• Former Georgia governor, U.S. Sen. Zell Miller has died at age 86

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    ATLANTA - Former Georgia governor and U.S. Sen. Zell Miller has died after battling Parkinson’s disease. He was 86.

    Miller's family confirmed he died peacefully at his home with his family by his side just after 10 a.m. Friday.

    “The people of Georgia have lost one of our state’s finest public servants," his grandson, Bryan Miller, said in a statement. “As his grandson, I learned more from Zell Miller both professionally and personally than from anyone else I have encountered. He was more than my grandfather. He was my dear friend and mentor. I cherish all the time we spent together. I will never forget the lessons he taught me, his witty sense of humor, or his contagious smile. Our family will miss him terribly.” 

    Georgia Governor Nathan Deal tweeted a statement about Miller's death.

    He said, "Georgia has lost a favorite son and a true statesman, and I've lost a dear friend."

    Miller retired from public life in October.

    Georgia lawmakers react to Zell Miller's death

    Channel 2’s Richard Elliot was at the state Capital as news about Miller’s death spread under the golden dome. 

    He said news of his passing shot through the building shortly after both the House and Senate went into session. The announcements were made there.

    State rep. Calvin Smyre served with Miller and helped pass HOPE.

    “He was a dear friend, let me put that out there first. He was a dear friend and he'll be missed,” Smyre said. “He was a great Georgian.”

    Elliot said he heard there are efforts to have Miller lie in state at the Capital next week and memorial services are being planned.

    Zell Miller's life and legacy

    Miller served as Mayor of Young Harris from 1959-1960. He served as a Georgia State Senator from 1961-1964. He served as Lieutenant Governor of Georgia for 16 years from 1975-1991. He is currently the longest serving Lieutenant Governor in Georgia history. 

    Miller served as the 79th Governor of Georgia from 1991-1999. As Governor, he created the HOPE (Helping Outstanding Pupils Educationally) Scholarship and Georgia’s Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten Program. He went on to serve in the U.S. Senate from 2000-2005. 

    [Family, friends gather to celebrate ongoing legacy of Zell Miller]

    Today, more than 1.8 million students have gone to college in Georgia on HOPE Scholarships and more than 1.6 million four-year olds have begun their education through Georgia’s Pre-K Program. These were his proudest achievements in his 46-year career in public service. 

    Miller was a college professor, a U.S. Marine and for 40 years one of the most influential politicians in Georgia history.

    Miller, the lifelong Democrat, helped resuscitate Bill Clinton’s failing 1992 presidential campaign and ended up becoming one of the Republican party’s most vocal supporters.

    Like the Appalachian Mountains that dominated his North Georgia vistas, Miller rose improbably high and presented numerous faces to the world: The Polonius-quoting college professor who also wrote a country-western song with the down-home title “You Can’t Ration Nothing (That I Ain’t Done Without).” The onetime Expert Marksman Marine who later armed every Georgia newborn with a classical music CD. The unsuccessful 1980 Senate candidate dubbed “Zig Zag Zell” who roared back to become the state’s most popular governor — only to see much of what he’d accomplished drowned out by the din of his late-life political drama.

    [Former Georgia governor, U.S. Sen. Zell Miller to retire from public life]

    “We’ll probably not see his likes again,” said Merle Black, the Asa G. Candler professor of politics and government at Emory University. Black called Miller’s eight years as governor the “high point” of his career, but added, “the most interesting part of his career was at the end.”

    If that’s what he’s most remembered for, Miller reflected in what he (cribbing from Lord Byron) called the “yellow leaf days” of his life, so be it. In the end, nothing mattered so much to him as the beginning.

    “Coming from a single parent, not having a lot of money, no electricity until I was 7, no running water until I was in high school … I’m proud that out of that could come someone who could make it to the governor’s office,” Miller said during a 2006 interview with the Journal-Constitution. “How I got from where I came from is very important to me.”

    It was part and parcel of the Zell lore: The father he never knew. The mother who built a house practically with her bare hands. The mountain boy who got lost on the streets of the big city and ultimately found himself in Marine Corps basic training.

    Journalists who covered Miller for years — or even days — could practically recite the stories by heart, he told them so often, so effectively.

    “I came home early to watch him speak on TV at the [1992] Democratic Convention in New York, and I predicted, ‘In the next 15 minutes, you’ll hear about his mother, the creek, about Uncle Hoyle …,” said Miller biographer Richard Hyatt with a laugh. “I called probably three or four of them just right.”

    That speech, delivered with more than a hint of Appalachian twang and just enough bygone-era stump-speaking fervor to make Madison Square Garden feel like the smallest, most uplifted mountain village, introduced Miller to a national audience. Miller turned his Expert Marksman’s mouth on Clinton’s opponents, George H.W. Bush and Ross Perot, in rapid-fire succession — “so much for the millionaire, now on to the billionaire,” he joked at one point.

