An avid reader of The Malibu Times died on Sunday. His name was Paul Maynard. You most likely didn’t know him. That’s because he lived in Syracuse, N.Y. He was my grandfather, and every week since shortly after I began working at The Malibu Times, a copy of the newspaper has been sent to his house. And he often let me know, or my grandmother let me know for him, that he enjoyed reading my writing.
I was close with my grandfather and we spoke on the phone often. During the beginning of a conversation, he would always tell me he was proud of me. And then he would repeat that several times while we talked. He was one of my biggest fans, and I was one of his biggest fans.
My grandfather was not a shy person and would talk to anybody. He would stop people at a grocery store who he didn’t know to discuss politics or tell a story about growing up in rural Kentucky. But he wouldn’t just tell stories; he also wanted to know something about you. If you walked anywhere near my grandfather’s vicinity, you were more than likely going to be stopped for at least a brief (although it was rarely brief) conversation. As a teenager this would sometimes embarrass me, but as a young adult I learned to appreciate that type of behavior because it is so rare these days. In today’s society, we are afraid to talk to people we don’t know, or even people we do know, and probably miss out on a chance for some great conversations.
On Monday night, I spoke with my mother on the phone and I told her at least half of Syracuse lost a friend the previous day. In the course of his 50 years in that city, my grandfather met thousands of friends, even if he only got to know them during a five-minute conversation.
My grandfather was a big fan of horse racing. He took me to the track numerous times and taught me about the sport. It eventually became my favorite. As horse racing is no longer popular, I enjoyed having somebody to discuss it with. I would always call him and my grandmother before every major race to give them my picks and my grandparents would tell me whom they liked. It is fitting that my final day with my grandfather involved the sport we both love.
In June, my grandfather became very ill and was sent to a hospital. So I flew to Syracuse to see him one last time. I spent several days in a hospital room with him. Different family members came and went throughout the day, but for the most part, I stayed at the hospital all day.
It was difficult to see my grandfather in the condition he was. The man who loved to talk could only mumble incoherent statements. Nurses had to help him go to the bathroom.
On the last day I ever saw him, the Belmont Stakes was on television. For those of you not familiar with horse racing, the Belmont is one of the most prestigious races of the year. I would love to tell a magical story that my grandfather suddenly returned to great health and we cheered together as we watched the race, but that did not happen. However, my grandfather did appear more vibrant as we watched the pre-race coverage than he had during the previous days I had been at the hospital. He laughed with me when a segment was shown of a horse shaking its head while receiving a warm shower. He nodded while I told him about which horses I thought had a chance to win.
When the race began, my grandfather stared at the television screen, looking as focused as ever. The race was one of beauty, with a horse named Afleet Alex blowing away the competition in an awesome display of power. Afterward, I said to my grandfather that it was a great race. He nodded and raised his eyebrows, and then said, “Yes, yes.”