One day in 1961 Paul and I took the Honolulu Community Theatre truck (now the Diamond Head Theatre) and drove on bumpy roads up the side of Diamond Head and through the tunnel. In those days the interior of Diamond Head was used as a dump. We were on the look out for parts that could be used for building the scenery of ‘Write Me A Murder’. It was a fun time. I remember us throwing rocks into some murky water before we salvaged some junk which became ornamental corner pieces for the study.
I just learned that Paul had passed. He was 91. I have seen people in their 90’s and it doesn’t fit with my image of Paul who was a young 32 year old who had come from the mainland to become the technical director for HCT. He had a long career and had served on the board of DHT until he passed.
I was sad. Not for his passing, that was natural.
I was sad for all the memories, good times and bad, that passed with him. Things we will never know. Hopes, dreams, desires reduced to sod and ashes. He was a good person.
So I was sad.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rims at
it. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar?