Greeley Tribune
January 26, 2009
Greeley Schools Notes
Miller a namesake not to be forgotten
The man with the infectious smile, a horde of information and a storied history may have seen his last game at District 6 Stadium, or any other Weld athletic facility, for that matter.
Doral Miller, 95 years young, is in the process of moving closer to family in Chandler, Ariz., for personal and health reasons.
Miller made his annual Christmas trek to the Phoenix/Chandler area recently, and by unanimous decision, the Miller clan has decided that the Arizona sun will do him some good.
There's one other thing that will do the little man some good, and the hearts of those who may agree " District 6 Stadium needs to be renamed in honor of Miller.
Doral Miller Field at District 6 Stadium makes even more sense than Invesco Field at Mile High because Miller has given more than any amount of money for naming rights could even come close to matching.
For six decades, he's given himself, and while loving every second of it, can recite it too.
The parking lot at Greeley Central High School, the old site of the district stadium, was Miller's home for as long as anybody can remember as he ran the chain gang for nearly 40 years.
When he wasn't taking his cues from a referee, Miller could be found in the bleachers " sometimes at three different sporting events on the same day, turning his Buick in the direction of Briggsdale for an afternoon football game, then heading west to Johnstown for the first half of another game, and finally settling at District 6 Stadium for the second half of a Class 4A game involving a Greeley school.
For golf tournaments, he'll usually bring his own chair.
There isn't a divot at Boomerang Golf Links that Miller hasn't filled, spending the majority of his summer days doing the deed he describes as an honor.
The number of times Miller has shot his age in golf is a story well told, and his collection of golf course pencils is unmatched.
I know, the suggestion of adding Miller's tag to the stadium isn't the brainchild of any one person, and of course, it's been discussed numerous times.
The feedback usually suggests that a person has to die before such a move is made.
Not in this case. This is an exception to any rule anybody wants to offer, and there will be a petition floating around this weekend's Friends of Baseball breakfast in support of the idea.
The decision that District 6 officials can make is way past being overdue.
Miller lives for spending every waking moment at a Weld athletic event or in front of the television watching one " unless it's Bridge night, of course.
With a heart bigger than an old Monfort feedlot, Miller has vivid memories of nearly every event he's ever taken in.
Can't remember a name? Call Doral. Unsure of how many extra-base hits a player had? Call Doral. Need the distance of a long birdie putt on the 18th green of a local golf tournament? Check with Doral.
Need a companion on a long road trip to watch a local high school team? Doral's the best company you could ask for. For more than 10 years, Miller rarely missed a University of Northern Colorado football practice, and even traveled to away games, stretching from Florida to Maine.
If you're looking for the most unbiased opinion, or any amount of information about anything in Weld County " not just high school sports " Miller's the most legitimate candidate for speed dial imaginable.
Cut him, and it's a good bet he'll bleed the colors of every high school in Weld County. It's an even better bet that he's watched them play an unfathomable amount of times.
For longer than most people live, Miller has been the best positive image resource District 6 has ever had.
There are whispers that he may return to Greeley next month to help gather some of his belongings, but after that, he'll become the desert's most valuable resource.
Miller can't be forgotten.
Calling him an icon doesn't do him justice. Naming a field/stadium after him would, and the time is now.
Samuel G. Mustari covers sports for The Tribune. Reach him at (970)392-4437, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Miller a namesake not to be forgotten
The man with the infectious smile, a horde of information and a storied history may have seen his last game at District 6 Stadium, or any other Weld athletic facility, for that matter.
Doral Miller, 95 years young, is in the process of moving closer to family in Chandler, Ariz., for personal and health reasons.
Miller made his annual Christmas trek to the Phoenix/Chandler area recently, and by unanimous decision, the Miller clan has decided that the Arizona sun will do him some good.
There's one other thing that will do the little man some good, and the hearts of those who may agree " District 6 Stadium needs to be renamed in honor of Miller.
Doral Miller Field at District 6 Stadium makes even more sense than Invesco Field at Mile High because Miller has given more than any amount of money for naming rights could even come close to matching.
For six decades, he's given himself, and while loving every second of it, can recite it too.
The parking lot at Greeley Central High School, the old site of the district stadium, was Miller's home for as long as anybody can remember as he ran the chain gang for nearly 40 years.
