There are at least a million Paul Renier stories and hearing all of them during this past week has been a blessing to all of us who love him. I’m going to tell you one of my favorites. If you’ve been around the Renier dining room table when the deck of cards or piano rolls came out, you may have heard it, but it has special meaning today and I’d like to share it with you again.
In 1995, during that very brief time that Liz and I dated before we got married, Paul and Mary’s daughter Monica graduated from the College of Wooster. One of her classmates was Duncan Jones, the son of David Bowie.
Following commencement there was an outdoor reception with cookies and punch. I remember the scene not unlike a middle school dance, with groups of people huddled around the perimeter staring and whispering.
Paul and I were in one of those groups. I remember kind of half whispering to him in awe, “That’s Ziggy Stardust.”
He replied in the way that Paul Renier treated every person he didn’t know, “Go introduce yourself to him.”
I’m pretty sure I laughed and said “no way” or something similar. Then Paul grabbed my arm, said “come on,” and started walking straight toward Bowie.
As he approached Bowie, Paul still had a big handful of cookies in his right hand. So, he gets to Bowie, transfers the cookies to his left hand, wipes the crumbs from his right down his pantleg, and extends his arm.
“I’m Paul Renier.”
And just as it always did with Paul Renier, a conversation about how proud he was of Monica and Shakespeare and chickens and England continued with “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Renier. I’m David Bowie.”
Why is that one of my favorite stories (at least until hearing last night about the skit he did as a young teacher) about Renier? It’s my favorite, not because Ziggy Stardust is a co-star, but because the star is the essential Paul Renier.
Among so many others in his heart, Renier carried a Wordsworth quote that said “the best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.”
Paul was my father-in-law, my friend, my Godfather, RCIA instructor, Knights of Columbus sponsor, campaign treasurer, and so much more. We all have these moments when we needed something, and Renier was there. Even if what we needed was an introduction to the biggest rock star on the planet and his supermodel wife.
The other reason why I love to share this story is that it really the perfect example of Paul being Paul. As any of you who ever tried to get in and out of a store with him, or home from a K of C dinner before the end of a ball game already know, Paul Renier never met a stranger. He knew everyone. And if he didn’t know you, he made sure you became a friend. Where did you go to school? What work do you do? What do you read? Do you know the Latin root for that thing that you are holding or working with? Always seeking that connection. That common ground.
And that brings me to maybe the best part of this story. There’s a picture of Paul talking to Bowie. And in this picture, Paul is popping one of those daggone cookies into his mouth. If the wine was open on the Renier dining room table you might have heard us laugh about how only Paul Renier would keep eating cookies while talking to David Bowie. That maybe the only thing he liked more than people was free food. But that comfort and familiarity make perfect sense when you know Paul Renier. He didn’t meet a celebrity couple that day. He had a conversation with friends.
And he remembered his friends. This week, Geoff found the commencement program in Paul’s office, and in it the name Duncan Jones is underlined in pencil. And inside of the back cover, in his familiar uphill left-handed scrawl, Paul wrote “David Bowie” and “Iman.”
Bowie was a rock legend. Iman a supermodel. But on that day, they were like us. Friends of Paul Renier.
We’re all going to miss Paul. But every day forward, just like every day before March 24th, he will not be far from us. He’ll be with us every time the sunshine that he loved so much warms our faces, every time there is enough rain to measure in quarter inches, every time a plant blooms in the spring, in every line of verse that reaches our hearts, in our faith, and in our love for each other.
He’ll also be with us every time the friend to our right throws down an off-suit Ace to keep us from taking two points in a game of Euchre.
For me he’s there every time I meet someone new, transfer my own handful of cookies, confidently extend my arm, and say “I’m Paul Renier’s son-in-law.”