Mr. Miller was a class act, in many ways

     Watch this video and you are likely to be awed by it, as many of us were when it played at the start of Ralph Waymon Miller's memorial service Thursday: https://vimeo.com/242403680
     A clue, two words: Iwo Jima.
     He was there in the Far East when he saw the U.S. Marines raise the American flag on Mount Suribachi (or Pork Chop Hill), as the island was taken back from the Japanese near the end of World War II, a scene immortalized in photo and statue.
     He was 22 that day -- Feb. 23, 1945 -- as a sailor watching from the deck of a U.S. Navy carrier. As he mentions in the video, he had joined the service the day after Pearl Harbor.
     We lost one of "the greatest generation" last Sunday morning here at our seniors resident facility, a kind old gentleman most of us addressed as "Mr. Miller."

     He was quite a man, with a quite a story.
     "It's one thing to read about events in a history book; it's another to hear it from someone who was there," said his grandson Mark Miller at his eloquent speech in the Thursday memorial. 

     Mr. Miller was 96, and his life was full of family, faith and service. As a career-long educator in Fort Worth (1947 to 1983), he is best known and remembered for a decade-and-a-half as the principal of R.L. Paschal High School -- one of our city's "old" schools, the one closest to TCU.

     He was highly regarded, respected. Significantly, at Paschal, one of the most-used facilities is the Ralph Miller Auditorium.

     He was as much beloved there, as he is/was at Trinity Terrace, our place.
     "He was special, he was a treasure," said Tricia Baldwin, Trinity Terrace chaplain and official at the memorial service.

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     Mr. Miller lived in Fort Worth for 72 years, 66 of them with his beloved Evelyn, and the last 19 at Trinity Terrace -- eight of those somewhat lonely without her.

     But our community embraces each other, and Mr. Miller, for a time, was comforted by a grief-counseling group. And he certainly was always welcomed as he made his way around, slowly but steadily using his walker.
     A couple of days last summer, however, I was somewhat surprised to see Mr. Miller away from our facility, especially when he drove his car past as I was on a walk. Another day, we were in a Montgomery Plaza store when Mr. Miller drove up as we were leaving.
     And his daughter, Beverly Lewis, said that he also took that car on the interstate for a few trips. Age did not deter Mr. Miller.
     With our aging population, death is an everyday reality here at Trinity Terrace, and with a dozen deaths in the past five weeks, it has been an especially tough time.
     Just last week we had a lovely memorial service for Miss Peggy Turner, a strong-willed, generous middle-school librarian and bookstore owner with whom I had a couple of nice visits.
     Earlier in the month, on consecutive days, we lost Bill Kennedy and Jerry Hendrix, two fine, accomplished gentlemen. Cancer. 

     We had been here several months before I learned that Mr. Miller had been the principal at Paschal High, a school where for about seven years I walked the parking lots almost every weekend. Consider it my "home" school here, so to know that Mr. Miller was the guiding force at the place for a long time led to a conversation or two about it.
     He told me that one of his top achievements was to have a street constructed leading into the school, where access had been limited to only one way in. He went to the Fort Worth City Council to express the need for more access -- and it complied, and had the road added, on the back side of the school.
     (More on his working life, and Paschal, in a moment.)
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     When you saw Mr. Miller, most days he wore a ballcap to cover his bald head. So at the memorial Thursday, on display with several photos were some of his ballcaps -- Texas Rangers, a couple of with GOB (Good Old Boys) logos, a white (University of) North Texas one, one with a 3:16 inscription. But I most liked one of his favorites, a gray/brown one with an Old English "R" for Rice University.
     Those of us working in our Country Store knew he would come in almost daily and purchase a wild blueberry muffin for $1. Only blueberry, no other kind. On days it was not available, Mr. Miller might shake his head and sometimes softly voice his dismay.