    The reviews were killer.

    “The national debut of Georgia Gov. Zell Miller was an evocative stemwinder in the best Democratic tradition,” raved Newsday.

    Twelve years later, he was back in Madison Square Garden, back making headlines. Miller was a U.S. Senator and still a Democrat when he offered his high-profile support to President George W. Bush’s re-election bid in a speech at the Republican National Convention. He’d already described the Democrats as being woefully out-of-step with an increasingly conservative, post-9/11 America in his 2003 book, “A National Party No More.” Now Miller accused them of having a “manic obsession” to bring down Bush. His own party’s nominee, Vietnam War veteran John Kerry, was “more wrong, more weak and more wobbly than any other national figure” on national security.

    “My biggest weakness and my greatest asset are the same thing,” Miller said in 2006. “I don’t have ‘lukewarm’ on my thermometer. I feel things strongly, and whether I’m right or wrong, I express them strongly.”

    Indeed, the speech caused a sensation, especially when Miller went on MSNBC afterwards and angrily raised the possibility of challenging interviewer Chris Matthews to a duel.

    Many Democrats were incensed. Connecticut Sen. Christopher Dodd said he “half expected [Miller] to wield an ax.” Yet to Republicans he was nothing short of heroic. Meanwhile Miller entered the history books as the only person ever to deliver keynote addresses at both political parties’ presidential nominating conventions.

    He’d come a long way from Young Harris. But in some ways, he was still right at home.

    Zell Bryan Miller was born on Feb. 24, 1932, into a family where education was exalted and politics a way of life. His father, Stephen Grady Miller, had taught in a one-room school while attending Young Harris College, where he was class president and a champion debater. He met his future wife, Birdie Bryan, while both were teaching at the college; he’d risen to the position of dean and served a term in the state Senate when, 17 days after the birth of his only son, Grady Miller succumbed to cerebral meningitis.

    Left alone to raise an infant and 6-year-old daughter, Jane, Birdie Miller didn’t wallow in her grief.

    “My mama didn’t just do the best she could; she did the best anyone could,” Zell Miller wrote in his book, “Corps Values: Everything You Need to Know I Learned in the Marines.” “She worked twice as hard as any man I ever knew to educate her two children.”

    She also spent weeks hauling rocks out of a creek to build the Miller family home on a plot of land near the college campus. When Miller formally launched his gubernatorial campaign in 1990, he took reporters to see the house his mother had built on big dreams and hard work.

    But it wasn’t just a potent campaign symbol. It was where he’d begun to fall in love with politics.

    Birdie served on the city council for a quarter-century, and Young Harris’s citizenry frequently stopped by the rock house to chew over issues or pay their taxes. She also worked the polls on Election Day, usually accompanied by young Zell.

    “I would huddle up over in the corner, and I would watch them count out the votes,” Miller recalled almost wistfully . “That’s where it all began. I loved the political process. I loved trying to figure out how to get a program through and how to get enough votes to pass something. I loved that competitive angle of it — how can we carry this county and this one? I loved it all, and then that love turned to great disappointment.”

    But that would come much later.

    An academic and debate star at Young Harris College, Miller won a partial scholarship to Emory University. But he felt backward and out-of-place on the cosmopolitan city campus, and after spending a night in the Gilmer County Jail drunk tank, the 21-year-old dropout enlisted in the Marines. It was a life-altering experience, after which he enrolled at the University of Georgia to study history.

    At 28, the married father of two — now a professor at Young Harris College — ran for the state Senate and won.

    For the nearly 40 years that followed, Miller’s career read like the modern Southern political story writ large and colorful. He worked for Gov. Lester Maddox (as his executive secretary) and Gov. Jimmy Carter (who appointed him to the state Pardons and Paroles board). He ran for Congress twice and lost, and tried unsuccessfully to topple the legendary Herman Talmadge in a brutal 1980 Democratic Senate primary that turned on his seemingly slippery positions on certain issues. He was elected lieutenant governor four consecutive times, governor twice.

    He was both ahead of his time and disappointingly of the times on race during the turbulent ’60s. Three years after courageously opposing a school segregation bill on the floor of the state Senate in 1961, he spoke out against the federal Civil Rights Bill during his unsuccessful 1964 Democratic primary campaign for a seat in Congress. (“My words and actions have tormented me ever since,” Miller wrote in “A National Party No More.”)

    He gambled his political fortunes on the idea of a state lottery deep in the heart of the conservative Bible Belt and was elected governor in 1990. He tried to change the state flag in the heart of Civil War country and was nearly run out of office in 1994.