When he wasn't taking his cues from a referee, Miller could be found in the bleachers " sometimes at three different sporting events on the same day, turning his Buick in the direction of Briggsdale for an afternoon football game, then heading west to Johnstown for the first half of another game, and finally settling at District 6 Stadium for the second half of a Class 4A game involving a Greeley school.
For golf tournaments, he'll usually bring his own chair.
There isn't a divot at Boomerang Golf Links that Miller hasn't filled, spending the majority of his summer days doing the deed he describes as an honor.
The number of times Miller has shot his age in golf is a story well told, and his collection of golf course pencils is unmatched.
I know, the suggestion of adding Miller's tag to the stadium isn't the brainchild of any one person, and of course, it's been discussed numerous times.
The feedback usually suggests that a person has to die before such a move is made.
Not in this case. This is an exception to any rule anybody wants to offer, and there will be a petition floating around this weekend's Friends of Baseball breakfast in support of the idea.
The decision that District 6 officials can make is way past being overdue.
Miller lives for spending every waking moment at a Weld athletic event or in front of the television watching one " unless it's Bridge night, of course.
With a heart bigger than an old Monfort feedlot, Miller has vivid memories of nearly every event he's ever taken in.
Can't remember a name? Call Doral. Unsure of how many extra-base hits a player had? Call Doral. Need the distance of a long birdie putt on the 18th green of a local golf tournament? Check with Doral.
Need a companion on a long road trip to watch a local high school team? Doral's the best company you could ask for. For more than 10 years, Miller rarely missed a University of Northern Colorado football practice, and even traveled to away games, stretching from Florida to Maine.
If you're looking for the most unbiased opinion, or any amount of information about anything in Weld County " not just high school sports " Miller's the most legitimate candidate for speed dial imaginable.
Cut him, and it's a good bet he'll bleed the colors of every high school in Weld County. It's an even better bet that he's watched them play an unfathomable amount of times.
For longer than most people live, Miller has been the best positive image resource District 6 has ever had.
There are whispers that he may return to Greeley next month to help gather some of his belongings, but after that, he'll become the desert's most valuable resource.
Miller can't be forgotten.
Calling him an icon doesn't do him justice. Naming a field/stadium after him would, and the time is now.
Samuel G. Mustari covers sports for The Tribune. Reach him at (970)392-4437, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Greeley Tribune
February 19, 2009
Doral Miller succumbs to cancer
Longtime Greeley resident and sports enthusiast Doral Miller died Wednesday afternoon after a short battle with cancer.
Miller, 96, recently moved to Arizona to be with his family.
Known for attending more athletic events than anybody in Weld history, Miller also was an avid golfer and had shot his age more than 50 times.
He also collected golf-course pencils, and constructed pencil boards featuring his collections.
A memorial service in Greeley will be scheduled, but final details have yet to be worked out.
For more about Miller, read Samuel G. Mustari's column in Thursday's Tribune.
Longtime Greeley resident and sports enthusiast Doral Miller died Wednesday afternoon after a short battle with cancer.
Miller, 96, recently moved to Arizona to be with his family.
Known for attending more athletic events than anybody in Weld history, Miller also was an avid golfer and had shot his age more than 50 times.
He also collected golf-course pencils, and constructed pencil boards featuring his collections.
A memorial service in Greeley will be scheduled, but final details have yet to be worked out.
For more about Miller, read Samuel G. Mustari's column in Thursday's Tribune.
Greeley Tribune
February 19, 2009
Filling Divots in the Sky
Somewhere at Boomerang Golf Links today, somebody is filling a divot with sand.
No need to even attempt to perfect the process.
It's been done, an infinite amount of times by the man who perfected most of what he did for nearly a century.
Filling divots, collecting golf-course pencils, setting up his lawn chair at the most strategic spot behind the 18th green, critiquing a three-point near-fall, reading the newspaper from cover-to-cover or sloughing a diamond from his spot at the bridge table is what Doral Miller did best.
Wednesday afternoon, the 96-year-old Miller took his last breath, succumbing to a short battle with cancer.
I already miss him a lot, and for a horde of reasons, all as precious as he.