     Only a day or two before Mr. Miller's passing, daughter Beverly bought the only two wild blueberry muffins on the Country Store shelves that day for her dad. He ate one, and one went to his second-floor roommate.
     He lived on the 16th floor of our Terrace Tower -- the original Trinity Terrace building -- just to the right as you stepped off the elevators. An easy-to-spot apartment because it is on the path to the fine-dining restaurant.
     A few weeks ago, as his health and mobility declined, he was moved to a room in our second-floor rehab area. But Beverly -- who had studied in Israel and lived in Jordan for the past 14 years, but came to stay in Fort Worth to care for her dad, sharing duties with his daughter-in-law Vicki Johnson -- brought him around, especially for meals, almost daily. He was not eating much, Beverly said.
     Last Saturday, they spent the greater part of an hour in our Bistro, chatting with another resident, and I went over to say hello. Beverly's shake of her head indicated to me it was not going well.
     On Sunday morning, they again came to the Bistro for breakfast. When they returned to Mr. Miller's room, he lost consciousness. Medical personnel summoned discussed resuscitation, but Beverly said -- and found the written proof -- that it wasn't Mr. Miller's desire.
     "He was ready to be with Mom," Beverly said. "He has missed her terribly all these years."
     "Anytime he talked about her, he had tears in his eyes," a friend at the memorial told his grandson. "He was so devoted to her."
     As he neared the end, his outlook remained positive. He told Tricia Baldwin: "If God heals me, I win; if God takes me home, I win."
     Three weeks ago, Tricia was visiting with the second-floor residents and asked if they had a favorite hymn. "Mr. Miller raised his hand," the chaplain said, "and said, Love Lifted Me." 
     That was the first hymn of his memorial service, audience participation. 
     "We sang it today," Tricia said, "by special request."
     When Tricia, visiting Mr. Miller in recent weeks, asked him for his favorite Bible passages, he answered with eight yellowed notebook pages full of them.
     Ralph and Evelyn's deep devotion was part of their everyday life. Their prayers carried through to their children (Beverly and son Terry), four grandchildren, five great grandchildren and one great great grandchild.
     In summers, the grandkids visiting Mr. and Mrs. Miller, Mark Miller recalled, "They included us in their morning and evening Bible reading and prayer time, a continuation of their regular devotional routine, and one they weren't going to put on hold just because the grandkids were there. I heard them pray for me, for my parents, for their pastor, and for friends they knew who were struggling. This was their daily habit, and one my Grandfather maintained after Grandmother's passing."

     Mr. Miller was a church deacon and an elder, and at Trinity Terrace, he and close friend Fritz Meyer took their usual places near the back of the chapel for Sunday afternoon vesper services. Not to be the first ones out at the end of the service, Tricia Baldwin noted, "but to greet everyone else as they left the chapel."

