Today was rather a very difficult day for me and for all of us who knew Paul.
As always, and anyone can attest to this, I always arrived early to all of our ballgames just to get mentally and physically prepared. Such was the case today. I got to the cemetery around 8: 40 a.m. I drove by Lawn AW where Paul was to be put to eternal rest. I couldn't stay and wait for the others to show up at 10:30 so I visited my friend Ken at the Chevrolet dealership where he works that was nearby the memorial park.
As I drove, I drove past the school where Paul and I had batting practice with some of the women on our co-ed team. Paul had a lot of patience. I ran out of gas shagging balls.
Then I got to Glassell Street/Grand Avenue. Off to the north on the other side of the 22 Freeway is W.O. Hart Memorial Park. Many Fugowhee softball games were played on those two fields. Fond memories.
When I arrived at the dealership, I walked inside to the receptionist's desk and I had the receptionist tell Ken that I was here. Ken emerged from his office and we walked outside to the parking lot where our vehicles were.
We walk to his car and he opens up the car door and he hands me his Fugowhee jersey. I cannot recall if I had thrown my jersey away because it didn't fit or that I stored it somewhere else. Nonetheless, Ken came through. My jersey number was 19. His was 11. We chatted outside for a while then went back inside to give him my new mailing address to update their database.
I drove back to the cemetery and got there around 9:30. I walked around with jersey in my right hand. I noticed joggers and walkers. Strange. I could never jog in a cemetery.
I noticed an old familiar face pulling up into the cemetery entrance. It was Dave aka Batman. I waved at him as he drove by and he had this perplexed look on his face. He didn't recognize until I introduced myself. He drove 4 hours from Santa Maria to say goodbye to his friend.
As I strolled back to Lawn AW I noticed Ken had pulled up behind my truck. He had his jersey on and I in turn put mine on.
People started arriving. Old faces. Old faces with forgotten names. Faces with no names, but were friends of Paul and his family.
My other good friend and teammate Bob arrived and he was carrying a placard with the picture I had placed in my blog. The picture was of crystal clear quality. Much better than the one on my blog. I made a comment to Bob, "If it were our time to go, then we should all go at once so that we wouldn't be doing this."
Then I saw Gary arrive with his girlfriend, Kathy. A few months ago, Ken and Paul told me he got married so I offered my hand of congratulations. He wasn't married. Ken and Paul were pulling my leg. Insert foot in mouth. It was all in good gesture.
More people started to arrive. I estimate the mourners to be 100 or more.
Paul's mother, Gabrielle, arrived with her daughter, Kit, and her son-in-law. I never did get his name.
The Reverend Rose was fantastic. I was singled out to step forward to share with the others in attendance on the meaning of our team jersey, "Fugowhee." To make a long story short, the name came to be when a band of ancient Native Americans walked to the top of Santiago Peak and exclaimed, "Where the fug ow whee?"
After telling that story the people gathered burst into laughter amidst their tears of sorrow. I told of how Paul got "peppered" by a line drive and a hard throw. I told of how he wasn't the best baserunner in the world but he always ran out every hit whether he was safe or out. I talked about his fight with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I touched on a few other topics but I was getting a little choked up and felt it was best I exit center stage before breaking down. Ken and Bob congratulated me on my oration.
There was another gentleman in attendance who stepped forward to speak and told of Paul's chili. He told a great story.
After the services, I approached the Reverend and told him that he gave a great service. He hit on a few things that made me think as I stood by the casket. My eyes panned the many faces with tears in their eyes. I did not shed a tear. I knew Paul wouldn't tolerate seeing a "sea going bellhop" cry since he was Navy and I was in the Marines.
I noticed my ex-wife Mary in attendance. I thanked her for coming and gave her a hug. Paul was her friend as much as mine.
I stayed around and made my way to see old friends and teammates. There was one gentleman who introduced himself and told me that he and Paul started playing softball together in 1970. Incredible. That is a long time!
Another gentleman approached me saying that Paul was a big NASCAR fan and Greg Biffle. I did not know that.
It was decided to have lunch at Claim Jumper as a final tribute. I walked around certain groups to tell them of our intentions. I tried not to have the Donaldson family hear of our plans out of respect for their grief.
I got into my truck and rolled down the windows and hit the Guns N' Roses version of "Knocking on Heaven's Door" and headed down to Claim Jumper.
