Ken, Bob, Paul and me at Wallaby's in Santa Ana. 
That's me kneeling on the far right yelling, "TIME TO BREED!"
Glory days at Centennial Park in Santa Ana after winning the mens' Sunday softball league championship in the spring of 1989.
Graveside services will be on Tuesday, February 7, 2006 at 10:30 a.m. at Fairhaven Memorial Park in Santa Ana in Lawn AW. Bob, Ken and I will be wearing our Fugowhee softball team jerseys in tribute to our dear beloved friend.
This obituary appeared in the Orange County Register on Wednesday, February 8, 2006:
Paul W. Donaldson, 56, of Tustin, an accountant, died Feb. 1, 2006, of congestive heart failure. Services have been held. Arrangements by Fairhaven Memorial Park & Mortuary, Santa Ana. Survivors: Mother, Gabrielle; sister, Kit Katz.
I received a phone call last night from one of my friends and old Fugowhee softball teammates, Bob. He called to inform me that Paul, fellow teammate and all around good friend, passed away sometime early February 1. He got the news from Ken.
I called Ken's home phone and left a message. He later returned my call. Apparently it was pneumonia. Ken has known Paul since 1980. I cannot imagine how he felt when he first heard the news.
I do not know at this time when the services will be. There are two things in this world I do not like to go to: funerals and hospitals.
Paul used to live in an apartment around Old Town Tustin. He eventually moved in with his mother who has Alzheimer's. I do not know how Mrs. D is doing now that her son has passed away.
Paul was my tax guy for a while. He was an airshow fanatic, especially the one at Chino Airport. We would often frequent Flo's for breakfast. He was our pitcher on the Fugowhee softball team. He always needed a courtesy runner if he reached base safely, because he had weak knees. The one thing you never saw him do was give up. He ran out every hit hobbling down the first base line. We played softball almost every night of the week in mens and co-ed leagues in Orange and Santa Ana. I had a lot of trophies to prove it.
There was one game in particular that we played in Centennial Park in Santa Ana. I was the catcher. There was a hard hit line drive up the middle. Unfortunately Paul was in its path. It caromed off of him. He had no time to react. He winced in pain as he circled the pitcher's plate. And if that wasn't enough "insult to injury" the third baseman picks up the ball to throw to first and hits Paul on the side of the head. Ouch! Poor Paul. All this was happening right before my eyes. If it were me I would have gone down for the count. Not Paul. He hung there. Finished the inning. Finished the game. We won. Afterwards while downing pizza and beer we recounted the game's highlights. We busted a gut. Paul gave me one of his "evil stares" but eventually Paul was laughing, too.
We used to go to Claim Jumper in Santa Ana every Friday night for male bonding night. It would be me, Ken and Paul talking about stuff. We also used to go to Claim Jumper every Sunday morning when they served breakfast. We would waltz in to the bar, plop our Sunday paper down on the counter, order breakfast, and then eat as we read the sports page or comics. I always ordered the "Kitchen Sink Omelet" with extra side of hash browns.
There were other watering holes where we would muster. Louie Louie's especially after batting practice. Pineapple Hill Grill. Benjies. Wallaby's aka Slammy's aka OBs.
I never went to Tustin Tiller Days to taste some of Paul's chili. Maybe it was good I didn't.
A couple of years ago, Paul was stricken with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma (NHL). I was going to ride in his honor for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training cycling team, but never got around to doing it. He pulled through. Just like his baserunning, he never gave up.
I last saw Paul at the Santa Ana Claim Jumper on Friday, January 20, 2006. I hadn't seen him in a while. My friend Ken and I were already there chatting. We got to talking about Paul and how he "looked like sh*t."
Then Paul walked in. He did not look good.
We talked for a little bit. Then it was time for me to leave. We shook hands and said, "See you later."
I was in sorting things out in the garage when I came across that softball picture. That night I had a dream that I attended Paul's funeral. I remember distinctly during the wake. He was wearing his Fugowhee jersey #17. Eerie.
My heart goes out to Paul's family.
Paul, have fun up there in heaven. Just think NO MORE TAXES! No more struggling to meet deadlines or filing extensions with all your clients around April 15. I bet you are trying to convince St. Peter and God to file 1040 EZ. I can imagine that heaven is THE PLACE for an airshow with chalet seating and all the Conmemorativo tequila you can drink. Easy on the spices in the chili too, Paul! We don't want God to experience any Divine Wind.
Goodbye, Paul, I will miss you.
