RIP Colonel Curtis Dan Miller

When we first bought our house, we found a military bracelet hanging from a nail in the attic. It's one of those metal bracelets that were worn when a military member would go off to war. The bracelet has the name of Curtis Daniel Miller on it. We did some research and found out a little about him. Amber wore the bracelet for awhile. I checked for more info on him periodically and prayed for his family. Tonight I found out some more news. Here's his story:


Azle widow can finally lay her Air Force husband to rest
By CHRIS VAUGHN

AZLE -- Above all else, theirs is a love story.

"I love him today as I did when I married him," she said.

They were known as Sue and Dan in the late 1960s and early '70s -- the "for
better" years -- before the "or worse" part emerged and then never went
away.

That March day in 1972 when Maj. Curtis Daniel Miller's plane was shot down
over Laos and he went missing, Sue became Susan.

Sue was just for Dan.

She had hoped, for a long time, that maybe he would call her name again,
that maybe he and his crew had survived the crash and were at a secret POW
camp and that one day Laos and the U.S. would reveal everything to her. She
never remarried, even though he had given her permission in one of those
what-if conversations before he shipped out for Southeast Asia.

But now, after 38 years, the government has given her an answer and
extinguished that one flicker of hope.

The remains of Maj. Miller, uncovered in an excavation several years ago and
identified last year, will be buried this month at Dallas-Fort Worth
National Cemetery on the anniversary of his shoot-down, March 29.

He will receive full military honors, and a quartet of Air Force planes will
roar overhead in a missing-man formation.

Most of Susan Miller's friends and her students in Azle struggle to offer
condolences or congratulations or our-thoughts-are-with-you. And she is
wrestling with her own emotions now that her husband's deployment is finally
over and that she is, in her own mind, a widow.

"I would like some closure," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I'm
tired of grieving."

College sweethearts

Born to a machine shop owner and a nurse in the early summer of 1946, Maj.
Miller grew up in Palacios, a shrimping and tourism town on Matagorda Bay.
He played football for the Palacios High School Sharks, participated in
senior plays and had a mischievous streak.

A Sigma Chi fraternity brother at Texas Tech University and an Air Force
ROTC cadet, he was introduced to Susan Rothrock by her best friend. Soon,
they married.

"He was a junior; I was a sophomore," she said. "I was 19. If my daughter
had told me she was getting married at 19, I probably would have killed
her."

When he graduated from flight training at Reese Air Force Base in Lubbock,
they moved around the country for a few years while he was trained on
fighters, bombers and finally AC-130 Spectres. Spectres were C-130 Hercules
planes modified into high-tech reconnaissance and heavy-duty gunships.

"He could fly just about anything but a helicopter," Susan Miller said.

The couple had their first -- and only -- child, Christy, in 1969, when he
was stationed in San Antonio. He loved children, his wife said, and they had
hoped to "have a passel of them."

"He just had to sit in the nursery and stare at me for several hours," said
Christy Hollerich, who also lives in Azle. "He couldn't help himself."

In summer 1971, Maj. Miller got word that he would deploy to Southeast Asia
to serve with the 16th Special Operations Squadron, based in Ubon, Thailand.

In 1968, the Air Force had begun flying Spectres out of Thailand on missions
to impair the ability of the North Vietnamese to supply their forces in
South Vietnam using the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The missions over Laos were a
"secret war" that the American people knew nothing about.

Before Maj. Miller left, he and his wife went to Acapulco, Mexico, figuring
they deserved a good vacation since their college-budget honeymoon had
involved only a trip to Six Flags Over Texas.

They communicated as best they could for those days. Miller would write
letters almost every day and ship them in a box. Her husband would often
answer with a tape recording. They rarely talked by telephone.

In February 1972, Maj. Miller got a break from his missions and met his wife
in Houston for one week.

"It was like another honeymoon," she said, smiling. "We didn't come up for
air often."

It wasn't hard, though, for Miller to tell that her husband was a different
man. Gone, she noticed, was that fun-loving, goofy side, the one with the
Donald Duck voice he pulled out for Christy's friends.

He told her that he flew early morning missions, that he would take off
around 3 a.m. and try to be off the Ho Chi Minh Trail by dawn when a
lumbering target like the Spectre would make for an easier target.

Other than that, he didn't share much, even about the two Distinguished
Flying Crosses he earned.

"He was so full of life before, but he was a lot more serious when I saw
him," she said.

Just a month later, an Air Force staff car pulled up to her parents' house
in Corpus Christi, where she and Christy were living while he was gone.

"It was early in the morning," she said. "When you see the car, you know
it's bad, but you just don't want to acknowledge it. I wouldn't open the
door. They had to get my dad to open it."

A crash, then silence

Miller's aircraft -- he was the co-pilot -- was shot down by a
surface-to-air missile on March 29, 1972, over southern Laos. Thirteen other
men were aboard. The area was too hostile to attempt a rescue or
investigation.

