When I woke this morning, the grey sky was sheeting rain and I could hear it pound on the roof. It was a somber morning, reflecting my mood.
Yesterday, as I was about to go into a meeting with the Associate Dean at the college where I begin to teach on Wednesday, I listened to a voice mail on my mobile. It was Andrew, the son-in-law of my good friend Paul Krich.
As soon as I got the message I knew what would be waiting for me when I returned it. Paul, who had been fighting a stoic battle against cancer, had succumbed.
It was news that stunned me almost more than I could handle.
Years ago, when my now ex-partner and I first had the cottage, we quickly developed a routine. My schedule was more flexible than his; I took the 5:35 out of Penn, went to the house, turned up the heat, laid a fire and then went down to meet the train that left Penn at 7:15.
There was a crowd always at the station, many, like me, waiting for significant others to get off. Almost always in the crowd was an elegant man with what white hair he had, carefully shorn, always dressed elegantly. I noticed he met an equally elegant woman who invariably got off the train with bags of food.
It became our custom to go to the Red Dot for dinner. The other couple did too.
The man and I began to nod to each other while waiting on the platform and then, one night, the elegant woman had too many bags and my ex helped her with them as she was getting off the train.
Not more than fifteen minutes later we were at adjoining tables at the Red Dot. Laughing, I said we really should introduce ourselves and we did. It was Paul.
We pulled our tables together and had a lovely evening that became the first of many.
My partner and I split. Not long after Paul and Lorraine separated.
There came a time in the summer after Paul and Lorraine had separated when Paul and I found ourselves at the Dot, seated at the bar, eating dinner. The second time it happened, we left the bar and got a table, starting a tradition of Saturday evening “dates.”
Paul was one of the most amazing men I have ever met. An avid gardener, he knew so much about horticulture, Whenever we were walking he would point out to me plants and tell me their lineage.
He adored and collected botanical prints. He appreciated antiques and taught me about tramp art. To go with him to an antique show or an auction was to be both entertained and educated.
He savored the fine things of life with palpable pleasure.
He rode a Harley – Davidson and wore biker jewelry.
Once he told me he loved to come to the parties at my cottage because I always had such an interesting mix of people at them. And they were an interesting mix, artists and neighbors, filmmakers, real estate agents and restaurant owners, retired state patrol officers and a former lineman for the local electric company. Young and old, gay and straight, all fun and all welcoming of each other…
Paul was inclusive. He had long ago shed the middle class fears and snobberies that flowed through our world as we were growing up. He embraced people of color, the gay men and women who moved in his orbit, the musicians and the dancers and the artists.
He constantly praised my blogging, encouraging me to keep on at a moment when I was thinking of wrapping it up.
He worked at being fair to everyone, to treating them equally. He had a ready laugh and a constant, wonderful twinkle in his eye.
He was the man you counted upon. Everyone who knew him, knew he could be counted upon, to work to his best to be his best. He was a human being, not flawless, none of us are, but he worked hard at his humanity and inspired me.
He invited me to his mother’s 100th birthday party, not a large party but one dominated by warmth and caring, for Millie, his mother, and for him. I will always look back with warmth at the softly lit room and see Paul sitting at the head of the table smiling, his eyes laughing.
The world is diminished with his passing. I have felt bereft since I heard the news. As I was driving into Hudson today for errands, I realized it seemed impossible to me we would not ever again sit in the garden of the Dot, the fountain splashing, chatting about our weeks and our lives.
I cannot imagine a world without Paul but that world now exists and I will have to learn how to cope with it.
Letter from the Vineyard 
Letter From New York 01 20 2016 May we all succeed…
January 21, 2016Today was a long day. It was my first day of class and it reminded me of how much work teaching is and how much work I will have to do to prepare for each class.
Class was dismissed early because I had to drive down to Livingston, NJ for my friend Paul’s Memorial Service. I dismissed class at 11:45 and made it to Livingston, NJ at 1:58. The service started at 2:00.
I was the fourth person to speak. It was hard for me to make it through. The sense of loss caught in my throat though I did not break down but it was all that I could do not to.
That was true of almost everyone who spoke. The last speaker was his mother, now 105.
His grandson Daniel was riven by grief, hard to see, hard to bear. When I arrived, his daughter hugged me and said, “You had fun, you two.” And we did.
As I drove down, I listened to the radio, always attempting to find a station to listen to that could be picked up. It was hard. I heard about the stock market plunge and there was naught that I could do about it driving down New York 87. The market dive seems to be driven by the fall of oil prices. One commentator said that the markets weren’t factoring in the good that might come of lower oil prices.
With sanctions being lifted on Iran, it is about to start selling its oil which will further depress prices. It is going to be a wicked winter, I fear.
I had thought to drive from Livingston, NJ into the city and spend the night but had decided against it as there is a storm brewing which could make driving tough as early as Friday. So I came home and will train in tomorrow morning for some meetings and a dinner with an old friend, Jerry May.
He and I have known each other for thirty-two years, having met when we were young, in advertising. I was at his 30th birthday party, having helped planned the surprise party that night.
He lived in San Francisco then and was my client when I was at A&E. Now he lives in Seattle, at a new agency. His now wife, Gail, lured me to Seattle on the pretext she was throwing a big birthday party for Jerry.
They punked us. They threw a surprise wedding for themselves. I was so pleased that across the years Jerry would want me at his wedding. We had seen each other little but had remained in contact through LinkedIn and I looked him up when I passed through Seattle on one of my train journeys.
People make the fabric of our lives. Riches come and go. But it is the people we touch that really, really, really matter.
For Paul’s Memorial Card, his daughter Karen chose a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson. I pass it on tonight to you.
“To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better whether by healthy child, a garden patch, or a reformed social condition, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”
Paul’s grandson concluded his speech with saying his grandfather had succeeded. He had made Daniel’s life breathe easier. He made many peoples live breathe easier, mine included.
May we all succeed.
Tags:Claverack, Hudson, Isis, Mat Tombers, Mathew Tombers, Paul Krich, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Red Dot
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