14-12 2020 14:21
wrote:
I met Paul in the summer of 1972 when we were both playing on the national junior tennis circuit. We were doubles
partners in a few of the tournaments.
That fall we reconnected as freshmen at Harvard and played three hours every day training for the freshman team. He would collect me from my room in the Yard, and we would jog over to Soldier’s Field and train, rather intensely, all afternoon, finishing back at his house on Prescott Street where he was rooming with Rich Conway, a close friend of both of us.
Paul was then and always one of life’s true originals. He was unfailingly kind and empathetic, whip smart and very funny, often with an understated, sly irreverence.
He loved the game of tennis, and he loved the people he engaged and touched in the sport.
I remember our times together, long ago and far away, with deep fondness and inner peace and see his impish smile in my mind’s eye as we run along the Charles River to his house.
I saw Paul episodically since those days. I was especially pleased that my wife, Margaret, was able to meet him once with me at the Midtown Tennis Club as she had competed against Paul’s sister,
Gail, as a junior. Somehow meeting Paul and experiencing his warmth and humanity brought home in full circle those youthful times of competing on the clay in Florida in the most positive way.
I wish I had seen Paul recently.
When a good friend and a good person dies, on occasion, he is literally irreplaceable in one’s life and so the whole of one’s existence is diminished just a bit, a hole that cannot be filled.
This is one such case.
Paul, we love you and miss you.
Your friend,
14-12 2020 14:21
wrote:
I met Paul in the summer of 1972 when we were both playing on the national junior tennis circuit. We were doubles
partners in a few of the tournaments.
That fall we reconnected as freshmen at Harvard and played three hours every day training for the freshman team. He would collect me from my room in the Yard, and we would jog over to Soldier’s Field and train, rather intensely, all afternoon, finishing back at his house on Prescott Street where he was rooming with Rich Conway, a close friend of both of us.
Paul was then and always one of life’s true originals. He was unfailingly kind and empathetic, whip smart and very funny, often with an understated, sly irreverence.
He loved the game of tennis, and he loved the people he engaged and touched in the sport.
I remember our times together, long ago and far away, with deep fondness and inner peace and see his impish smile in my mind’s eye as we run along the Charles River to his house.
I saw Paul episodically since those days. I was especially pleased that my wife, Margaret, was able to meet him once with me at the Midtown Tennis Club as she had competed against Paul’s sister,
Gail, as a junior. Somehow meeting Paul and experiencing his warmth and humanity brought home in full circle those youthful times of competing on the clay in Florida in the most positive way.
I wish I had seen Paul recently.
When a good friend and a good person dies, on occasion, he is literally irreplaceable in one’s life and so the whole of one’s existence is diminished just a bit, a hole that cannot be filled.
This is one such case.
Paul, we love you and miss you.
Your friend,
