Lynda was a classmate of mine all through school. I remember her smiling face so clearly. She had such a bubbly personality and was always so much fun to be around. It saddens me to learn that she is no longer spreading her happiness with us. Thinking of you Lynda.
So sad that other one of our classmate as pass on way to early, but they will never be forgotten, when we were in the first grade and the teacher was taking row call for the first time, and she call out Lynda , Doug and Merry Miller I thought they were all brother and sisters
Lynda sat right in front of me all through Wayne Elementary School. It was Doug Miller, Lynda Miller, and then I, Merry Miller. I agree with Nancy about her smile and bubbly personality. She was one I was hoping to see.
I knew Lynda at Wayne School and she was my best friend all through Denby. A few years after being the maid of honor in my wedding we lost touch and I had no idea she had passed away. If anyone knows the details please let me know.
GOECKEL LYNDA J. (MILLER) Age 67, of Clinton Township, passed Thursday, November 20, 2014. Longtime administrative clerk at Alexander & Alexander of MI, Inc. and former member of Reformation Lutheran Church in Detroit. Survived by daughter Deborah (James) Hoffman, brother Glen (Norma) Miller, sister Marilyn VanHuss, and grandchildren Nicholas Goeckel and Summer and Madison Hoffman. Visitation Sunday, November 23, 2014 1-5 p.m. in the Harold W. Vick Funeral Home, 140 South Main St., Mt. Clemens. Memorial donations to ASPCA or McLaren Hospice. Share memories and read full obituary at www.vickfuneralhome.com
- See more at: http://deathnotices.michigan.com/view-single.php?id=34679519#sthash.X20GS99V.dpuf
I knew Lynda from my first day in 1st grade at Wayne Elem. (Mrs. Kretchmar). I was always so envious of her beatiful long blonde hair. I lost touch with her after high school. Once, in a grocery store in the early 70's I saw a little girl who looked just like her. Right behind her was Lynda! Gone much too soon!
During the 1980s, I lived in Charleston, South Carolina for about four years. Charleston is a traditional, old southern port city filled with history, art, music, great restaurants and a vast array of real characters. The first shot of the Civil War was fired from Charleston’s waterfront battery toward the Union soldiers based at Ft. Sumter where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers meet. Legend has it that the returned shot was fired by Abner Doubleday, the same gentleman who invented baseball. Charleston, and its surrounding low country, is filled with old cemeteries and graveyards that often beckon for someone to give them a helping hand to spruce up the overgrowth of grass and weeds and, even more importantly, to pay respect to the deceased who occupy them as their final resting place.
During my time in Charleston, I volunteered to do this very thing with a group of other committed history buffs, environmentalists, idealists and frustrated gardeners. While most of my fellow grave cleaners spent their time focused on the largest or most interesting markers, I was drawn to the smallest ones, the graves marked by only a stone or illegible plaque. For some reason, I thought these people, above all, deserved attention, respect and someone to say, “Your life mattered.” I get the same feeling when I peruse our high school “In Memory” section. Each and every one of these people walked the same halls that we did, they attended the same classes, sporting events, concerts and hangouts that all of us remember. These people were part of our foundation. In one way or another, they are part of all of our legacies. Therefore, if I see someone’s name without a rose next to it, and I knew that person, I feel compelled to recognize and honor that person’s memory. Like the old black woman told me as she weaved her sweet-grass baskets on the edge of Charleston’s Eastbay slave market, “All God’s children gotta have a flower placed a-top their grave.”
I remember Lynda Miller as a pretty blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl at Wayne Elementary. For some reason, when I picture her, she is wearing a yellow cotton dress. I guess whenever she wore that dress I must have been pretty impressed with her appearance. I remember her as always smiling and having a lot of friends. With a1950s male mentality, I can remember thinking, “Lynda Miller should marry Doug Miller. That way she wouldn’t have to change her name.” Although Lynda and I were friends during class, we did not see much of each other outside of school. However, I do know she was a very good student and, during her time at Wayne, was an accomplished athlete. She played softball and ran the fifty- yard dash faster than any other girl in class. And I would see her with her friends at the Denby Bowling Alley on Whittier rolling a nine-pound ball like a girl twice her age. Lynda Miller is what one would call “a real all-American cutie.” She was the kind of girl one might see on the Bachelorette television show.
