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I can't say my first memory of Paul was very appetizing or appealing; in fact, it was a little terrifying at the time. I was living at Bryn Mawr while participating in the Science for College program, two years before I actually knew I would be going to school here. We had group discussions/activities with a different college professor every day, and when I saw on our program that a neurobiologist was to speak, I could barely contain my excitement (our week so far had been filled with quantum physics and geological experiments--we needed a change). An hour later, in walked Paul with a large cooler (I knew his research had involved frogs in some form or another, so I could only guess as to what kind of gifts he came bearing). He was tall, mysterious, quiet (he barely said anything when he first walked through the doorway); he had us on the edge of our seats without having to say a word. He stepped forward, arm outstretched, hand gripped around the handle of the bright blue box containing God Knows What.

Before we knew it he had whipped out a human brain, dripping with formaldehyde, and plunked it on the table with a satisfying plop. I was thoroughly shocked and disgusted; as a group, we weren't sure what to do. Who was this grey man who kept body parts in boxes and didn't even bother to lay out a tissue before he went slapping them down on the same table we were going to eat lunch on in 2 hours? Was this how Bryn Mawr operated, hiring strange, sloppy faculty to come in and scare potential students?

Eventually we got over it.  By the time lunch came around, none of us wanted to leave the conversation we had been having about the brain and all its quirks (although a few of us might have wanted to change locations to a new, less smelly table). And that is exactly how Paul managed to make me feel every time I saw him after that fateful day--a little bewildered at first, but then completely happy to be in his presence. I will never forget his quiet, his thoughtful pauses, the way he would raise one eyebrow and drag down his lips when he was processing a new idea. He was one of the very few people in my life that actually cared about what everyone had to say, and I can only pray that someday I will attain that level of acceptance and generosity. 

I will miss you dearly, Paul--squishy brain and all.