John P. Schulz: Find The Living Room

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald—

The main thing I can tell you about Paul is that he was full of love. He loved his wife, Edna with an intensity that few could know. Paul loved his family, his mother, Barbara, his niece Margot His brother, J.R., and J.R.’s wife, Christine, and his granny, Jane Schulz. Paul also loved Dekie, his step-mother. He loved his uncles, aunts, and cousins, and he loved to get hugs from just about everybody. I never had any doubts that he loved me, his “daddy-o.” –And everyone loved Paul.

Paul was full of humor and laughter. He could wring a laugh out of the saddest person. He loved to make people laugh just because he loved people and he wanted them to be happy.

Paul was helpful. If you ever needed help with anything, all you had to do was call Paul and he would be there with a smile on his face. He was independent, too. He rarely asked for much of anything.

Paul was kind. He hated seeing anybody or anything being mistreated. On the other hand, he loved children—and they loved him. He loved cats and dogs and they loved him. He knew just which spots needed petting. I guess you could say that about his treatment of people, too. He knew just which psychological spots needed stroking. He knew how to make you feel good.

When Paul wanted something he went after it wide open. When he figured out that he loved Edna, I watched as he bought a house, fixed it up, landscaped the yard, and then got married and moved in. One of my fondest Paul stories is of the time he was doing some intricate wiring on a sprinkler system. He got aggravated, looked at me and said, “Damn, Dad. Don’t give me something like this to do. Give me a sledge hammer and a brick wall to take out.” Paul would get frustrated at times, but he would work his way around it.

A few weeks ago, Paul and I drove up to see his granny—that is, Paul drove, I rode along and listened to his memories, thoughts, and philosophical ramblings. At one point, Paul started giggling. I asked why and he replied, “I was just thinking about when I was four or five and granny and I were playing baseball in the pasture and she slid and sat down on some cow dookie. That was funny. We laughed and laughed.”

He knew an amazing assortment of seemingly un-related facts. One of his rules was, “only bet on a sure thing,” and he stuck with it, too. If you ever made a bet with Paul you were sure to lose.

I’ll bet you one thing, Paul—I’m sure going to miss you.
Tell Billy say hi for me