We only had Paul a short time, but we were blessed because he showed us things that we will never see again. He was so kind and gentle. I think back to all the things we did, and how he was always there. In my memories, his silhouette is as persistent as the scenery. He had so much courage. He drank Cyclosporin like it was grape juice. He avoided confrontation. He wanted everyone to get along. His goal each day was to make everything go smoothly, and enjoy every moment.

He loved sports. I'll never forget when we were partners in a golf tournament, and he found out that he played better if he used just his left arm. He beat me by three strokes. Volleyball, too — he loved to sneak up on you and stick that one arm over the net to block your shot. One time, we had a foot race for no good reason right down the middle of Locust Lane. I was pleased with the fact that I almost beat him. Then I looked down and saw that he was barefoot.

Paul loved everything Virginia. His Fantasy Football teams were perpetually named the Confederates and the Cavaliers. He would draft every graduate of UVA if he could — and probably already had Herman Moore on his depth chart for next year. I'm sure it brought a smile to his face watching a resurgent Terry Kirby last week.

As you know, Paul was a night person. I was probably a bad choice for a roommate, since we would sometimes talk all through the night. Perhaps he knew that he couldn't waste precious time on sleep. My sense was that sometimes he wasn't content that he got enough done during the day, and if he could just stay up one more hour everything would fall into place.

I had a dream about Paul last night. Paul and I were walking in the rain. He was barefoot, of course. I wasn't getting wet, and he was drenched. God had decided to give him the rain for both of us. I felt horrible about it, but then I looked up at Paul and he had that smile on his face. It was the same smile he had that glorious sunny day when we walked out on the race track in Daytona. That is how I will remember my friend Paul.

Mike Berman
January 24, 2001

Song sung at funeral service:

Some glad morning when this life is o'er,
I'll fly away;
To a home on God's celestial shore,
I'll fly away.

CHORUS:
I'll fly away, O glory,
I'll fly away;
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I'll fly away.

When the shadows of this life have grown,
I'll fly away;
Like a bird from prison bars has flown,
I'll fly away.

Just a few more weary days and then,
I'll fly away;
To a land where joys shall never end,
I'll fly away.