We have come together this afternoon to remember Bruce Miller. Everyone of us has a story to tell about Bruce. We have been sharing them with our friends since the day we first heard the sad and shocking news of his death. It was hard to believe what we had heard - he was so much a part of us, so much a part of Holy Cross, so much a presence in each one of our lives. We give voice to our remembrances in tribute, in gratitude and in appreciation for all that he has meant to each one of us. We do not forget Bruce, so we remember: the College Choir, the Chamber Singers, the Parents' Weekend Concerts in the Saint Joseph Memorial Chapel, the Spring concerts, singing carols in the Dinand Library, the Christmas luncheon, singing for the Pope in Rome, Lessons and Carols, the Boston Pops at the Centrum, Brahms, Mozart, Bernstein, Williams, Gilbert and Sullivan, The Fantasticks, West Side Story, Sweeney Todd, the Requiem, the Cantique, Mamie Reilly - what a litany, what a gift, what a grace.

How in a few minutes tell the whole Bruce Miller story? It can't be done. I will leave it to each one of you to try your best. Let me suggest three characteristics which seem to tell part of the Bruce Miller story. We remember Bruce Miller the musician, the teacher and the loyal son of Holy Cross.

Bruce was a serious musician and an expert director of Choral music. He loved his work, he took it very seriously and sought to make every performance as perfect as it could be. He was as serious about the Pinafore as he was about the De Profundis. He knew the power of music to bring beauty, refreshment and relish to the soul. It had to be done well to achieve its purpose. He took to heart the old monastic adage "Qui bene cantat bis orat" the one who sings well, prays twice. But it has to be sung well, to count twice. His personal repertoire swept wide from classical through to the twentieth century. He could rehearse, he could direct, he could bring together as one, soloists, orchestra, forty singers and include sometimes even the audience. He knew his audience. The chapel concerts, always standing room only, were planned to last one hour, no more, no less. "Leave your audience wanting more, that's the secret," he used to tell me. After a full program of Beethoven, he led the Choir in the Songs of Holy Cross. He knew it didn't quite fit the musical mood, but he also knew they liked it and expected it, so he gave it to them. His interest and accomplishments in musical scholarship were accepted by the University of Birmingham in England as part of the program for his Doctor’s degree in music. He was well on the way to earning it and wanted very much to have it. I often called him, "Dr. Miller." He'd say, "Almost."

Bruce was a splendid teacher. He was no "gut." Nothing could substitute for excellence and excellence was the fruit of hard work. Rehearsals meant doing it over and over until you got it right. More often than not, his choristers didn't like it. Sometimes they were on the edge of rebellion. He'd say, "They don't like it now, but they will, after the concert, when they hear the applause and discover how good they really are."That was one of his secrets. It is the secret of every good teacher who helps his or her students find a skill, a talent they never knew they had and ride it to the stars with energy, passion and commitment. Bruce practiced every detail: the entrance on stage of the College Choir was itself a work of art and beauty; orderly, disciplined, formal and serious; a visual prelude of what was to come. His approach was just right for college where students make discoveries about science, literature, mathematics, yes, but also about themselves. Young people have been personally transformed on the stage of A.C.T., given the courage to grow up, be recognized, to be someone. It happened and I know them and it is to a major extent due to Bruce Miller. In performing the great Classical music of the West, the Requiems, the cantatas, the religious songs, Bruce helped to cultivate a taste for the music of the Church and the Catholic roots of the Jesuit college. They sang in Latin, French, German, Spanish, and English of the profound longing of the human spirit for faith and hope and forgiveness, the great themes of all men and women in search for God.

Bruce Miller was a loyal son of Holy Cross. In many ways, for 28 years, Holy Cross was his life. Late into the night, you could find him in his office in 511 or in the rehearsal room in 514. He was always around both during the school year and during vacation time. As soon as he concluded one performance, he planned for the next. I had learned from both experience and affection to totally agree with him. I suppose there were established expectations of what his work load should be. They meant nothing to Bruce. He gave a hundred fold of what any employment contract might specify. He was generous with both time and talent. Too generous, perhaps; he took almost no time off, little or no vacations, and was a bit neglectful of himself. I enjoyed a special relationship with Bruce. For fourteen years, as the Vice President of the College, he reported to me. In the beginning, it was business and formal, evaluations, and so forth. As the years went on it progressed from formal to friendship, with compromise on neither his part nor mine. I learned that Bruce was a terribly sensitive person, that like the rest of us he sought affirmation and approval. In command of his material, he struggled with insecurity; a strict disciplinarian, he longed to be loved. Now that he is gone, it has been a deep consolation and a pleasure for one to hear from others how much this friendship meant to him. It meant the same to me.

And so today, we offer our condolences to his mother in Levittown where Bruce grew up. She is advanced in years and not in good health. We also do the same for his brother Tom.

In conclusion, we recall the prayer of Saint Patrick: "Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand."