I recently came upon an article in the Superior Telegram remembering my friend Chuck Miller. Although I have many stories about Chuck, I have one that pretty much sums up what type of individual he was.

I had just finished an early morning boat ride, and was loading my boat on the trailer to go back home. During the process, I  cut my thumb on a sharp metal piece on the boat, and it was bleeding terribly. I needed immediate help to stop the bleeding, but at 5 in the morning nobody was around. I saw the light on in Chuck's house, and I knocked on his door. When he saw I was covered with blood, he calmly took me to the sink, and told me to keep my hand under the running water while he got his emergency kit.

He dressed the wound, then fashioned a special tourniquet he learned in Viet Nam. The bleeding slowed, and he wound up redoing the process three times before he was comfortable the bleeding had subsided. I could hardly use my right hand for three weeks, but it healed fine, just as Chuck said it would.

We shared a lot of laughs over the years, Chuck Miller and I. Even though Chuck is gone, everyone whose life he touched has their own fond memories of him. As for me, I have a special one... the scar on my right thumb.