The day Miller walked through the doors to the Tribune newsroom nearly three decades ago still seems like yesterday.
An armful of newspapers under his arm, Miller waltzed his way to my desk to offer me a chance to read somebody else's work. I knew immediately that I had a friend for life.
No introduction needed. As far as Miller was concerned, he knew who I was and that was more important than me knowing him. Besides, there was a lot of time " three decades to be exact " to discuss everything from the price of milk, to raising kids to how to read a birdie putt and most recently the steroid circus, also known as Major League Baseball.
Little did I know the number of life's lessons I'd learn under his tutelage " from coast-to-coast, sideline-to-sideline, pitch-by-pitch, green-to-green.
Of course, there would be pencils " literally thousands of them " bags of golf balls, an embroidered shirt from the Daytona 500, game programs and the like, that would replace the newspaper collection over the years. For nearly 10 years, I graciously walked in Miller's shadow as a traveling partner on University of Northern Colorado football trips.
It would be redundant for me to dissect every aspect of what made Miller so special, from the number of times he shot his age in golf " more than 60 by the way " to his days as an accountant at Kuner Foods in Brighton.
He befriended everybody who had the pleasure of shaking his thick hands, always tan from the amount of time he loved to spend on the golf course, showered with sunlight.
As my thoughts and prayers go out to the Miller clan " all the way down to his eight great grandchildren he rightfully talked of often " it occurred to me that I may even have some Doral stories unknown to most.
For instance, the time he drank my contact lenses despite being warned, as I slept in while he wandered to the pro shop from the hotel room on the course we had on one of those memorable UNC trips.
"Why again are we going to the optometrist office before the game?" he asked. I told him it didn't matter. He had a free pass as my best friend, despite the four-generation age gap.
He once asked me if I was a "momma's boy," after I detailed my close relationship with my family while we drove through the Rocky Mountains.
Miller was the master at stockpiling airplane sandwiches for midnight snacks at places like Missoula, Mont., and Fargo, N.D.
In fact, after he stood solo and applauded an hour-long encore by the University of California-Davis band, he plopped down in the press box while I finished writing. When I told him there was a box of leftover sandwiches two doors down, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I know, I have three of them in my coat pocket."
He never squawked even when I poked fun at him as he battled with a new set of hearing aides, squealing like as pig headed to slaughter. "Fix it Miller, or we're going to have every dog in the state of Maine following us," I joked. Always accommodating, he adjusted the volume.
Once, in Fargo, N.D., I went to a colleague's house for dinner after Doral declined the invitation. Reminding him that I'd probably be late coming back to the hotel, and not to worry, he ignored me. How did I know? He was standing in the window of the first-floor room, in his Tommy Hilfiger skivvies no less, to make sure I had my door key, at 1 a.m.
When I'd remind him to be sure and apply his sun screen before heading out for nine holes or to fill divots, he'd sarcastically reply, "You worry too much, and what difference does it make? I'm riding in a cart."
On a five-hour drive to Craig in October to cover the Class 4A Boys Golf Championships, Miller knew the name of every golf course we passed, along with its address, and a little history. I realized that I have had a well-informed tour guide for a lot of years whether it be thousands of feet in the air or with the rubber on the road.
He could salvage a broken shoestring like nobody's business.
Doral will always be like family to me, without being related.
I can't imagine covering ballgames this spring without him. Even at 96, he went too soon. He's taken the one road trip I can't go on, yet.
I pray that by now, he's already reunited with his bride, Dorothy, and daughter, Jan, at the pearly gates.
If there was any way possible to relay a message to him today, I'd remind him to get us a cart, complete with bottles of sand, so we could go through the course and cherish each other's company with no rules applied.
Hit 'em straight Doral, and as if you need reminded, don't forget to grab a few pencils.
Samuel G. Mustari covers sports for the Tribune. Reach him at (970) 392-4437 or by
e-mail at smustari@ greeleytribune.com
Somewhere at Boomerang Golf Links today, somebody is filling a divot with sand.
No need to even attempt to perfect the process.
It's been done, an infinite amount of times by the man who perfected most of what he did for nearly a century.
