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Age — 20; Russia, Moscow.  Danila was born in Moscow on November 9th, 1981. At six years of age the teachers in kindergarten noticed his musical abilities and offered to send him to Musical school #122 for in-depth instruction in music and choir.
In 1998 Danila finished this school with honors in general and musical studies. During these 11 years he was a member of the Moscow boy’s choir under the direction of Ninel Davidovna Kamburg, the celebrated artist. Danila traveled with the choir to England, Germany, Italy, Bulgaria, and Yugoslavia. The boys sang quite often in the Moscow churches.
Also in 1998, Danila entered the state university of construction, in the college of industrial and civil construction. He did well, all the while, from the first class to the last, helping his retired mother.
On August 26th, 2002, he married a girl in his class. The wedding took place at the institute on Melnikov Street #2, the same building that would serve as the hostage rescue headquarters in October. On October 23rd, 2002, he was at work in the Dubrovka Theater and was taken hostage, dying on the 26th during the assault.
He died just as his life was setting out. He so wanted to live, to work, and he dreamed of having children. And he sang – always and everywhere!
Written by Zoya Chernetsova, his mother.
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1. Written by Екатерина, on 23-10-2009 11:56
Мы сидели с Данилой вместе, в 4 ряду, практически около сцены, он был одет в форменную одежду работников мюзикла. Постоянно шутил, поддерживал женщин, вселял своим присутствием некое спокойствие, насколько это возможно в данной ситуации. Потом, через некоторые время, он решил пересесть к своим друзьям, мы все вокруг очень просили его остаться, не уходить от нас…Но он ушел…ушел из жизни. Потом, в суматохе и ажиотаже дней после терракта, мы узнали, что Данила погиб…Светлая ему память, а маме его выдержки, она воспитала настоящего мужчину и хорошего человека!
С уважением, Екатерина Лунева.
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2. Written by илья, on 13-10-2012 07:18
Говорят, бог забирает к себе только лучших, уверен, что так оно и есть..
единственное, что нам остается, помнить..
сколько всего не сделанно и не сказанно, с нами только боль утраты и память, как диагноз и как лекарство.. нам всем, то его любил, его очень не хватает.
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