trips?
Will they provide this perk for "old timers" who simply want to attend the show?

This is unprecedented for a televised awards show, and -- to me -- signals a fear by the CMA that some of the marquee acts might decide to be "no shows" in the Big Apple.

This remarkable act of generosity by the CMA also comes at a time when artists are being asked to donate the proceeds from one night's concert to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, which is struggling financially.
Goodness, that $500,000 would go a long way toward helping the Hall of Fame.

Based on private conversations, I know many performers are deeply dismayed that the show is being staged in New York. But they don't make their feelings known publicly, so as not to offend the powerful CMA.

A CMA spokeswoman said, "we wanted to show our support and ensure that it is a positive experience for everyone."

Well, that $500,000 would certainly make a "positive experience" here in Nashville for the limo services, florists, catering companies, hotels, security personnel, restaurants, tuxedo rentals and other Nashvillians who'll miss out entirely this year, but -- what the heck -- they can all take comfort in having the "honor" of seeing their show broadcast from New York City.

I weighed in on this same topic last October, following the announcement that the show would move to NYC.

________________________________________

WHEN A GRANDMA TRADES CARS

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 19, 2005)

Back in July, I wrote about melted crayons on the seat of my car, and the affection I now feel for those stains, put there by my daughter.

Someday, when I trade that car, I'll probably miss those little globs of green.

It's funny how cars and houses, and certainly pets, become so entwined in the fabric of our lives that it's often difficult to let them go.

That essay (It's Only A Car) must have stirred up similar feelings in lots of people, judging by the number of email responses I've received over the past couple of months.

Whether the writer of this recent email was motivated by that particular essay, I don't know..... but it was sent to me by a local grandmother, who moved here from West Virginia, writing eloquently about trading-in her old car.
Here it is:

We traded cars tonight.
It was a sudden decision as we have been searching for the "right" car for 3 years.
As the deal was signed, I looked at my car, saw the WV sticker on the back window, the "Big Wheel" in the trunk, the booster seat on the back seat, and then I dried tears.

This very car had driven across I-64 and I-65 at a high rate of speed almost 5 years ago when my little grandson was about to make his entrance into the world.

This car had hauled boxes and boxes of items we moved from West Virginia to Tennessee 3 years ago.
This car held the car seat my little beloved sat in until it was replaced by the booster seat we changed over into the new car tonight.

This car held the little tiny scuff marks on the back seat where his little feet loved to swing against the leather of the front seat.
This car had empty lollipop wrappers he had carefully chosen when he got his hair cut last week.
This car, beloved, and I have enjoyed so many miles together.
Beloved will see the new car tomorrow when I pick him up from pre-school.

I wonder if he will cry when he sees our old car and the spills and scuffs are gone, and the WV sticker.

A grandma in Goodlettsville, Marilyn.

Thanks Marilyn.... I hope the little guy likes the new car.

_______________________________

SERENDIPITY?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 15, 2005)

One of my new favorite words is serendipity. I used it the other day in my essay about Demetria's engagement.

I don't remember ever using the word "serendipity" in regular conversation, except back in the 1960s when I was a disc jockey and would occasionally introduce songs by the Serendipity Singers.
Actually, the only song I recall by the Serendipity Singers was "Don't Let The Rain Come Down". I don't think they had another hit.

The dictionary defines serendipity as: "the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident."

That's what happened to me late Tuesday night.

A brake light on my wife's minivan had burned out. I had noticed it earlier that day while following her on our way to lunch.
There's no telling how long it had been burned out, and I'm thankful it was me, not a police officer, who noticed it first.

I told her to be careful, and avoid getting in front of a police car, until I could fix it.

When I got home from work that night, I went to the carport and -- feigning the skill of a master mechanic -- removed the tail light housing.

I told Karen I would run to the grocery and find a replacement bulb, and it would be fixed in no time at all.
Of course, I quickly discovered they don't sell such bulbs at the grocery -- (but I did pick up some yogurt).

I then tried several of those combination gas station/markets. No luck there either.
(Whatever happened to real, honest-to-goodness, full service gas stations?)

Then I tried the big, 24-hour, Walmart on Charlotte Pike -- striking out again.

It was now about 11:45.
At that point, I figured I'd just go home, reassemble the tail light housing, and tell Karen to avoid getting in front of police cars for one more day.

