Other days, August 16th for example, have less tragic, but still pertinent, reasons for being infamous. On August 16th, 1948, Babe Ruth completed his 9 innings on Earth and signed a free-agent deal with St. Peter*. Fast forward to August 16th, 1977 when another icon, Elvis Presley, took his blue suede shoes to roam the streets of gold. While not exactly national tragedies, these 2 events left a bit of a stain on 8/16. A stain that I hope to help remove.
Charles N. Miller
August 16th, 1943 - ???
That's right! One of my favorite people, "Uncle Chuck", turned 68 today. Of course, not everyone calls him Uncle Chuck, his mom calls him Charlie, his friends call him Miller, and people he golfs or bowls with call him things that I'm not allowed to publish on a public website.
Whatever you call him, everyone that knows him knows he is one of the worlds' true characters. It is often said about an eccentric person "he marches to the beat of a different drum". In Chuck's case, he doesn't even hear a drum. He marches to the beat of an antique Lynch Turkey call.
In his youth, I am told (mostly by him) he was a tremendous athlete as well as a gifted scholar. He was a scratch golfer, averaged over 225 as a bowler, and graduated from Penn State University with an engineering degree. Some time in the 60's he retrofitted a Harley Davidson factory to produce 500 pound bombs for the Vietnam War effort.
At the conclusion of the war, he went to work for a dental supply company and was specifically tasked with designing a machine that would make dental drill bits. Not only did he perfect a machine that would make drill bits 10 times faster than the old one, but he also left his mark on the company in another, more casual, way. He refused to wear a tie. I'm told tales (thanks to Roger and Grant) of him roaming through the engineering lab wearing the same clothes he'd passed out in the night before, challenging upper management to come tie a (blankity blank) tie around his neck themselves if it was so (blankity blank) important to them. Rather than risk an altercation with their unconventional genius, they changed corporate policy: ties optional. (Interestingly, I heard rumor that he recently came home from an estate sale with 5 nice sport coats and a couple dozen silk ties. I'll let the reader decide if this was a function of senility...)
It is often the goal of an aging golfer to "shoot his age" in 18 holes of golf. With 2 plastic hips, Chuck's more realistic goal will be to bowl his age. There exists a hallowed list of bowlers who have rolled a perfect score of 300. There also exists a less-hallowed list of bowlers whose dreams will forever be haunted by single pin left standing in the tenth frame. Chuck is on the latter list. Characteristically, he has embraced his brush with near-greatness, as he is often seen wearing a gold ring emblazoned "299". C'est la vie...
I once heard a story about a quite remarkable man who late in life was diagnosed with terminal cancer. While reflecting back on his time on Earth he said, "You know? When you get to this point, the one thing you don't think is 'I wish I'd spent more time in the office'." Since hearing that story, I've adopted that as my unofficial motto. I'd like to think that Chuck agrees.
Looking back over 68 years, he can remember his professional successes in the engineering world and as being the proprietor of Miller's Fine Jewelry. More importantly though, were the fishing and hunting trips with his son, the afternoons and nights spent golfing and bowling with his friends, the trips to Europe and the Caribbean with Vicki, making a small fortune** as the owner of a racing team, getting ejected from Orioles game for taunting Brooks Robinson, and so on...
Selfishly, I also hope he reflects back on the friendship that he and I have forged over the past 10-12 years. Geography keeps me from seeing him very often but we've spent literally hundreds of hours together on the phone. Talking college football, major league baseball, celebrating good times and working through difficult times in my personal and professional life, etc. Over the years, he's given me untold volumes of good advice and I'm thankful that I've known him so well.
I realize that the last 2 paragraphs might read more like a eulogy than a birthday card. That was certainly not my intent. I hope we get 68 more years out of him. 68 more years of practice and he might be able to beat me at Gin. And when that glorious day comes and he joins his trusty dog Cochise for the great Pheasant Hunt in the Sky, those of us who knew him will be able to say:
Chuck Miller, he lived!
Editor's Note: It's possible that Adam has misremembered various portions of Chuck's life. Neither accuracy nor fact-checking have ever been strengths here at the Razor. Readers who notice said errors are encouraged to keep them to themselves.
* Some posit that Babe Ruth was not admitted to Heaven upon his demise. I have it on good account that anyone who is forced to play 6 years for the Red Sux gets into Heaven on account of Earthly suffering.
**Chuck told me it's easy to make a small fortune owning a racing team, start with a big one.