     Mr. Miller was a daily visitor to the second-floor health-care and rehab area, staying to the end with Fritz Meyer until his passing last summer.
     He was a contributor to the Tinkers' Den wood-working shop, carving ducks, cars and other toys as gifts for children, and finally donating his personal tools to the shop.
     And he was one of the best supporters to his Baptist churches, the Trinity Terrace chapel fund, and to the chaplain herself. 
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     He was born June 14, 1922, and raised in Grand Saline (Van Zandt County), just off Interstate 20 about 75 miles east of Dallas and 35 miles northwest of Tyler. His father worked in the salt mines south of town; his mother was known for her cooking.
     He played high school football in the days without facemasks, and played through a broken nose suffered in a game (it was set afterward). 
     In the video, he mentions that he enjoyed school and was a good student, and so it was on to North Texas State Teachers College (now University of North Texas) in Denton.
     And there, in his freshman year, as mentioned in the memorial service, ice cream changed his life for good one day.
     He took a date to the ice-cream shop, but it was a cute girl at the next table -- there with her date -- who caught his eye. Ralph walked over and asked if he could have a bite of her ice cream. (Quite an opening.) 
     He got much more -- a life partner.
     The next Sunday he asked Evelyn Harden to go to church with him. They soon talked of marriage, but Pearl Harbor and then World War II and Navy service intervened.
     Four years later, given a leave by the Navy, he was in Long Beach, Calif., called Evelyn and then sent money to her father so that he could send Evelyn to Long Beach. Good deal.
     They married out there -- before a Justice of Peace and a stranger passing by asked to be a witness -- soon learned that the war was over, and they came home to North Texas.
     They graduated from UNT and applied for jobs with the Fort Worth Independent School District. "I only applied for one job in my whole life," he would tell people because, as noted in the memorial service, he was promoted from job to job.
     His teaching career began at William James Junior High; she also taught (for 25 years) at the middle school level.
     His principal, seeing his potential as an educational leader, urged him to puruse a master's degree (at UNT) and he became an administrator -- vice-principal, principal, for a time assistant director of secondary education.
     He was a vice-principal at two schools and a principal at three. The Paschal years were memorable. 
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     There were two-dozen-plus tributes to Mr. Miller on his Star-Telegram obit and a Paschal-related Facebook page. FWISD officials knew that whatever school he oversaw was going to be organized and disciplined.
     One comment posted by Susan Erline White referenced a memorable happening at Paschal that also was related at the memorial service:
     The day Mr. Miller chased, caught and pinned down a streaker who had "invaded" the school and run through the hallways. He grabbed him in a parking lot, covered him with a blanket he had obtained in the school nursing room and held him until police arrived.
     Another story: Two kids -- reportedly from rival Arlington Heights High -- thought it would be funny to turn loose a greased baby pig in the Paschal hallways. This time Mr. Miller again gave chase, but it was too slick a grab and he finally employed the school's coaching staff to make the capture.
     Mr. Miller was known for his motivational weekly address to the school football team, in the foyer near his office.
     Bob Vela (Class of '75): "I remember he would come around and asked our hands every Friday morning before the game that night. He was inspirational. ...
     "He's one of those people you always looked forward to seeing. He always had an uncanny way of making me laugh with the Friday morning pep talk. He was a 'class act,' always seemed to have a word of encouragement for kids."
     Talma Stancil, a Hurst resident: "Thank you, Mr. Miller, always will remember you knowing our names and treating me as a person, not a number."
     It was Jan Johnson Rand who re-posted the original post by Lynn Andrews Swihart of Mr. Miller's WW II video that was part of the "Make Something Beautiful" project by Warren Cook.
     And Carol Scurlock Montague, whose mother Sue lives at Trinity Terrace, attended the memorial service and posted a copy of the program handout.
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     Mark Miller, son of Vicki and Terry Miller (who died in 2012), much resembles the young sailor of World War II.
     "Granddad was one of so many who put service to a greater cause over self," Mark said, "and as his grandson, I was blessed to witness his example up close."
     They had frequent Saturday lunch outings, drives around Fort Worth with Mr. Miller telling stories and pointing out sites of his and Evelyn's lives and careers, and a memorable trip back to Grand Saline a few years ago.
     "It felt like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting," Mark recalled, "a simpler time when neighbors knew and cared for each other, where homes were warm, relationships were lasting, and loyalty was valued. These were the values that would shape him for a lifetime.
     "Grandad told me stories of a life, a marriage and a career well done. He modeled Godly wisdom ..." And Mark then read a passage from his grandfather's Bible.
     "My Grandfather's life was marked by instruction, from his career in public education to lessons shared with family and friends," Mark said. "He demonstrated, through both word and action, commitment to Christ, a strong work ethic, wise money management -- my, how he could stretch a dollar -- and loyalty to God, family and country. My own commitments were shaped by watching him.
     "Grandad didn't just talk about wisdom, he lived it. Through the years, I've met students and teachers who knew Mr. Miller, and they described him as a man of faith, distinction and commitment to the right path. As his grandson, I saw him live those things at home.
    "He knew no hypocrisy or duplicity. He kept his word and did what he said he would do."