Normally I would've taken the interstate home, but that night I chose to stay on Charlotte and take the surface streets to my house.
Suddenly -- like a beacon in the night -- I spotted an auto parts store, lit up, with the door wide open and cars parked outside. Wow!.... I had no idea they stayed open so late!

I walked in, telling the clerk how happy I was to find them open.
He quickly let me know they weren't open, and he couldn't sell me anything.
They had been robbed, and were waiting on police.

I apologized, hoping I'd not contaminated the crime scene in any way.

But the clerk was obviously a kind and perceptive man.
He could sense that I was playing the role of midnight mechanic, with a wife fully expecting me to fix something before morning.... and he asked what I was looking for.

I explained my need for a #3057 brake light.

He got me one..... I handed him $5 and told him to just ring it up the next day.

As I left, all I could think to say was, "thanks".... and, "sorry about your robbery".

I fixed the light.
And though she never actually said it out loud, I'm pretty sure Karen was impressed with my skill at handling such a major repair so late at night.

Serendipity is alive and well.

______________________________________

A DUBIOUS ANNIVERSARY

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 13, 2005)

The man pictured here was the first to do what almost 43,000 people did in the U. S. last year, but he did it more than a century ago.

His name was Henry Bliss.
On September 13, 1899, Henry became the first person to be killed in a traffic accident in the United States.

On that warm September day, Henry -- who was 68 years old -- stepped off a New York City streetcar, only to be struck and crushed by an electric powered automobile.

In 1999 -- at the site of the accident -- a historical plaque was unveiled, recognizing Henry's "accomplishment". It reads:

Here at West 74th Street and Central Park West, Henry H. Bliss dismounted from a streetcar and was struck and knocked unconscious by an automobile on the evening of September 13, 1899. When Mr. Bliss, a New York real estate man, died the next morning from his injuries, he became the first recorded motor vehicle fatality in the Western Hemisphere. This sign was erected to remember Mr. Bliss on the centennial of his untimely death and to promote safety on our streets and highways.

Even though it happened so long ago..... when there were few automobiles around..... it is eerily unsurprising that it was a New York City taxicab that struck Henry.

By the way, Henry Bliss was not the world's first traffic fatality.
That had happened 3 years earlier in London when Bridget Driscoll was struck by a demonstration car traveling at the unheard of speed of 4.5 miles per hour.
Driscoll's death was ruled accidental.... and, the coroner -- referring to a fatality being caused by an automobile -- declared, "This must never happen again".

He could never have imagined what the future held in store.

___________________________

BIG BLOG BULLETIN!!!!

BY DAN MILLER
(orginally posted September 9, 2005)

No matter what you might read in Brad About You in the next few days..... remember.... YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST!

I've known Demetria Kalodimos, my co-anchor, for 21 years.... almost half her life.
I met her in 1984 when we were trying to convince her to leave her job in Champaign, Illinois, and become a reporter and anchor here in Nashville.

During the process of trying to lure her to WSMV, I recall sitting with her at Dalt's on White Bridge Road, talking about her life and career.

Now, fast forward eight-and-a-half years to September of 1992.
That's when I first met Verlon Thompson.
He was (and is) a top flight songwriter and performer, who was booked as a guest on my TNN cable show, Miller & Company.

I recall sitting with Verlon in our studio.... just off White Bridge Road.... talking about his life and career.

I knew Verlon.... and I knew Demetria.... but they didn't know each other.

Fast forward five more years, to 2000.
Demetria and Verlon met.

Now, fast forward to last Sunday, Demetria's birthday.
Such serendipity.
Verlon asked for Demetria's hand in marriage, and she accepted.

That's right.... we're thrilled to break the news.... right here on Dan Miller's Notebook.... our first exclusive!

If you've looked closely at Demetria's left hand during recent newscasts, you might just have noticed the ring.

Verlon and Demetria are two of my favorite people.... and I couldn't be happier for them.

More details as they become available.
Now, back to our regular program.

_________________________________________

PERSONAL REFLECTIONS ON NEW ORLEANS

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 6, 2005)

There's little about New Orleans to smile about these days, so I'm turning to happier times.

Whenever someone close to me dies, I'm flooded with recollections of that person.

