I have been really excited to pen this chapter of REAL MEN.
The subject: Mr. Paul Dubuque.
Adding to my list of guys that were near and dear to Dad, but have always meant so much to me; and continue to do such. Paul is no exception.
Product of the Acre section of Lowell, Paul came up a poor French neighborhood kid in the 1950s and 60s. A veteran, Paul served his country well before settling back in his beloved hometown with his (saint of a) wife, Jackie, where they raised their five great kids.
I obviously did not know Paul way back then, but middle age (and now “quasi-old”) Paul has become an amazing friend and confidant to me.
Another member of “The Pall Bearer Squad” (I suppose he was a PAUL bearer! Rim Shot…tip your waiters and waitresses, I am here all week!) for Big Frank, Paul is as close as it gets to my heart and that of my family.
My first memory of Paul goes back to the late 80s when I was pre-pubescent teen that cared not for the opposite sex, but only sports and video games. Early Sunday mornings, Paul and another legend would pack a gaggle of us kids in to the car (seatbelts optional because there were not enough of them to go around) and take us to play basketball at a local high school. I thought it was so cool. We had private gym time. Paul and the others Dads played in our full court games. Despite his girlish figure, Paul actually had some sick hoop game back in those days! Always easy, fun and kind to us youngsters, Paul was an “adult” I surely respected.
Flash forward a few decades, and the relationship changed drastically. The respect remained, but the relationship dynamic certainly evolved from Sunday morning roundball many years back.
Now, all of a sudden, I could matriculate with Paul and the rest of the Merry Band of Mad Men my father hung around, like peers and not ”fathers and sons”. I was Junior Scout seeking full time membership to the Whacko Pack, this was a new chapter for me. (Read previous REAL MEN entries and you will see what I mean). Yes, this new segment was surely more interesting than sweating it out on the bball court on the Lord’s Day.
Translation: golf, cigars, maybe a bourbon, dirty jokes and the like!
Which brings me to a not-to-be-overlooked component of knowing Paul Dubuque; THE JOKES.
Paul must have been a Court Jester in Medieval France in a previous life because he can tell a joke like no other and can certainly “hold Court”. Masterful in his delivery and timing, Paul can capture your full attention when you foresee a 1-liner or a 30-minuter coming out of that beautiful ,quasi-large, jovial, cologne-wafting cranium he has somehow managed to operate for over 70 spins around the Sun. And the only one laughing louder at the punch line than his audience? Paul himself! That fact always makes it more the funny.
A true friend, Paul calls me often and opens with a kind, genuine ”Hello”, a earnest inquiry about my life and happenings to follow, a quick hilarious quip or story for sure, but always closed with an “I love ya, pal“.
And that’s no joke.
That’s just Paul.