My one vivid memory of Lynda in high school was in 1964 when she and I were both in Miss Pearl Hooper’s American history class. Miss Hooper was an old-fashioned, no-nonsense teacher whose students could not help but respect, appreciate and fear her all at the same time. One day in class, Miss Hooper began discussing current world events. Lynda raised her hand and asked a question about communism. Miss Hooper began explaining the political ramifications of the Soviet Union, the People’s Republic of China, communism versus capitalism, and then suddenly, she just stopped. She looked out over the classroom, moved toward the blackboard behind her desk and pulled on a roll-down map of the world. “Boys,” she said, “you better all take special note… this is Vietnam,” as she pointed her finger to the long, narrow country located in Southeast Asia. “Some of you will be fighting for democracy here in a few years.” And that was that – with those few words answering Lynda Miller’s question, Miss Hooper foreshadowed the future of half the boys in our nation. So, how ironic it was that a few years later, as I unloaded ammunition from a barge on the Saigon River, I remembered the first time I heard the word “Vietnam” was when sweet all-American Lynda Miller asked a question to old Miss Hooper.
Lynda spent her life in Michigan and for 22 years worked for Alexander and Alexander Insurance Company. She raised a beautiful daughter, Deborah Hoffman. Until the very end, even while battling MS, she remained an avid Detroit Tigers fan, enjoyed her friends at the Lutheran Church and at the Roseland Bar where she was an active member of the Roseland Pussycats. And Lynda could still roll a strike on a good evening at the local Clinton Township Bowling Lanes.
So, rest in peace, my dear all-American cutie, and know that even after fifty long years, you still have a group of devoted friends who, after reading your name in the remembrance page of their high school reunion site, offer you their love and respect with the words “Lynda, will you accept this rose?”
Lynda Miller was a classmate throughout our days together at Wayne Elem. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a big smile that was contageous and a quick sense of humor followed by her silly giggle. She often had a clever quip comment about everything that was funny for everyone to join in on the laughter at the expense of no one.
Nancy Gould (Gomoll)
Lynda was a classmate of mine all through school. I remember her smiling face so clearly. She had such a bubbly personality and was always so much fun to be around. It saddens me to learn that she is no longer spreading her happiness with us. Thinking of you Lynda.
Gary Reynaert
So sad that other one of our classmate as pass on way to early, but they will never be forgotten, when we were in the first grade and the teacher was taking row call for the first time, and she call out Lynda , Doug and Merry Miller I thought they were all brother and sisters
Merry Miller (Langset)
Lynda sat right in front of me all through Wayne Elementary School. It was Doug Miller, Lynda Miller, and then I, Merry Miller. I agree with Nancy about her smile and bubbly personality. She was one I was hoping to see.
Janet Marcus (Carey)
I knew Lynda at Wayne School and she was my best friend all through Denby. A few years after being the maid of honor in my wedding we lost touch and I had no idea she had passed away. If anyone knows the details please let me know.
Nancy Bono (Randall)
No personal knowledge, however found this on line:
GOECKEL, LYNDA J. (MILLER)
2014-11-21GOECKEL LYNDA J. (MILLER) Age 67, of Clinton Township, passed Thursday, November 20, 2014. Longtime administrative clerk at Alexander & Alexander of MI, Inc. and former member of Reformation Lutheran Church in Detroit. Survived by daughter Deborah (James) Hoffman, brother Glen (Norma) Miller, sister Marilyn VanHuss, and grandchildren Nicholas Goeckel and Summer and Madison Hoffman. Visitation Sunday, November 23, 2014 1-5 p.m. in the Harold W. Vick Funeral Home, 140 South Main St., Mt. Clemens. Memorial donations to ASPCA or McLaren Hospice. Share memories and read full obituary at www.vickfuneralhome.com
- See more at: http://deathnotices.michigan.com/view-single.php?id=34679519#sthash.X20GS99V.dpuf
Dora Skinner (Grady)
I knew Lynda from my first day in 1st grade at Wayne Elem. (Mrs. Kretchmar). I was always so envious of her beatiful long blonde hair. I lost touch with her after high school. Once, in a grocery store in the early 70's I saw a little girl who looked just like her. Right behind her was Lynda! Gone much too soon!
