Almost exactly 48 years ago, to the day:
And a bit more recently, in the 90's
My eulogy from the memorial service, May 17 2014:
It has now been over a month and a half since we got that
call in middle of the night no one ever wants to get, my father to say that
Paul had just slipped away quietly and was gone. It seemed so unlike him,
I don’t fully believe it even now. He was always one for grand entrances,
and if I had been asked at any time in the past how I thought Paul would go I
honestly don’t think I would have ever guessed like this. Paul is
naturally wound up in my earliest and most vivid memories growing up and he loomed
large in my young life as the ever dominant big brother, bursting with ideas
and always pushing the envelope, driving the needle to the red line of “danger”
and beyond even then. He was the voice from the top bunk late into the
night; long conversations I hardly recall the content of but still feel the
deep and lasting impression from even now. I trailed along in his wake through
the adventures of our early lives as the sidekick and occasional victim of his
creative exploits. The question “why would we do this” was never voiced
with him, and I have a feeling the answer would be simply “why wouldn’t
we”? Why wouldn’t we – extract gunpowder from boxes of Dad’s shotgun
shells to construct a makeshift bomb? Why wouldn’t we – shoot arrows blindly
through the neighbor’s opaque 12 foot plastic fence into their backyard?
And in one of the most shameful incidents I recall, why wouldn’t we ambush poor
cousin Craig and paint him with glue found in a can at the construction site
next door? []. It was music that forever defined him to me, though.
He was always immersed in music from as early as I can remember, early on with
the Acton Citizen’s Band then eventually on to tenures with the Oakville Symphony,
performances with the Hamilton Philharmonic, a national youth band tour of
Europe, and a long run of success in competition. Clarinet was his early
instrument but Paul seemed to be able to play anything. We have
a hilarious example of this natural ability on a video of Christmas around
2001, when Paul demonstrates for the camera an almost instant,
near-virtuostic command of a novelty stocking stuffer, a flute played entirely
by air forced out of his nose. He was far beyond comedic musical parlor
tricks of course. As his close friend Chris F, himself a formidable
pianist, wrote in a kind note of condolence,
His knowledge of music was wide and deep, and
he wanted greatly to be immersed in a musical career. He could generate
compositions easily, with little effort. He would infuriate us other musicians
because he wouldn't practice, but could rely on his copious improvisation
skills to save each performance, and outshine us all.
He settled into jazz and tenor sax by his teen
years. His record collection was my exposure to "real" music, and his
opinions sunk deep into me. It was only much later that I began to break
free from his intimidating influence, and never really did completely.
I saw him most consistently here in Guelph while I was
in graduate school. In this period he kept a ground floor apartment and you
could go to Paul’s around noon or so and sit there for hours and hours, while a
constant revolving stream of characters came wandering in and out and the
energy would build into the late night. Paul loved to cook and host, though I
learned quickly when he said "come for dinner, it's going to be at
7" meant that you had to eat before you go, since no way food was going to
be before 11pm - and then it was usually some lavish, meticulous meal hours in
preparation and Paul in full tilt, always the consummate entertainer. As Chris
points out of this time
Paul
was gifted with rare intelligence and clear insight into all our human
weaknesses, and could be hilariously funny when pointing them out. He was
always ready with jokes and costumes, and really loved childish pranks. He
would hold court in his apartment and endlessly entertain all his many guests.
He was always generous with food and drink, and never turned away anyone who
came to his door.
One of his most
requested skits of the time was something he called "Polish Interpretive
Dancing", performed in costume usually to Herbie Hancock's "Rockit". These days it
would have been captured on 20 iPhones, but unfortunately these performances
now survive only in the foggy memories of those who witnessed it live. I
have a wonderful picture I treasure from one of these gatherings that really
resonates to me as Paul at his best, with a kid on each arm and laughing,
surrounded by friends [I hope you can come see it after…]
Paul never showed any inclination to move from Guelph where he spent all of his
adult life. As many of you here know he developed strong ties to
community organizations [ Masons, Legion ] and left a long legacy of
students in the area. His great love of vocal music led him to lend his
time and talents to various choirs at the University as well as several
churches. He continued performing and composing throughout his life.
After I finished grad school, and we settled into our careers and the demands
of our own kids and family, it became hard to connect outside of the major
holidays. It seemed at times that Paul operated on a different planet
from the rest of us in our 9-5 worlds. I would often find myself
wondering why Paul didn’t do things differently; move away, continue his
education, pursue a more ambitious career – until a decade or so ago when I
gained enough maturity to realize that such questions were more about me than
him. I was really asking: why was he not more like me. As it
happens, I’ve never met anyone who so relentlessly refused to play anyone’s
game but his own, and so resolved to live his life directed by his own inner
compass. He had a deep devotion and loyalty to family and friends that I
believe became more intense as he became older, and more sick than any of us
ever realized as we now know. His friend and roommate Willy W
kindly shared with us that
While living with Paul, Not
a day went by without Paul talking about how
proud he was about his
family. His mom, his father, his brothers and especially
the apple of his eye, his
sister Mel.
I will forever remember the iron grip of his hand, the
laugh – sometimes the big bass room-filling one and sometimes the smirking
giggle. He was always the one with the big hug, not afraid to say "I
love you”, and he never failed to push for he and I to see each other more, to
connect with the family, to work harder to pull us all closer together in the
future. If I have to have a last memory of Paul I’m grateful that it is the one
I have, from the past Christmas holidays in Acton - we had arranged to bring
instruments and played jazz standards together, really for the first time ever
– me hacking along to keep up, and him weaving on and off the grid, leading the
way like when we were kids. I left him that day thinking how great it would be
to do more of that, and of course it was the last time I saw him. It
makes me so sad that he never seemed to grasp what he wanted in his life,
either in his musical career or with respect to a family and children of his
own. I imagine he thought there was still time for all that, which is a lesson
to take to heart for all of us.
