Mike Miller was one of my best friends at Swarthmore during our last two years. He was smart and quirky, and I loved spending time with him. He was very good at word games. I remember going to see him and our other classmates on GE's College Bowl our senior year, in NYC for the first and last shows--the team won five straight. RIght after graduation, I had three weeks to kill before my charter flight to Europe. My parents had moved back to England, so I had no home to go to. So, Mike, Audrey Melkin and I headed out in his little car for California, taking a route that allowed us to stay with various S'more friends along the way. It was my first and only cross-country car trip, and my first time in California. After spending time at his family's home in Malibu, he and I drove up to San Francisco and stayed in a hippie abode near Height-Ashbury. It had black walls. He visited me in Cambridge our first year after graduation and then later when I was teaching in Delaware. I lost track of him for a long time after that, and then I had some consulting work in Napa and located him. We had a wonderful visit, and I saw him again, this time with my husband, a couple of years later. He cooked us a marvelous dinner. He'd been a planner in wine country--a job that suited him. He wasn't good at writing, though. I was sad to learn of his premature death through the obit column in the Swarthmore Bulletin.
Belle Brett
Mike Miller was one of my best friends at Swarthmore during our last two years. He was smart and quirky, and I loved spending time with him. He was very good at word games. I remember going to see him and our other classmates on GE's College Bowl our senior year, in NYC for the first and last shows--the team won five straight. RIght after graduation, I had three weeks to kill before my charter flight to Europe. My parents had moved back to England, so I had no home to go to. So, Mike, Audrey Melkin and I headed out in his little car for California, taking a route that allowed us to stay with various S'more friends along the way. It was my first and only cross-country car trip, and my first time in California. After spending time at his family's home in Malibu, he and I drove up to San Francisco and stayed in a hippie abode near Height-Ashbury. It had black walls. He visited me in Cambridge our first year after graduation and then later when I was teaching in Delaware. I lost track of him for a long time after that, and then I had some consulting work in Napa and located him. We had a wonderful visit, and I saw him again, this time with my husband, a couple of years later. He cooked us a marvelous dinner. He'd been a planner in wine country--a job that suited him. He wasn't good at writing, though. I was sad to learn of his premature death through the obit column in the Swarthmore Bulletin.
Jeffrey Hart