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Dennis and Dougie,
a match made in a hospital

At some point, however, things changed for Dougie. I have never gotten the exact details, but I think Doug contracted an illness that caused developmental damage. People who see Doug might be tempted to characterize him as "slow." He is rail thin with a graying flattop haircut. He walks with a shuffle and often finds it difficult to get the words he wants.

But to characterize Doug as "slow" would be to commit a grievous blunder. Doug has a steel trap memory for movies and statistics he reads from the papers. Doug never forgets.

And he has never allowed his sickness to keep him from becoming a productive member of society, but more about that later…

While Dougie was battling to get back on track after his childhood illness, Dennis experienced a more traditional childhood. He grew up, graduated from high school and went off to college where he learned to drink beer at the world class competitive level. After he graduated from college he went to work at The Finley Hospital, starting his career in Medical Records.

That’s where Dougie’s path crossed Dennis’. While Dennis was working in Medical Records, Dougie was working in Environmental Services. Over the years Dennis earned an MBA and transitioned to Finance, where he became the department’s director. Dougie remained in Environmental Services. As time passed, the two became inseparable buddies — an accomplishment that speaks volumes about both men’s personalities.

Whether it be as a result of his childhood illness or just his nature, Dougie tends to be very quiet and introverted. Dennis, on the other hand, had a personality that defines the word "outgoing." I don’t believe that anyone was ever a stranger to Dennis. He would rag on his friends and establish rapport with total strangers. A few months ago he sent an e-mail to one of my co-workers from a former job and joked with her about my advancing age.

Dennis, to be sure, was a person very comfortable living in his own skin. He never sought the spotlight, yet he was always a catalyst to what went on within it. If there were an award that he would be guaranteed to win at the Oscars, it would be "Best Supporting Actor."

I first met Dennis when I applied for the job of director of materials for The Finley Hospital. I asked if I could come in on a Saturday for the interview. He said, "Sure," and showed up in shorts. To characterize the hour we spent together as an interview would be stretching the term to the limit of its possible meaning. Mostly we shot the bull and talked about mutual acquaintances. Dennis became one of my best friends within the first five minutes of our interaction.

I met Dougie on my first day of work. I joined Dennis and Kathy Abba, the CFO, for lunch. They were sitting with Dougie. I soon discovered that Dougie ate lunch with Dennis most every day. I thought that was very nice; but eating lunch was only part of it. Dougie and Dennis bet on virtually anything that was "bettable" — not big bets, mind you, but a quarter to Dougie was as important as $100 to other people. In fact (as I soon learned), Dougie was so tight with his money that he was forever bumming 65 cents from people so he could buy a soda. He did that for two reasons: He was tight, and he didn’t want his father and mother to know he was drinking sodas.

Whenever there was a hospital function, you could find Dennis and Kathy Abba with Dougie. The longer and closer you looked at the situation, the more you came to understand that they weren’t accommodating him, but they really loved him.

And Dougie was the kind of person to whom true friendship was important. One of his closest friends besides Dennis was a senior accountant named Tony Fortmann. When Tony accepted a new job and had to leave Dubuque for Cedar Rapids, Dougie was devastated. Dougie was almost inconsolable for weeks after Tony left.

But Dennis was always there — making Dougie’s life better for nearly 30 years. He would take him to football games, have him over to his house for dinner and stop to talk with him several times a day.

That’s what makes the rest of this story so hard to write.

When Dennis was 39 he had a heart attack, and subsequently had heart surgery of some kind. Eventually he gave up most of his bad habits and began taking care of himself. To look at him you would never suspect illness. He always looked fit. He exercised and ate well.

Then on Sunday, September 30, 2007, Dennis got on his bike and went for what turned out to be his last ride.

BOOM! Just like that he was gone — massive heart attack. He was only 53. When I learned about it Monday, I literally could neither breathe nor speak for some time. Today, two days later, I still cannot believe it is true. I lost a best friend. His wife and three children lost a loving husband and an exceptional father. The Finley Hospital and the City of Dubuque lost a leading citizen and the heart and soul of an organization.

But what did Dougie lose? How can you categorize what Dennis meant to him? To say he was a friend would be to vastly minimize the relationship.

The relationship between Dougie and Dennis was more than that. Dennis may well have been one of the rocks of certainty upon which Dougie’s life was anchored. How can anyone possibly explain what happened to someone so set in his ways and in need of certainty that he would go to the cafeteria each morning to calculate to the penny exactly how much the day’s lunch was going to cost? How will he deal with Dennis’ not being there?

Somehow Dougie will make it. He has proven that he has the ability to deal with and surmount obstacles. Besides, Dennis will always be with him, as he will be with all who knew him.

And when each of us thinks of him, we will all remember the love he showed for his family, his friends, his community and most of all — for Dougie Miller.