While viewing the remains, or the casket of the deceased, I always have the same thought:
That's not the person....
That's just the vessel...
That's just the vehicle that carried that spirit through this life.

I've often had similar feelings about old abandoned buildings....
But this is the first time I've had such thoughts about a city.

With most of the people of New Orleans no longer there, all that's left -- along with the water -- is the man-made stuff.... the streets and the structures.
And it's painfully clear that it's the people, not those streets and structures, that make New Orleans..... well, New Orleans.

I hear that Preservation Hall escaped major damage, but without all the wonderful old jazz musicians, it's little more than a big empty room.

I've visited New Orleans maybe 7 or 8 times in my life.

The picture attached to this essay shows Muhammad Ali landing a hard right on the head of Leon Spinks. That was in 1978 at the Superdome.
Ali won the fight, and earned -- for the third time -- the Heavyweight Championship of the World.
There were 65,000 people there. I was one of them.

That night, Nashville was well represented in The Big Easy -- and I was happy to catch up with some of the home folks at a pre-fight gathering in a hotel near the Superdome.
I recall John Jay Hooker, Huell Howser, Jane and Dick Eskind, Wayne Oldham, Lamar Alexander, Floyd Kephart and many others being there that night.
It was a New Orleans-style good time.

The main floor of the Superdome was a sea of celebrities, but the only ones who come to mind are Lillian Carter (the mother of President Jimmy Carter) and Jimmy Buffett.
No, they were not together.
Mrs. Carter.... a feisty woman, who I suspect enjoyed her celebrity status.... had a ringside seat and appeared to be having a grand time in Nawlins.

Many of us had obtained -- what I was told were -- ringside seats.
But I assure you, I was at least 75 yards from the ring -- and had it not been for the big jumbo screen, I wouldn't have seen much of the fight.

Jimmy Buffett was sitting in the seat directly in front of me.
He was obviously celebrating the night, but I wasn't sure he was comprehending the fight.

A few years later I met Jimmy, when he guested on Miller & Company, and I mentioned that he had been sitting directly in front of me at the Superdome.
Jimmy -- being a man of candor and truth -- said he barely recalls even being in New Orleans that night.

The first time I ever ate squid (or was it octopus?) was around 1984 when Karen and I were in New Orleans attending a NATPE (National Association of Television Programming Executives) convention. In those days, I served as a V.P. for WSMV.
Mike Kettenring, our GM, was a native of New Orleans (where, interestingly, he once worked side by side with Lee Harvey Oswald).
Mike took us to one of his favorite restaurants, and tricked me into thinking the squid were french fries.
They were quite tasty, until I learned the truth.

By the way, Mike left the TV business years ago.
He's now a Catholic priest, serving a parish in suburban New Orleans.
As if that's not unusual enough, Mike's (the priest's) son and two grandchildren also live there.
Someday, I predict, there'll be a book or a movie about Mike's remarkable life.
I'm told Mike and his family are doing OK.... obviously not on top of the world.... but OK.

My last trip to New Orleans was in 1990. I spent a week there while working for CBS.
We were doing live segments every night for Pat Sajak's late night show.
At that point in my career, my mission was comedy.... not news.
I came to truly appreciate the lightheartedness and kind spirit of the folks who lived there.

I hope to visit New Orleans again.
I want to stop at Cafe du Monde for a sugared beignet.
I want a big bowl of authentic gumbo.
I want to see if Pat O'Brien's still calls its signature cocktail, the Hurricane.

Whether it will be the same New Orleans, in the same location, is an unanswerable question.
Maybe it'll then be called Newer Orleans, or the New New Orleans.

As to whether it’ll still be referred to as The Big Easy, I doubt it.

____________________________________________

AN ILL WIND

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted September 1, 2005)

Someone once said, "hurricanes are part of southern history, remembered for the damage they cause."

Southern history is now rewritten by Katrina.
American history as well.
From now on, whenever there's talk of hurricanes, you'll hear the name Katrina.

As I watched the television coverage, I was reminded how -- along with all the pain, death and destruction -- for many victims, there is an eerie isolation.

With no electricity, no telephones, no television, newspapers or radio, thousands of people had little knowledge of the magnitude of what had taken place.
The only thing they knew for sure is what happened in their neighborhood.

During one TV interview, a woman in Gulfport, Mississippi was asked how she would compare the destruction there in Gulfport with what was happening in New Orleans.
The woman answered that she had "no idea what's happening to New Orleans."