    But the man formerly known as “Zig Zag” held firm on the idea of the lottery-funded HOPE scholarship, even when the people in his own church and some family members (“not close ones”) made it clear they were against bringing gambling to Georgia.

    “He grew up in poverty in North Georgia, and he’d benefited from having access to a college education,” said Emory’s Black. “He wasn’t there to be honorary governor of Georgia for four or eight years. He wanted to do something.”

    After which, he made it abundantly clear, he was going home for good.

    Miller left the governor’s office in January 1999 with a remarkable 85 percent approval rating and no intention of serving in elected office again. That was all behind him now, both the good — HOPE had already sent some 357,000 Georgians to college, and Gov. Roy Barnes’ election left Democrats firmly in control of the state. And the bad — besides the flag fiasco, he’d been forced to make huge cuts in state spending and jobs in his first year in office.

    His life had never been all about politics. He’d sold mobile homes for awhile after losing the congressional race in 1964, and early in their marriage, Shirley and Zell Miller had bought a radio station, WZEL, and a newspaper, the Towns County Herald.

    “Shirley did all the work, and all I did was write the editorials,” Miller said laughing in 2006.
    A lover of baseball since his youth (“I would have given it all up to be a good Class B shortstop,” he said of his many accomplishments), he’d later become friends with Mickey Mantle, and he kept up his annual spring training trips even after becoming governor.

    Country music star Bill Anderson was another friend, but Miller’s 1996 book, “They Heard Georgia Singing,” covered the musical gamut from Alan Jackson and Jermaine Dupri to Yoel Levi and Gladys Knight and the Pips.

    “I think it was important for him to be seen as a multifaceted person,” said Hyatt. “He wanted you to know he wasn’t just a guy who listened to George Jones. He went to the opera. He went to Broadway shows.”

    His post-gubernatorial plans included teaching at several colleges and living full time in the rock house in Young Harris. He cherished his rural North Georgia roots and resented anything that portrayed mountain folk as hillbillies — so much so that he’d publicly hounded the Atlanta Journal-Constitution for years about the comic strip “Snuffy Smith” (the newspaper finally dropped the strip in 1989).

    His entire family, which now included great-grandchildren, still lived in Towns County. Plus, he owed this time to Shirley, who’d put her own banking career on hold to support his political endeavors.

    “She’s my best critic; she keeps trying to tell me to put the thermostat on lukewarm,” said Miller, who first approached his future wife at a square dance and was allowed to follow behind as she drove home in her father’s “rickety old pick-up.”

    “Here’s a person who’s from even deeper back in the mountains than me,” Miller remembered thinking. “I liked her for not being ashamed of where she was from. I liked that spunk.”

    No more so than when Gov. Barnes asked Miller to go to Washington and fill the void left by Republican Sen. Paul Coverdell’s sudden death in July 2000.

    “We were older and wiser, making money and as happy as we had ever been … So we tossed and turned and next morning stared at each other over our oatmeal,” Miller wrote in “A National Party No More.” “Finally, Shirley spat it out, ‘It’s what you do, isn’t it?’ ”

    Before going to Washington, Miller announced he wouldn’t “play the partisan game.” He said he kept his pledge, although others — pointing to his book and the fact that one of his first acts was to co-sponsor President Bush’s tax cut bill with Republican Sen. Phil Gramm — aren’t so certain. At the very least, suggested Emory’s Black, he was emblematic of a dramatic shift in the storyline of modern Southern politics — with one key difference.

    “At the end, his conservatism triumphed over his lifelong association with the Democratic party,” Black observed several years after Miller chose not to run for re-election in 2004. “[But] unlike most of the other conservatives in the South who started out in the Democratic party and realigned as Republicans and Independents, he still clings to that Democratic association.”

    Indeed, Miller always bristled at suggestions he should leave his party, the party of Birdie and Grady and his whole history. To him, he wasn’t the one who had strayed.

    “I meant for it to be a life preserver that I was trying to throw to the Democratic party — ‘Hey, you need to grab hold of some of this thinking, ’cuz you are drifting,’ ” Miller said of his bestselling book, which he had wanted to call “The Conscience of a Conservative Democrat.” “It became something else. But I’ll live with that. It will be mentioned in the obituaries.”

    He hoped he’d be remembered for other things, like giving Georgia schoolteachers a six percent salary increase for four consecutive years, appointing the first African-American woman to the Supreme Court, and, of course, HOPE.

    He lost some friends near the end of his political career, he reflected in 2006, but he claimed to have found something like inner peace.

    “Churchill once said that history was going to be kind to him because he was going to write it,” Miller said. “I’ve tried to do a little of that, but I don’t worry about it. I’m content to let what happened speak for itself.”

    Information from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution was used in this report.

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