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I took Paul's last E-Sem class on evolution and stories. I was a returning student and was trepedatious about entering a classroom full of seventeen/eighteen year-olds. But then this giant with grizzly sideburns came into the room, chest-hair poking out of his salmon-colored shirt, as he strolled over to the computer and pinched the bridge of his nose. I figured I had bigger things to worry about than age.

I began intimidated by Paul, then I was frustrated and angered by Paul, then I - and everyone in the class - came to love Paul. One of the first things I realized is that there were no "right" answers with him - there were some that held more potential than others, but he wasn't a professor you could find the niche of and work within that realm to ensure a decent grade. The lack of that niche was unsettling; you either spent the whole time guessing about what he might prefer, or you surrendered and were simply honest. He listened intently. I came to know the bridge-pinch as a processing maneuver, when thoughts were being reined in to form sentences. He cultivated an environment of intense discussion, livelihood, silliness and joy. I remember one class opening with a young woman telling Paul he had to have a nickname and would he prefer "P. Grobes" or "Paulie G"? (He picked the latter.) I also remember a deep, frustrating and disturbing class dedicated to hashing out the ethics of a tale of incest. Paul wasn't afraid of disturbing - he encouraged us to dive head-first into it, asking as many questions as we could along the way.

As the semester moved forward, Paul's class became an anchor for me. The materials and thoughts it provoked were relatable to just about everything and they helped me immensely in adjusting to my new situation. We talked about logic, stories, perception and movement. I would - and still do - bring these conversations up with friends, generating new tangents, new threads of thought.

I don't think I realized how much Paul's presence, intellect and caring mattered to me until I saw the sign posted on his office at the start of Spring semester, saying that he was ill and wouldn't be there. I'd venture down every now and then with the small hope that I might find him with his feet up, his hands behind his head; that that loose smile would spread on his face and he'd ask a question.

I'm so grateful that I met Paul and shared some time and space with him, for however briefly, in this big, big universe.