My heart aches for the people of Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama.

My wife has had difficulty sleeping.
She's not only been haunted by the images from the Gulf coast, she's spent days trying to contact her own parents in Mississippi.

So far, she's still not talked with them, but we did get word that they were safe and -- in fact -- helping operate a shelter for refugees in Laurel.

When all the mournful counting is done, the number of dead along the Gulf coast could reach into the thousands.
If so, it would be the single worst toll of human life in a natural disaster since a hurricane with no name slammed into Galveston, Texas in 1900.
Between 8,000 and 12,000 lives were lost that day.
In those days, there was no advance warning.

Gulfport and Biloxi will spend years rebuilding from Katrina.
There are credible concerns that New Orleans might never recover, at least not in its present location.
Some experts fear that business and industry will never again be willing to invest enormous amounts of money for construction in such a vulnerable location.
Only time will tell.

I've groped for something positive to emerge from all of this.
Maybe we'll be better prepared next time....
Maybe folks will be a little quicker to get out of harm's way....

Maybe there'll be a new awakening in the depths of the human spirit, with a collective commitment to charity and kindness....
Maybe, in each of us -- at least for awhile -- our priorities will again be stacked in proper order.

________________________________________

A GIFT OF BRONZE?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 29, 2005)

The 8th wedding anniversary is the year to give bronze. I read that on the official list.

As far as helping me decide on a gift for my wife, it might as well be the year to give plutonium.
The only bronze things I could think of were bronze self-tanning goo..... bronze book ends.... and bronzed baby shoes. None of those seemed right.

So I did a little internet research.
The picture you see here is what popped up.

It's a bronze statue of a dragon.

It stands almost 6 feet tall....
It costs $7579.95 (plus $204 shipping).

I'm not sure what you're supposed to do with such a thing..... I suppose you could put it by the front door.
Maybe Karen could put it in the garden, to ward off bugs, and rabbits, and noisy neighborhood children.

As I pondered this potential gift, three questions immediately came to mind:
(1.) Would she be glad I bought her such a thing?
(2.) Would she be OK not buying any clothes, or shoes, or eating out for awhile, to offset the $7579.95, plus shipping?
(3.) Would I hear words or phrases coming from her mouth that she’s never before uttered?

Maybe I better keep looking.

Thankfully -- as I've mentioned before -- Karen doesn't concern herself much with anniversary gifts.
She'll buy something she likes, and let me know it's from me to her.

And I don't need to receive an anniversary present either.
She's already given me 2,923 gifts.
That's the number of days we'll be married (as of August 30, 2005).... and, for me, each of those 2,923 days has been a better day than it could possibly have been without being married to her.

So, all you guys celebrating #8, the bronze dragon is still available.

_____________________________________

STEVE RAMSEY, 1952 - 2005

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 24, 2005)

It's odd, the things that cross your mind when you hear that a friend has unexpectedly died.

Early Monday morning, Belinda, our newsroom administrative assistant, was going down the list, calling person after person, with the sad news.... Steve Ramsey, our general manager, had died.

"What!"....
It just couldn't be.... I had just talked with him Friday.... he seemed perfect.... I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Thanks for calling", I said, and hung up.

Then I thought..... "Maybe she didn't say Steve Ramsey."
"Am I certain that's the name she just said?"
"I know I heard Steve Ramsey's name... but that seems so unlikely, maybe I misunderstood!"

But I knew it was true.

Then, of all things, I thought about a long scar on his right elbow.
I had noticed it when he wore short sleeved shirts.
I had wondered, was it an old football injury.... or a horseback riding mishap.... or, perhaps something from the military?
I'd been meaning to ask him.

I thought about his parking space.
He was the big boss...... so, why didn't he park closer to the door?
And why did he always back in?
Everybody could always tell when Steve was at work, because his big shiny pickup truck was the most conspicuous vehicle in front of the building.

I thought about the barrage of emails he and I would exchange, debating the way something was done, or not done, at the TV station.
We often disagreed.... and that's the part he seemed to like best.
He would call me a cynic, and I'd call him a hard-headed cowboy......

I confess.... sometimes I'd invent, or exaggerate, concerns -- just for the exchange that was sure to follow.
It was sheer enjoyment and mental exercise for both of us.... but most times, I was the one who would learn something.

