My Friend Paul

I passed by my old office on Hopkins Street in South Buffalo. I was working for Higgins Erectors & Haulers and while I was a safety officer, I also filled in as a dispatcher.

I loved that job because it was unbelievably fast paced and because my apartment was just a couple of miles away.

I used to go home at lunch to watch ‘The Flintstones’. I was 26 years old.

The regular dispatcher, a friend of mine named Ron, died young and Mr. Higgins called me in to tell me what he thought was bad news.

“You’re going to be the interim dispatcher until we can find a new one. The bad news is that Paul will be your partner.”

I groaned audibly.

Paul was a man who was cranky. He was absolutely brilliant and ran the Rochester operation by himself, but he was short-tempered and different.

He had polio as a child and could barely walk. There were 4 steps to our office. It would take Paul about 10 minutes to navigate those 4 steps.

On the first day, I announced that I would only refer to him as ‘Crazy Legs.’

He laughed and I knew that we would get along famously.

We worked together for about 8 months, and we laughed hard every day.

One Friday afternoon, Paul headed for the stairs and the long trip to his car in the lot. As he walked, and huffed and puffed as he struggled to make each step, he was talking.

“I hope…that you…have a…good weekend…and I also hope and pray…that the Yankees…get swept…this weekend.”

He was at the very top step.

“Well, I hope you fall down the stairs,” I said.

Paul suffered mightily with his affliction, but he absolutely despised when people pitied him. He worked hard every day. He hardly ever missed even a single hour.

And he loved that I made fun of his ‘crazy legs’.

As I passed the building where we used to work, I thought of Paul ‘standing’ at the landing, bent a little bit, as he laughed, thinking about falling down those stairs.

Paul passed away a few years back.

I miss him.

Thought about him yesterday.