"It was a pretty hairy time for the gunships," said Pat Carpenter, who
served as a gunner aboard Spectres in 1970 and '71. "Triple A [anti-aircraft
artillery] was a constant threat."

For several years, Maj. Miller's family was consumed with finding out more
about what happened.

Some reports said that the plane crashed in a fireball and that no
parachutes were seen. But some family members had also been told that F-4
Phantom pilots in the area had heard emergency beepers going off in the
jungle, which meant that some survived the crash.

None of the families of the crew had bodies to bury, and neither the Laotian
nor U.S. government had any interest in sharing details of a "secret war."
So all that was left was frustrating silence about whether the men were
alive or dead.

Miller often traveled to Washington, D.C., and became extremely involved in
the National League of POW/MIA Families.

"The Air Force has been good to me, but there were times when we thought we
were hitting a brick wall," she said. "It was extremely frustrating."


Maj. Miller's father, Paul, along with several dozen other relatives of the
missing, journeyed to Laos in 1973 to find information but returned more
discouraged.

"He got within 20 miles of Dan's crash site," Miller said. "Men with machine
guns wouldn't let them go any further. It broke his heart."

Paul Miller died in 1974 of a heart attack.

By the mid-1970s, Miller was tired of the activism and the toll it was
taking. She felt that her daughter needed her, so she took a less public
role in the fight to have the government account for its missing.

Officially, the government declared Maj. Miller dead around that time,
ending some of his wife's benefits. But a declaration is not the same as
proof.

In 1984, Miller was dragged back in time when a reporter for CBS News and a
writer for Soldier of Fortune magazine improbably brought her husband's
wedding ring to her. They had paid $400 to a Laotian man who said he had
found the crash site and taken the ring.

It took them close to a year to trace the inscription -- Forever Love Sue --
to Maj. Miller. The ring wasn't damaged in the least, which only raised more
questions.

"It wasn't dented or charred," Hollerich said. "It was in pristine
condition. They had been telling us the fire at the crash had been hot
enough to burn bones. Well, then the ring is found, and you had to ask
yourself -- how does this happen? It was surreal."

A few years later, the military sent Susan Miller his medical tags --
alerting medics to his allergy to penicillin -- which had been discovered
during an excavation in the mid-1980s.

Finally, last year, the government told her that it had discovered
additional remains at the crash site in 2005 and '06 and began notifying
families as it identified them through DNA analysis. All 14 of the men, the
government says, have been identified.

"With news trickling in over the years, you think you've got a good hold of
it and you're in control," she said. "But then something happens, and the
emotions just come flooding. It's like he went down yesterday and I just got
the news."

'I tried everything in my power'

In a few days, she will get on a plane for Hawaii to escort her husband's
remains back to Texas.

Miller, like the stories about her husband, has her contradictions.

She teaches history to middle school students and has faith and trust in her
government. Yet she will also tell you "I'm not naive" and doesn't believe
that the government has always shot straight with her.

She has never bought the story that Maj. Miller died in the crash.

How or when he died, she doesn't know. She figures she never will. But she
is certain he is gone and, rationally, has known that for many years.

"I know he would have tried to get home to me and his little girl," she
said. "I also know I tried everything in my power to find out what happened
to him."

But what goes on in the head doesn't always communicate with the heart. So
over the years she dated some, even got a proposal or two. But her heart
always told her that she was still married, for better or for worse.

"I couldn't declare him dead," she said. "That had to come from our
government."

CHRIS VAUGHN, 817-390-7547

Tired!

Just tired! It might have something to do with the midnight courier run to Pittsburgh I did last night. Along with the thought of having to do it two more nights in a row. It's not actually a "midnight" run. I leave the house about 8 p.m. and get home about 1:30 a.m. So, it does encompass midnight.

In addition to the courier stuff, I'm doing all the "mama" stuff and "wife" stuff. The stuff that most of you do every day too....laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, bill paying, dr. appts, cooking, taking care of the indoor pets and the chickens, trying to maintain a flower bed and keep the car somewhat decent. Which reminds me, I think it needs an oil change again. Oh, and add, homeschooling to the list. Did I say I'm tired??? I am. Might just take a nice long nap until about 8 p.m. ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The Bag Lady Strikes Again!

I don't know how it happens. A perfectly normal woman with sound financial principles walks into a department store and suddenly she turns into The Bag Lady. Just like Linda Carter who turned into Wonder Woman or Clark Kent who turned into Superman. She turns into The Bag Lady. But unlike Wonder Woman and Superman, she doesn't gain super powers, she loses all common sense. I guess her only redeeming quality is that she has the power to scope out a sale and she never pays full-price. Bags are like kryptonite to her. She becomes weak and vulnerable to the bag. Not any bag, though. It has to be a beautiful bag of high quality. The latest bag that brought her down is this one: A Dooney & Bourke Lucy bag.