No matter how argumentative we both might be, Steve would always end his final email on any topic with something like, "This sure is fun doing this with you", or, "Ain't this business fun?"

Steve took the TV news business seriously, but he had fun.
I've seen him send people home, simply because he felt they were spending too much time at work, and should be home with their families, or with their leisure activities.

He never shied away from saying how much he loved this place.... and the people who work here. He loved the successes.... and he embraced the failures.

If Steve were here, I'm certain he would debate my wording of this..... but here's the final lesson I learned from him:
Life is fragile and unpredictable.
Love your work.... love your life even more.... and have fun.

We won't see another like him.

_________________________________________

DID THEY HAVE ELECTRICITY BACK THEN?

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 22, 2005)

It was an honest question.

It came from my daughter after she had inquired about my favorite toys when I was a little boy.
I answered, "I always enjoyed my electric train."
With a puzzled look on her little face, she asked -- in all seriousness -- "did they have electricity back then, when you were a little boy?"

"Yes", I answered emphatically, "we had electricity!"

It brought to mind a printed receipt (which I have kept) handed to me at a restaurant a while back.
It's the receipt for my first ever, unsolicited, "senior discount".

That traumatizing event happened a couple of years ago at a fast food place on White Bridge Road.
When the server told me the amount I owed, I thought, "Hmm, a little less expensive than usual... they must have cut the price."
Then I looked at the receipt and noticed the dreaded words SENIOR DISCOUNT!

Now, understand -- even though I officially qualify -- I never ask for the senior discount.
I figure it's worth paying the extra money just to keep the illusion going.

But my wife (who's still years away from qualifying) seems to relish the savings realized by these discounts.
For example, when we take our daughter to a movie, Karen will eagerly proclaim (a bit too clearly) to the person in the ticket window, "One adult, one child, and one senior, please".

I, of course, stay discreetly in the background, hoping that no one makes a loud, conspicuous issue by demanding to see my ID.

On the other hand, it would be nice if the ticket seller would say, "No way that young looking man is a senior! We must see some identification before we can issue a senior discount to him!"

The good news is.... a senior ticket to a movie is exactly the same price as a child's ticket.... so, not only do the savings add up..... but I can feel like a child again.

And -- like Jack Benny -- it is nice to be considered a senior at 39.

____________________________________

PAY IT FORWARD

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 18, 2005)

Sometimes little everyday events will remind me -- for a moment -- of a particular movie.

For example, if I get caught in the rain, I'll usually think about Gene Kelly splashing down that street in "Singing In The Rain"....
Or if I'm riding my little 49cc Honda scooter around the neighborhood at 20 mph, I might imagine myself in "Easy Rider".

And some days -- for one reason or another -- I feel like I'm living in a Three Stooges movie.

Last Friday night I got to thinking about the movie "Pay It Forward".
You may have seen it, or read the book.

The gist of the story is that, instead of the characters paying back a favor, they pay it forward.

If you'd like to try it, simply grant an unexpected good deed -- or favor -- to someone you might not even know.
Then later, in theory, you'll be on the receiving end of something good, and you'll already have paid it back.
Sort of a karma-like thing.

Last Friday as I wrapped up a night of fun at the Williamson County Fair with my wife and daughter, I still had six of those little "ride admission coupons" in my pocket.... worth about $5....
And since I knew we wouldn't be using them, I handed them to a young boy I spotted walking along the midway.

I thought -- "this is kinda like Pay It Forward".... and I figured I would surely be repaid later for this random act of incredible generosity.

Minutes later, as we walked toward our car, my wife suddenly stopped.
There on the pavement, in the middle of the parking lot, she had spotted a folded $5 bill.
She leaned down, picked it up, and handed it to me.
Coincidence?

____________________________

ONE YEAR LATER

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 16, 2005)

Exactly one year ago today I started writing these little website essays.

Obviously I didn't know who would read them.... what kind of reaction I'd get.... or even what I'd be writing about.

To quote American author E. L. Doctorow; "Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go."
Of course, Doctorow also said; "Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."
Hmmmm.

Anyhow, this little blog has quickly become one of my favorite activities.
Writing about life, family, friends and career.... about likes and dislikes.... and abstract "thoughts and observations" on mostly pleasant things, is therapeutic and enjoyable.

