There’s something that always puzzled me about Danny. He was born in Cuba, and grew up in the US, yet he often spoke with what sounded like a Hungarian accent.

I’m not really puzzled. He spoke that way, often using his own fabricated vocabulary, because it made him and those around him laugh. Laughter is something I’ll always associate with Danny.

Danny took fun very seriously, but faced his terminal illness with a sense of humor. A number of his college friends gathered in his hospital room after the surgeon who was to remove his tumor determined that it had spread too far to operate. It was a terrible time, yet Danny was characteristically gracious, and amused us with tales of the legions of strange Cuban women, of whom he had never heard, who had learned of his illness through mysterious means, and now wished to rush to his bedside.

I’m glad that Danny had some years to enjoy the world and his partner, Richard, before the end finally came. I’m glad I got to share some fun with them.

As Danny would have said, sometimes fate is "plaschute."

Andy Herrmann

My freshman roommate. We shared a bedroom for nine months, and yet I was such a wet-behind-the-ears Chicago-Irish Catholic-school breeder doofus that it never occurred to me until years later that the bubbly 250-lb. bulge in the upper bunk above me might be gay, a fact that must have been beyond obvious to anyone with more than a passing acquaintance with the world (not me in 1978 by a long shot).

And yet it did not matter much, because Danny was such a cheerful, accepting, hilarious, lively, and generous-minded person. Didn't even tell me to absent myself when a "friend" of his visited from New York. Part of that might have been an attempt to stay on the D.L. (it was, after all, a slightly different world back then). But a lot of it was Danny's innate decency and generosity and unwillingness to inconvenience anyone else, even a wet-behind-the-ears Chicago-Irish Catholic-school breeder doofus who would be unable to take an obvious hint if it weighed half a ton, fell on my head, turned around, shook my hand and said, "Hello, I am an obvious hint."

I saw him a few times after that, coming back from playing with the Band, or in the street on the way to or from a party, and he always was full of life, laughter, and good cheer. I really had been looking forward to seeing him at the 20th -- he had just written an entry for the Class Report that seemed to indicate his illness was under control, his professional life was being enriched by his status as a patient, and his personal life was happy. Then, at the 20th, Elias Reichel told me he was gone. It was a shock and a real disappontment.

Wish I'd seen you, Danny. I can hear you laughing now as I tell you just how utterly clueless your first roomie was.

Patrick Marren

You couldn't miss Danny-indeed, he managed to appear in my photos, always having a good time and sharing his love of life with his many friends.

Here he is on the band; there singing on stage; snow did not keep him from laughing. You would never guess he was on his way to medical school, as he and his friends rushed back to his room to catch the latest episode of Dallas.

With so much life in him, it seems inconceivable that he could be gone..
We miss you.

Therese Lung

My fondest memory of Danny was in Music 1. He called us "music nerds" and he (not so) secretly loved it. We got the giggles during class one day, both of us out of control, feeling free and young and silly and a little rude but oh, so gleeful.

My heart is heavy as I contemplate a 25th reunion without Danny. Amazing how much you can miss some one you haven't talked to in 20 years. He will be with us, though, in spirit. Sweet, amiable, earthy, funny, generous, smart, sometimes irreverent, always caring and gentle - Danny was the one to turn to for a belly laugh and an attitude adjustment. Love ya, Danny!

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Vicki Link