Full!

A cute little country home.

Lots of cuddly pets.

Roosters that wake me every morning.

A hubby that loves me enormously.

Children that are awesome!

Friends that I could call on a moments notice.

Family near by.

Church that is amazing.

Small town community.

My life is full...my heart is full. And I am so "great-full" for it all!

Life, Death and Family Reunions

This has been a year for reunions. Not just family reunions but class reunions and military reunions too. Frank has his 20th anniversary Desert Storm reunion next weekend at Langley Air Force Base. Wow! Has it been twenty years already? It seems like yesterday that I was that young, scared Air Force wife who didn't have a clue where Saudi Arabia was when her hubby got shipped out. Those seven months were the most difficult months I've had to endure. Frank, on the other hand, was in a 4-star hotel (most of that time) with room service while I was holding down the fort and watching Wolf Blitzer on CNN 24 hours a day for any bit of news about the middle east. Frank's looking forward to seeing his old buddies and catching up on life events.

My 25th high school reunion was this summer. I didn't attend. I married my best friend from high school and didn't see a need in going.

We had two family reunions this year on two separate weekends. The first was my mom's family reunion...the Murphy Reunion. This is actually my great-grandparents reunion. So, great-aunts, uncles, third-cousins come from all over to reunite for a day or two. Everyone is happy to see each other, we eat a lot of good food, Uncle Jim calls out the door prize numbers and then everyone goes home. It's a good time.

The second reunion is smaller. It's Frank's mom's reunion. Mostly, it's Frank and his four sisters, their families and any close friends that want to stop by. Usually someone has pitched a tent or two in the yard. We did that a couple of times. One year there were four or five tents in the yard. The siblings catch up with each other and the cousins, who are young adults now, go to the mall and then to the river. Everyone looks forward to Uncle Frankie's bonfire Saturday night and the accompanying s'mores.

A friend recently posted on her face book page what a wonderful weekend she had with her friends. She said she imagined that's what heaven would be like...all of her friends gathered together in one place with one Savior. I think she's right. I think about my friends...my military family, who is scattered all over the world and know that one day we will all be together again.

That's a comforting thought when you think of your loved ones that have passed away. I've attended several funerals over the past few years. There's quite a difference between the funeral of a person who loved the Lord and served Him. And the funeral of someone that didn't even attend church. I think the saddest funeral is when the Pastor or the funeral director didn't even know the deceased. They just make stuff up based on what family members have told him. The service is kind of flat and perfunctory, at best. But at least they have a service.

I've been thinking about the babies that are lost due to miscarriage. They don't get a service. There's no ceremony, no public grieving of the lost life. And it was a life. No matter how short...a month or two, a few weeks...from the moment of conception it was a baby. Yes, I'm a pro-lifer! For a time, there were hopes and dreams, plans and a future. And then one day, there wasn't. And there's no acknowledgment of the loss. Just some medical jargon and well-meaning platitudes.

To those who've endured such a loss. I'm so sorry. For all of those who've told you it wasn't really a baby, it was just tissue...I'm so sorry. For those who told you it was natures way of getting rid of imperfect babies, I'm so sorry. For all of those who said nothing in fear of saying the wrong thing, I'm so sorry. And let me also say, one day you will have a reunion too. I don't know how it works but I believe you will recognize your baby in heaven and will be reunited. I think the same is true for aborted babies. God offers forgiveness to those who seek it. So many times women are ill-advised and even encouraged to have an abortion. No one explains the life-altering consequences of ending their baby's life. The woman doesn't forget. She remembers what would have been his birthday and marks the milestones in her mind. She will forever have mother thoughts and feelings for her aborted baby.

Fortunately, there is a God who forgives. A God who cares. A God who knows about grief. A God who loves us. A God who can comfort and offer peace in our hearts. A God who is waiting for the ultimate family reunion when his Son will come back and gather His people to Himself. Are you one of His people??? You can be. Hope to see you there!

Bag Lady...part two

Yep, I succumbed to another bag purchase. But it's sooo pretty. And red! And made from Italian leather. Yes, I feel a bit strange about it...me, a vegetarian, purchasing a leather bag. But the cow's already dead and I didn't kill it. I'm just appreciating it's sacrifice. Andrew gave me a hard time about it. He teased me mercilessly and continues to. But I'm ok with that. Frank says the bag looks like a Volkswagon Beetle. I'm ok with that too. Wouldn't you endure the teasing for such a beautiful bag???

Advice From a Country Song

Be a best friend.

Tell the truth.

Overuse I love you.

Go to work.

Do your best.

Don’t outsmart your common sense.

Never let your praying knees get lazy,

and love like crazy.