But the best -- and I must admit, unexpected -- payoff is the response from readers.
It's nice to know you're out there.

As Andy Rooney once said -- and this is a paraphrase -- "I'd rather have 100 people read what I write, than to be watched on TV by millions."
I'm not sure the bosses here at Channel 4 would agree with that sentiment, but I do understand what Andy means.

A couple of teachers emailed that they read my essay titled THOSE THREE LITTLE WORDS to their students.
That meant a lot to me.

I was informed that a DJ on WAMB Radio read on the air -- in its entirety -- A PASSING VOICE IN THE NIGHT.

Dozens of people said my little story about WIGGLES reminded them of their own dog.
Then I got to read about their pets.

Thanks to all of you who take time to read these lines, and to send along comments.
I may not be able to respond to every email that comes in.... but be assured, I read every one.

Thanks to WSMV website manager Scott Sutton, who does all the technical stuff, posting what I write....

And thanks to Larry Brinton and Demetria Kalodimos for each posting an essay here 2 weeks ago while I was attending my daughter's wedding in Bermuda.

Now, I'll try for one more year..... though I still don't know what I'll be writing about.

_____________________________________

PHOTOS AND FOOTNOTES FROM BERMUDA

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 12, 2005)

Today, more thoughts and photos from Bermuda, where we gathered last week for my daughter's wedding.

You'll notice five little pictures attached to this essay.

Photo #1 shows what Horseshoe Bay looks like in the travel brochures -- a beautiful, curved stretch of shoreline paradise.

Photo #2 shows the reality of what happens most days on Horseshoe Bay.....
Thousands of tourists gather to enjoy the splendor.
But even with the crowd, it's truly a beautiful place, with spectacular crystal blue water, pink sand, and all framed by towering lava formations.

___________________

And if you climb over and through a few of those rocks, you'll be rewarded with dozens of small coves and private little stretches of beach that are breathtaking.

Photo #3 shows just how small some of those coves can be...... that's my lovely wife Karen standing in her own private little cove, no bigger than about 5 feet by 12 feet.

Photo #4 shows my daughter Darcy, the new bride, walking along Elbow Beach with her husband Darin, and already being stalked by paparazzi. Oh wait, that's the photographer we hired to be there.

_____________________

Photo #5 shows my daughter McKensie (the flower girl), and four year old grandson Felix (the ring bearer).
As soon as the ceremony ended, they headed straight for the water.
Within seconds of this photo, the inevitable happened..... and McKensie spent the rest of the evening wearing a dry, oversized T-shirt.

Finally, a few tips for those who might someday travel to Bermuda.
The best bargain for a tourist is the government-operated ferry boat across the bay.
Not unlike the Staten Island Ferry in New York City, a small fare gets you a fun ride and a terrific view of the bay and everything that surrounds it.

In Bermuda, unlike here at home, there are no free refills on your iced tea. You'll pay at least $2.50 for tea -- and for each refill, it'll be another $2.50. Same goes for soft drinks.

And if you're hoping for fast food, you're out of luck in Bermuda.
Years ago, they banned the usual line-up of fast food chains, to ensure the survival of local restaurants..... and it worked..... the local restaurants are excellent.
The only exception is one KFC in Hamilton that was already operating when the ban took effect.

Out of necessity - (we were starving) - the very first place we dined on the island was that KFC.
And, FYI, the KFC does offer free refills.

__________________________________

PETER JENNINGS, R.I.P.

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 10, 2005)

I never met Peter Jennings, but I always admired his work.

Peter's life underscored the truth that reaching the pinnacle of career success is not necessarily equated to time spent in a university classroom.
Not only did Peter Jennings not attend college, he never even finished high school.

But, goodness, what an education he picked up on the job, in every corner of the world.

Fortunately for Peter, he began his career at a time when the big bosses would first consider raw talent, ability, ambition and experience, before even asking about a degree or a diploma.

Granted, Peter Jennings had a remarkable gift for communicating and reporting that came to him at an early age.
And he was confident enough to follow his instincts.
Or, as the late Joseph Campbell would say, he was confident enough to "follow his bliss".

His writing was conversational and easy to understand.
He instinctively knew the way a story could best be told.
He lobbied against the overuse of graphics and banners that often -- for me -- cover too much of the screen during newscasts nowadays.

