Paul Winslow Sawyer 1934-2010

Over this past weekend I attended a moving memorial tribute to my friend and neighbor, Reverend Paul Sawyer.  I had only known him for a half-dozen years, but his life was literally larger-than-life.  At his memorial service, someone referred to him as "our brother from another planet", an attempt to describe his super-powers of compassion and tireless devotion to the causes he championed. I have never met anyone with such a singular focus on helping other people - especially people without a voice, people without hope. 

I wasn't a member of his congregation, but I was lucky enough to have many conversations with him. He'd rap on my door, sometimes at surprising hours, to let me know about an event or a protest of some sort.  Our conversations touched upon community organizing, community-based police with a real citizens oversight board, ending war, the media, freedom, justice, ending the death penalty, education and history.  It seemed as if whenever and wherever I attended a meeting, or a rally, or a fundraiser relating to peace and social justice, Reverend Sawyer was there.  Sometimes he'd come up to me and say "Great to see you - any chance you can give me a ride home?"   It was as if earthly matters, like getting from place to place, was not a worry of his.  He was absorbed in life. 

I remember the first time I tried to enlist him in a cause of mine. His wife Susan escorted me to their back yard, where Paul was engaged in Tai-Chi. I noticed he was wearing an arrest bracelet.  Getting arrested for standing up for justice was a badge of honor for Paul.  I heard that he was arrested over 60 times during his lifetime.  And if there are "Pearly Gates" in Heaven, I wouldn't be surprised if he has chained himself to them. 

His memorial was held at his church, affectionately called "The Onion". The Los Angeles Times, in their story about Reverend Sawyer wrote: 

In his 1968 book, "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test," Tom Wolfe described Sawyer's church as a "marvelous modern building shaped like a huge Bermuda onion" and forming a towering dome with "fantastic acoustics."  

http://articles.latimes.com/2010/jul/12/local/la-me-paul-sawyer-20100711

After I parked my car on this hot day, I took a deep breath before I walked inside.  My father passed away in May, just a few weeks before Reverend Sawyer's passing in June, and now every memorial gives me time to also reflect on my dad, who I miss dearly, and remember him in so many ways. 

Inside the Onion for the first time, I was delighted and surprised to see the jazz musician Billy Mitchell and his trio in the program - and I later learned that Billy Mitchell was friends with Reverend Sawyer.  My dad also loved jazz and the Billy Mitchell Trio was among his favorites. And then I broke down in tears when they played Horace Silver's "Song for My Father" to begin the service.  It was good for me to be here, remembering my friend, who was also a father. 

Ministers from many faiths were present and spoke so eloquently, for Paul Sawyer inspired so deeply.  Paul's children added poetry and song and an unbelievably touching video montage, which gave me insight into the earlier years of this wonderful life. And the Billy Mitchell Trio brought us all to our feet as we joined in singing "Compared To What", a protest song written by Eugene McDaniels and made famous by Les McCann and Eddie Harris, and another favorite song of mine. 

The entire memorial was moving, and warm and reflected Reverend Sawyer's booming personality, now beautifully carried on by his children, who each played a part in the remembrance of their father.  Paul's wife Susan and I agreed it was a wonderful tribute.   I feel very fortunate to have known Paul Sawyer.  I have never known someone to be so passionate about helping other people, and with so much energy.  I think his daughter summed it up best, when she said what I think is one of the great memorial quotes of all time:  "My dad really wished he could have been here today."

The Dream is Alive!

As a stay-at-home parent, few things match the unbridled joy of the beginning of the new school year.  I am now in a particularly sweet spot because my little one just started kindergarten, and so I have two children at the same school.  There is nothing like dumping the kids off at school and letting yourself simmer in the juices of freedom.  Let me tell you, suffering stay-at-home mommies and daddies, this promiseland is real.  Right now, I have the luxury of sitting down and enjoying a full mug of coffee – no questions to answer, no fights to interrupt, no snotty noses to wipe!  School is awesome!

But it’s not only about me and my freedom.  While I stitch together the scraps of my skills-based resume, my kids are (presumably) learning and their futures are being fed. They can still be whatever they want to be when they grow up.  The Dream is Alive!  (for them!)

As for me? I’m not so sure.  Lately I’ve been dwelling upon my own dreams  And as a practicing Virgo, I recognize this soul-searching as my old friend, my Annual Mid-Life Crisis ^TM, now in its eleventh consecutive year. This is not depression but simply planned annual self-improvement.  I am a very positive person.  (My blood type is my motto: B Positive.)  

But seriously folks, who shut down my dream machine?

I was a pretty darn good runner in high school. Westfield State even considered me for a Track scholarship.  I dreamed of competing in the Olympics, and I even ran imaginary races against the best runners in the world.  I never did get to the Olympics.  Not even close.  At this point, my only real hope is Olympic Curling.  And that is just sad.

I didn’t think I could feel bad about failing to reach goals that I didn’t even have.  But I learned that you can.  A good friend of mine recently won an Emmy. He deserves every bit of his success.  I jumped up and down and cried with happiness when he won.  The next day, my mother mentioned that she too would cry if I won an Emmy (like my friend’s mom actually did).  I took it personally. I had to tell her that it is highly unlikely that I will win an Emmy.  She understood, but now I have dashed my mom’s dream of being a parent of an Emmy winner. 

My dream of being a doctor went splat in the 10^th grade.  We were testing our blood types in Miss Brown’s biology class.  I fainted at the sight of my own blood and woke up in the nurses office.  (The takeaway? Miss Brown later told me “B positive.”)

For a brief time as a child, I wanted to be an architect, mostly because I like using rulers and protractors, and wearing plaid.  I even had a plaid lunch box.  That was as close as I got to being an architect.

I also wanted to be President of the United States.  The Presidency has always fascinated me.  As a kid, I would spend hours reading their biographies and memorizing facts.  I do want to make this world a better place, and I’m a huge fan of both fireside chats and cardigan sweaters.  But who am I kidding? This is an absolutely unreachable goal.  And I know I couldn’t survive the criticism.  My wife made an off-hand remark about my watermelon cutting technique and it put me in a funk for the rest of the evening. 

I haven’t been entirely a failure (I think I’ve been a good dad), and thank goodness for the wonderful and rewarding years I had at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab.  Strangely, as much as I like space, and math and science,  I never actually dreamed of working in space exploration, it just happened as I followed my interests.  Similarly, I never thought about being an astronaut, because I know too well the dangers of rocket propulsion and the inherent risks of space flight.  Sure, there was always the fantasy of zero-gravity sex, but the lure was not enough to overcome my fear of being strapped to a launch vehicle.  Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I still prefer to control when and how I explode.

I guess that’s the beauty of childhood: it is a time for dreaming.  Growing up sucks. Letting go of dreams, as crazy as they may be, sucks.  The good news is, now with the  kids back in school, I have time to dream again.  And I even have room for some crazy dreams.  After all, I think I should be positive – it’s in my blood. 

Jounce.

Now that everyone is back to school (or almost back to school),  I wanted to share an old monologue of mine which was inspired by a favorite teacher.   This was level 3 of the Groundlings, focusing on character development and writing, performed October '95.  

Oh, certainly not as perfect as I wanted it to be... but I always liked this monologue.