Paul

Today I closed the final chapter of a man that I've known sporadically for 15 years: let's call him Paul.

We first met at a radio station, where I worked part-time as many things, from Saturday night board operator to news desk fill-in to basketball announcer to classic pop host. There were a lot of great people at that station, though no one made any money. Paul became one of my better friends, and we'd share each other's company at work and at whatever place he'd be living at the time.

Everyone at the station disliked the GM and the owner. But maybe that was good, because it really helped morale; they all had something in common. Paul worked there six hours a night, every weeknight, for no more than six bucks an hour. A new guy took over the station with promises of buying the station for way more than it was worth. But he never came through, and Paul bought into this guy in hopes of landing a better position and becoming more financially stable. But he got burned as badly as anyone.

Paul got along very well with me and with Missy, my girlfriend at the time. (At this stage of my life, I had a four-month girlfriend every year. So it was not to last.) But something happened between the two of them - Missy would never tell me exactly what - and suddenly Paul was very mad at me. While I was giving play-by-play at a basketball game, Paul was working the board. He yelled at me and called me an idiot, then put me right back on the air, forcing me to swallow what he said. When I returned to the station later that night, I asked him if he wanted to talk about it. He said "I don't think so" in that breathy voice. And we stopped talking to each other for many months.

Paul could also play guitar. And bass. And keys. And he could sing great harmony. He was a fantastic musician. I don't know if that's what brought us back together, but eventually he got to play with other friends of mine, and eventually, that group became the band that played at my wedding reception. They did a great job, with a friend-of-a-friend filling in on drums. Since I no longer lived in Illinois, I was impressed at how well they organized and pulled it off.

From what I understand, Paul did most of the organizing, and his ways grated on the other members of the band, specifically the lead guitarist, who once called him a dick. Paul held a grudge in response and never hesitated to bring up the comment over and over again, as part of his overall complaint, as part of the chip he had on his shoulder.

A fellow radio friend once told me that Paul thought of himself as a "poor soul." To be sure, when I think of Paul, I think of two facial expressions: the "woe is me" look and the "what did I do?" look.

Two years ago, my wife and I moved back to Illinois. Plans were made to form a band, with Paul on guitar and keys, myself on drums, and the lead guitarist and bass player from before. After several practices, the lead guitarist had enough and wanted Paul gone. I argued against it. After a summer festival gig, the lead guitarist relented. But a fight ensued at the next practice, where he lost his cool for five minutes, and Paul would never let that go. A two-hour e-mail conversation between Paul and myself started at "let's cool down" and somehow ended up with Paul claiming I had questioned his mental stability and was no friend of his. And he was gone.

Until two months ago, when I friended him on Facebook. After some minor discussion on baseball - Paul hates the Cubs, which is no surprise as I love them - it seemed as if we could finally have a decent friendship, even if it was only through Facebook.

Our band is going quite well; we replaced Paul with a guy that lived next door to the lead guitarist. After adding a female lead singer, we're pretty happy with where we are. We won't be opening for U2, but we get to play once or twice a month and make a little money for it.

Recently, Paul said (via Facebook) that he wondered "how much of that old stuff that was taken from me will be used at your gig." You see, Paul thought that that other members of the band had stolen some of his equipment before the prior break-up and didn't like it when we couldn't deliver any of it back to him.

What happened should come as no surprise. In fact, I'll post it here.

P: wonder how much of my old stuff that was taken from me will be used at your gig.....

D: I thought you meant songs at first, but you probably mean equipment. I don't know, Paul. No one intentionally took anything from you, I promise. I can ask again, if you remind me what equipment it was you lost. If not, tell me what I can do to put this right.

P: Well, it was a few guitar cords, a mic cord, a guitar stand, a mic and a boom mic stand. Don't worry about "making it right".
Digger told me a while ago he'd get the stuff back to me too.
Hey, I had 2 oncologists tell me I won't live to see another birthday so you can consider the stuff inherited

(At this point, I asked the bass player about it and he said he'd get back to me. I didn't reply right away, for I didn't know what to say. It's hard to say anything when his cancer prognosis comes up.)

A week later:

P: ahhh, over a week and no response. I'm very sad to say it doesn't surprise me.
Perhaps you tell the truth when you say no one intentionally took the stuff. But then again, no one made any effort to get the stuff back to me either, including people who said they would, and people who claim to be my friend.
Oh well, live and learn...

D: ahhh, boy.
I asked Digger about it right away, and he didn't remember that much stuff possibly being yours, but he thought he had a boom mic stand that might be yours. He said he would look around further and get back to me, and that's the last I've heard. But you decided to snipe at me once more, instead of simply asking where it's at. Paul, to be honest, you make it very hard to be your friend sometimes. You told me not to worry about making it right, then rip on me for not trying to make it right, when I was still trying to make it right. I just can't seem to ever make it right with you. You won't let me.
Paul, I'm very sorry for your illness and hope and pray that you overcome this.

P: There you fucking go again! Before whenever anything went wrong it's because of my supposed reactionary ways (despite others in your clan behaving worse than I ever did), now you're gonna blame my cancer for your not returning messages?
I do not need this.
Hard to be MY friend?
I don't turn my back on my friends...

D: I guess we'll never understand each other. Goodbye, Paul. Best of luck.


And that's it. I'll likely never talk with him again.

I can't blame his cancer for his lack of logical thought. He's done it this way before.

Paul is a porcupine, in a way. If you try to help, you'll get stung. But he can shoot a quill your way too. When he first told me abut his colon cancer, I offered in any way I could, but he said that there was nothing I could do.

He's had a rough life in many ways, and maybe he's never known where to vent his frustration. Too often, it came my way.

Goodbye, Paul. I sincerely hope you get better. But I don't think you will.