Peter had a knack for putting things into perspective.
I suppose it's possible that because he was Canadian -- an outsider -- he could see Americans with a clarity and objectivity beyond our ability to see ourselves.

While watching the TV coverage of his death, I heard a recording of a Peter Jennings comment that was very telling.
He said:
"I lived in the Middle East for a long time, and the one thing I learned after living there was that there is no one absolutely essential truth for all people...... and that every time I look at a coin, I instinctively want to look at the other side."

That tells me volumes about the reporter and the man.
He was one of the best.

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BAREFOOT IN BERMUDA

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 8, 2005)

In the 1950s two young women known as the Bell Sisters sold a million records of a song called "Bermuda".... that nobody (except me) seems to remember.

Check it out...... simply Google "bell sisters bermuda" and you'll see that I'm telling the truth.

It was part of my parents' rather small record collection.... and it got played over and over.... so it still rattles around in my head even today.
Back then, I had no idea where, or what, Bermuda might be..... but it sounded enchanting..... and now I've seen it, and I know it is enchanting.

I just returned from Bermuda, where I gathered with family and friends for the wedding of my middle daughter Darcy and my new son-in-law Darin. (That's them dancing under the tent on the beach).

It was an adventure for all.

Karen and I had no TV in the guest cottage where we stayed, and truthfully -- and blissfully -- we lost track of all the terrible and frightening things in the world that we're all supposed to keep up with every hour of every day.
Frankly, that's a real vacation for me, setting aside newspapers, radio and TV, and just experiencing the adventure of the moment at hand.

So we didn't know Tropical Storm Harvey was on a direct path for Bermuda until literally hours before it arrived..... heck, we didn't even know Harvey existed.

Harvey turned out to be a gentle giant, even welcomed by the Bermudians, who depend of collecting rain water for their home water supply.
In fact, Thursday morning -- just after the rain stopped -- I took my six-year old right out there on the dock of the bay, watching those clouds roll away.
It was a beautiful sky to see..... with a massive circle of fast-moving clouds, mingled with rays of sunshine, accompanied by refreshing (not damaging) winds, gusting to about 60 MPH.

The storm did cause airlines to cancel or delay some flights.... and that's where the real adventure began.
My daughter Jennifer (the matron-of-honor) was stuck in London for more than 24 hours, and missed the rehearsal.
Other family members (and members of the wedding party) were stuck in Newark, N.J. ... Nashville .... Charleston, S.C., and a few other places.

But there were also "adventures" NOT storm related.
My six-year old had to go to the emergency room on the day of the wedding because of a spider bite. She's fine, and made it in plenty of time.

And I got an uncomfortable sunburn on the crown of my head, a place where -- with every passing year -- more and more skin is somehow exposed directly to the sunlight.
I mean, who even thinks about putting sunscreen on your bald (uh, thinning) spot?

In the end, the wedding ceremony was beautiful -- it went off without a hitch -- and the happy couple is honeymooning.

By the way, I looked up "adventure" in the dictionary.
One of the definitions is: "An exciting and remarkable experience."
That's what I hope for them.

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A SPECIAL WEEK

BY DAN MILLER
(originally posted August 1, 2005)

This week, I've invited (uh, begged) my cohorts Demetria Kalodimos and Larry Brinton to each contribute an essay to my Notebook.
I'm tickled that they've both agreed.

I'll be consumed this week with the wedding of my next-to-youngest daughter, Darcy, to my (soon to be) new son-in-law Darin.

"Darcy and Darin." Has a nice "couple" ring to it, doesn't it?

So tomorrow, Demetria will compose an essay for this spot..... it should be posted around 10:30 or 11:00 Tuesday morning.

And on Thursday, Larry Brinton, the absolute dean of Nashville reporters, will write something.
I'm certain whatever they write about will be entertaining, and I'll read it along with the rest of you.

Have a good week, and I'll be back at the typewriter on Monday...... sorry, I'll be back at the computer.... though I still believe computers to be a passing fad, and we'll all revert to typewriters, carbon paper and white-out any day now.

Well, I will say one positive thing about my computer.........
It allows me to do -- in mere minutes -- things that were totally unnecessary for me to do at all before I bought the computer.

Have a good week, and check out whatever Demetria and Larry write.

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