Robert Ambrite
During the 1980s, I lived in Charleston, South Carolina for about four years. Charleston is a traditional, old southern port city filled with history, art, music, great restaurants and a vast array of real characters. The first shot of the Civil War was fired from Charleston’s waterfront battery toward the Union soldiers based at Ft. Sumter where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers meet. Legend has it that the returned shot was fired by Abner Doubleday, the same gentleman who invented baseball. Charleston, and its surrounding low country, is filled with old cemeteries and graveyards that often beckon for someone to give them a helping hand to spruce up the overgrowth of grass and weeds and, even more importantly, to pay respect to the deceased who occupy them as their final resting place.
During my time in Charleston, I volunteered to do this very thing with a group of other committed history buffs, environmentalists, idealists and frustrated gardeners. While most of my fellow grave cleaners spent their time focused on the largest or most interesting markers, I was drawn to the smallest ones, the graves marked by only a stone or illegible plaque. For some reason, I thought these people, above all, deserved attention, respect and someone to say, “Your life mattered.” I get the same feeling when I peruse our high school “In Memory” section. Each and every one of these people walked the same halls that we did, they attended the same classes, sporting events, concerts and hangouts that all of us remember. These people were part of our foundation. In one way or another, they are part of all of our legacies. Therefore, if I see someone’s name without a rose next to it, and I knew that person, I feel compelled to recognize and honor that person’s memory. Like the old black woman told me as she weaved her sweet-grass baskets on the edge of Charleston’s Eastbay slave market, “All God’s children gotta have a flower placed a-top their grave.”
I remember Lynda Miller as a pretty blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl at Wayne Elementary. For some reason, when I picture her, she is wearing a yellow cotton dress. I guess whenever she wore that dress I must have been pretty impressed with her appearance. I remember her as always smiling and having a lot of friends. With a1950s male mentality, I can remember thinking, “Lynda Miller should marry Doug Miller. That way she wouldn’t have to change her name.” Although Lynda and I were friends during class, we did not see much of each other outside of school. However, I do know she was a very good student and, during her time at Wayne, was an accomplished athlete. She played softball and ran the fifty- yard dash faster than any other girl in class. And I would see her with her friends at the Denby Bowling Alley on Whittier rolling a nine-pound ball like a girl twice her age. Lynda Miller is what one would call “a real all-American cutie.” She was the kind of girl one might see on the Bachelorette television show.
My one vivid memory of Lynda in high school was in 1964 when she and I were both in Miss Pearl Hooper’s American history class. Miss Hooper was an old-fashioned, no-nonsense teacher whose students could not help but respect, appreciate and fear her all at the same time. One day in class, Miss Hooper began discussing current world events. Lynda raised her hand and asked a question about communism. Miss Hooper began explaining the political ramifications of the Soviet Union, the People’s Republic of China, communism versus capitalism, and then suddenly, she just stopped. She looked out over the classroom, moved toward the blackboard behind her desk and pulled on a roll-down map of the world. “Boys,” she said, “you better all take special note… this is Vietnam,” as she pointed her finger to the long, narrow country located in Southeast Asia. “Some of you will be fighting for democracy here in a few years.” And that was that – with those few words answering Lynda Miller’s question, Miss Hooper foreshadowed the future of half the boys in our nation. So, how ironic it was that a few years later, as I unloaded ammunition from a barge on the Saigon River, I remembered the first time I heard the word “Vietnam” was when sweet all-American Lynda Miller asked a question to old Miss Hooper.
Lynda spent her life in Michigan and for 22 years worked for Alexander and Alexander Insurance Company. She raised a beautiful daughter, Deborah Hoffman. Until the very end, even while battling MS, she remained an avid Detroit Tigers fan, enjoyed her friends at the Lutheran Church and at the Roseland Bar where she was an active member of the Roseland Pussycats. And Lynda could still roll a strike on a good evening at the local Clinton Township Bowling Lanes.
So, rest in peace, my dear all-American cutie, and know that even after fifty long years, you still have a group of devoted friends who, after reading your name in the remembrance page of their high school reunion site, offer you their love and respect with the words “Lynda, will you accept this rose?”
Robert Ambrite, Dallas, Texas
Barbara ("b C") Wilson (Cotter)
Lynda Miller was a classmate throughout our days together at Wayne Elem. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a big smile that was contageous and a quick sense of humor followed by her silly giggle. She often had a clever quip comment about everything that was funny for everyone to join in on the laughter at the expense of no one.
Barb (B C) Wilson Cotter