Filling divots, collecting golf-course pencils, setting up his lawn chair at the most strategic spot behind the 18th green, critiquing a three-point near-fall, reading the newspaper from cover-to-cover or sloughing a diamond from his spot at the bridge table is what Doral Miller did best.
Wednesday afternoon, the 96-year-old Miller took his last breath, succumbing to a short battle with cancer.
I already miss him a lot, and for a horde of reasons, all as precious as he.
The day Miller walked through the doors to the Tribune newsroom nearly three decades ago still seems like yesterday.
An armful of newspapers under his arm, Miller waltzed his way to my desk to offer me a chance to read somebody else's work. I knew immediately that I had a friend for life.
No introduction needed. As far as Miller was concerned, he knew who I was and that was more important than me knowing him. Besides, there was a lot of time " three decades to be exact " to discuss everything from the price of milk, to raising kids to how to read a birdie putt and most recently the steroid circus, also known as Major League Baseball.
Little did I know the number of life's lessons I'd learn under his tutelage " from coast-to-coast, sideline-to-sideline, pitch-by-pitch, green-to-green.
Of course, there would be pencils " literally thousands of them " bags of golf balls, an embroidered shirt from the Daytona 500, game programs and the like, that would replace the newspaper collection over the years. For nearly 10 years, I graciously walked in Miller's shadow as a traveling partner on University of Northern Colorado football trips.
It would be redundant for me to dissect every aspect of what made Miller so special, from the number of times he shot his age in golf " more than 60 by the way " to his days as an accountant at Kuner Foods in Brighton.
He befriended everybody who had the pleasure of shaking his thick hands, always tan from the amount of time he loved to spend on the golf course, showered with sunlight.
As my thoughts and prayers go out to the Miller clan " all the way down to his eight great grandchildren he rightfully talked of often " it occurred to me that I may even have some Doral stories unknown to most.
For instance, the time he drank my contact lenses despite being warned, as I slept in while he wandered to the pro shop from the hotel room on the course we had on one of those memorable UNC trips.
"Why again are we going to the optometrist office before the game?" he asked. I told him it didn't matter. He had a free pass as my best friend, despite the four-generation age gap.
He once asked me if I was a "momma's boy," after I detailed my close relationship with my family while we drove through the Rocky Mountains.
Miller was the master at stockpiling airplane sandwiches for midnight snacks at places like Missoula, Mont., and Fargo, N.D.
In fact, after he stood solo and applauded an hour-long encore by the University of California-Davis band, he plopped down in the press box while I finished writing. When I told him there was a box of leftover sandwiches two doors down, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I know, I have three of them in my coat pocket."
He never squawked even when I poked fun at him as he battled with a new set of hearing aides, squealing like as pig headed to slaughter. "Fix it Miller, or we're going to have every dog in the state of Maine following us," I joked. Always accommodating, he adjusted the volume.
Once, in Fargo, N.D., I went to a colleague's house for dinner after Doral declined the invitation. Reminding him that I'd probably be late coming back to the hotel, and not to worry, he ignored me. How did I know? He was standing in the window of the first-floor room, in his Tommy Hilfiger skivvies no less, to make sure I had my door key, at 1 a.m.
When I'd remind him to be sure and apply his sun screen before heading out for nine holes or to fill divots, he'd sarcastically reply, "You worry too much, and what difference does it make? I'm riding in a cart."
On a five-hour drive to Craig in October to cover the Class 4A Boys Golf Championships, Miller knew the name of every golf course we passed, along with its address, and a little history. I realized that I have had a well-informed tour guide for a lot of years whether it be thousands of feet in the air or with the rubber on the road.
He could salvage a broken shoestring like nobody's business.
Doral will always be like family to me, without being related.
I can't imagine covering ballgames this spring without him. Even at 96, he went too soon. He's taken the one road trip I can't go on, yet.
I pray that by now, he's already reunited with his bride, Dorothy, and daughter, Jan, at the pearly gates.
If there was any way possible to relay a message to him today, I'd remind him to get us a cart, complete with bottles of sand, so we could go through the course and cherish each other's company with no rules applied.
Hit 'em straight Doral, and as if you need reminded, don't forget to grab a few pencils.
Samuel G. Mustari covers sports for the Tribune. Reach him at (970) 392-4437 or by
e-mail at smustari@ greeleytribune.com
