When Syd was pregnant with Simon, we knew it was a boy and were trying on names. One that kind of stuck was "Riley." Paul and Dalene came out to visit us in Los Angeles for a weekend, and I swear five minutes didn't go by without Paul bending down and putting his head near Syd's belly and saying in a loud whisper, "Hey Riley! Riley, Riley, Riley!" In restaurants, in the jacuzzi at their hotel, in the car, at home—"Riley, Riley, Riley!" It was very obnoxious, while at the same time the sweetest, cutest thing ever. Regardless, that name went out the window the second they pulled out of our driveway.
Even though Paul and I were quite different in most ways, he always made an effort to relate to me—primarily in the form of musical trivia. "Hey, Brian, did you know Bob Dylan was obsessed with playing Chess?", "Steven Tyler can hold is breath for two minutes underwater.", "This was the song [Under My Thumb] the Stones were playing when that lady got stabbed at their concert." I was always impressed with his encyclopedic level of knowledge; he was a veritable Cliff Clavin.
He had a giant, beautiful heart, and though he tried his best to be John Wayne on the outside, one couldn't ignore the fluffy, lovable teddy bear he was inside. It was really hard to see him so broken when Heather died. I think seeing him not able to hold it together was one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever experienced; it made me respect him more than I already did.
In closing, I will share one more memory, and it's wildly inappropriate, which is exactly what Paul would expect from me. Though Paul was, for sure, a man's man, he was also a true English gentleman. He was always buttoned up, polite, courteous, and kept things clean. Syd and I were living in their basement for a short period after Simon was born. It was a Sunday and he was lying on the living room couch reading the paper. It was deathly quiet. Everyone else was taking a nap, so I told him I was gonna go take a nap, too. Instead of going downstairs, which is where we lived, I just walked into the front room. He obviously thought I had gone downstairs and waited until the coast was clear, then proceeded to rip the biggest, juiciest fart I've ever heard. It echoed throughout the house. Because this was so out of character for Paul, it took all my energy to stifle my laughter. I covered my mouth but I'm certain he heard me let out a guffaw, because I heard him get up and start walking down the short hallway between us. I quickly got up and tip-toed as fast as I could around the corner and hid. I heard him stop in the other room, sigh, then walk back. I snuck downstairs and laughed into a pillow for a good five minutes.
Thanks Paul, my life—and myriad others—would be missing so much richness without you.
Love,
Brian
