My Cousin Paul

Paul was my older cousin, but growing up I regarded him as my big brother. Among the cousins in our close New Jersey family, he was always the leader, the straw who stirred the drink. His exuberance, sweetness, ever-present smile, and enormous physical energy endeared him to all of us.

I have two clear memories of Paul when we were kids, both involving money. After his Bar Mitzvah he called his cousins and friends to the stairwell of the synagogue. He then proceeded to gleefully count the money he’d received as gifts as we all watched with awe and envy. (It was at this moment that I decided to begin preparing for my own Bar Mitzvah.)

Paul, my sister Anita and I all went to the same summer camp in New Hampshire. Paul was a counselor, and soon after camp started he was looking for a way to make a few extra bucks. When some campers complained that they could only get their laundry done a few times a month, he concocted a plan to collect their dirty clothes weekly, take them to a laundromat in town, and wash them . . . for a nice profit.

With his innate entrepreneurial abilities Paul could almost certainly have become very successful in business or finance. That he instead chose a career in medicine is, I believe, a testament to his deep aspiration to be of service to others.
During the past six years Paul and I both helped care for mothers with dementia. He told me of his frustration, helplessness and anxiety as his mother Roz became increasingly impaired but refused to move out of her New Jersey home. When he finally got her to move to a care facility in Atlanta he devoted untold hours to her care.

Paul also called me regularly to see how my mom was doing and to offer support. He was always genuinely concerned and caring, and never offered unsolicited advice. Last year he and Debbie made a special trip to Portland to see my mom for what we all assumed would be the last time. It was a sweet visit, and I deeply appreciated it.

Paul, my wife Paula and I got together for dinner a few times in recent years when he came to Portland to speak. He talked about his work with obvious passion, but in a way that didn’t call attention to his achievements – he clearly wasn’t driven by ego needs. After one get-together I Googled him and was floored to learn of his accomplishments and honors. I had no idea how prominent he was in his field. Of all his remarkable qualities, Paul’s modesty and humility made the deepest impression on me.
I can still hear his soft voice and distinctive laugh, and I can’t believe he’s gone. I loved Paul and I will always cherish my memories of him.

Love,
Mitch


Mitchell Lang
Portland, OR