Paul was smart, funny, crude (the people who truly know him are thinking it---just no one is saying it!), sweet, caring, gruff, kind, NOT thrifty, and his mind remained in the gutter 99.9% of the time...
And he was beautiful.
One story...and then I'll sign off. I witnessed a man with a cardboard box walk up to Paul. The box contained ten or so knives easily identifiable just by glancing at them. Because of printing costs, Paul was only allowed to buy knives worth $50 or more. It was obvious these knives were worth about $3-$5.00 each---well below what Paul was interested in buying. Paul gruffly said, "Not interested. Thanks." The man asked him to take a closer look. Humoring him, Paul rustled through the box and picked up a few of the folders. As he was opening them, the man said in a thick Southern accent, "Sir, I buried my boy today and I'd appreciate anything you can do. The people at the funeral home need their money. I sold my guns and tractor and it still isn't enough." Paul never looked up. He continued to sift through the knives and finally said, "Oh, wait. There are some good ones in here." Well, I knew better. There wasn't a single knife in there worth over $5.00. Instead of reaching in to pull out the roll of A.G. Russell money he always kept in his pocket, he opened his own wallet instead. He handed the man $200. The man tipped his hat at Paul and said thank you. After the man left, Paul looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "You're gonna have to buy dinner." Later that day, Paul was giving those knives to kids at the show.
Love ya, Handsome. I miss the hell out of you.
And he was beautiful.
One story...and then I'll sign off. I witnessed a man with a cardboard box walk up to Paul. The box contained ten or so knives easily identifiable just by glancing at them. Because of printing costs, Paul was only allowed to buy knives worth $50 or more. It was obvious these knives were worth about $3-$5.00 each---well below what Paul was interested in buying. Paul gruffly said, "Not interested. Thanks." The man asked him to take a closer look. Humoring him, Paul rustled through the box and picked up a few of the folders. As he was opening them, the man said in a thick Southern accent, "Sir, I buried my boy today and I'd appreciate anything you can do. The people at the funeral home need their money. I sold my guns and tractor and it still isn't enough." Paul never looked up. He continued to sift through the knives and finally said, "Oh, wait. There are some good ones in here." Well, I knew better. There wasn't a single knife in there worth over $5.00. Instead of reaching in to pull out the roll of A.G. Russell money he always kept in his pocket, he opened his own wallet instead. He handed the man $200. The man tipped his hat at Paul and said thank you. After the man left, Paul looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "You're gonna have to buy dinner." Later that day, Paul was giving those knives to kids at the show.
Love ya, Handsome. I miss the hell out of you.