Remembering Paul Madden
By Roy Ockert Jr.
April 19, 2014
Not long after my last conversation with Paul Madden, I decided to retire as a newspaper editor. It wasn’t because of anything he said, but rather because of the circumstances. I could easily have missed the opportunity.
This was in the late summer of 2011 when, at Jim Goad’s invitation, Elbert Frazier and I accompanied him to Imboden, where the 90th birthday of Paul’s aunt was the occasion of a family reunion. Jim and Paul were distant cousins.
In the spring of 1964 the four of us were among 18 pledges in Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity at then-Arkansas State College. From Stuttgart, Paul was a physics major with a high grade average. He became a popular campus leader, elected as a junior to be fraternity president. He had a gentle, invisible way of bringing out the best in people, of guiding and encouraging them along the right path.
After our junior year Paul and I decided to go to summer school. I was to be editor of the yearbook and co-editor of the student newspaper and didn’t want classes to get in the way. We were assigned to a room inDelta Hall, which during the regular terms was occupied by the first other fraternities on campus.
Along with several other Lambda Chis, we took over the Tau Kappa Epsilon wing, joining one lonely Teke, John Watson of Monette. It became a gathering place for LXA brothers, and several times we elected the good-natured John the “Teke of the Week.”
It was the summer of my 21st birthday. Paul led the music with his new Martin guitar, and we kept my new car moving, including trips to the ”Senath light,” while taking classes six days a week. We had little time for sleep, except occasionally in my 7 a.m. Ancient English History class.
That fall we took a room in Arkansas Hall, where I stayed until moving off campus in January. We graduated with the first class to have the university designation on our diplomas, and the next day Paul stood by me at my wedding to Pat Montgomery.
In the years afterward, Paul lived many states away, most recently in Acton, Mass.
So I didn’t want to pass up the chance to get together three years ago. Shortly after we got there, the four of us were sitting around a table outside, reliving old times. We were almost half a century older than in 1964, but it seemed like much less.
Eventually, the conversation turned to things we would never have discussed then — Social Security, Medicare, retirement, health. Elbert had already retired from teaching high school math, and I was looking for the right time. Paul said he figured to work until he was at least 70. We pulled a little free advice from the accountant Jim, who may never retire.
I hadn’t considered my Social Security options, thinking I didn’t need to worry about it until retirement. But Jim pointed out that we were all reaching the age of 66, now considered full retirement. The next age of importance would come at 70.
Paul concluded that he shouldn’t start drawing until age 70, reasoning that the higher benefit would be better for his wife Joy, who would surely survive him.
Unfortunately, Paul didn’t make it to 70. He died last week of an inoperable intestinal tear. He had successfully fought off esophageal cancer, but the cancer had moved to his lung and he was due for another round of chemotherapy. Infections and possibly pneumonia forced hospitalization.
Almost as quickly as his family got the word out about his illness, Paul was gone.
When we’re young, it’s shocking if someone our age dies, no matter the cause. That’s just not supposed to happen. Later in life, you start reading obituaries and going to funerals more often. Somehow, though, Paul’s death hit hard.
I’d always considered him to be bigger than life, one of the most brilliant people I’ve known. He would certainly figure out how to beat cancer.
Last October he posted a note on his Facebook page. “Well, this is a downer,” he said.
“The POTUS [President Obama] said they’ve called in the ‘best and the brightest’ to help fix the Healthcare.gov Web site. But I’ve checked all my records, and I’m sure I haven’t gotten any calls or e-mails from the White House ...”
That was a light-hearted comment, but certainly could have helped. An engineer and software architect, he had always been among the best and the brightest. After earning a Ph.D. in physics at Florida State University, he held executive and senior engineering positions for such major companies as Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, Digital Equipment Corp., Apollo Computer and finally Synacor.
No ASU graduate has ever distinguished himself more in his field.
A few years after we graduated, on a trip to Washington, D.C., Pat and I had dinner with Paul and his new bride. He was in the Air Force at the time, and he said his work was top secret. Family members say he never talked about that much, but they believe he was working with the old Atomic Energy Commission.
I didn’t see him for another five years or so, when I was editor of the Batesville Guard. One Saturday morning he called and said he would be passing through town and asked me to meet him for coffee. I gave him directions to Kelley’s Restaurant, a prime gathering spot.
I was already seated when a guy with a beard, long hair and scruffy clothes walked in. To my surprise he approached my table and said, “Hello, Roy,” in a familiar voice. Paul had left the Air Force, his marriage had fallen apart and, like everyone on television these days, was going through a hippie phase. When we finally left the restaurant, the good ol’ boys at the roundtable surely had something to talk about for hours.
After that, I lost touch with him until after moving back to Jonesboro in 2001. He was listed among our “lost brothers,” but I tracked him down, and we caught up by e-mail. I was delighted to learn that he had remarried and had a family that he adored. His career success was hardly surprising.
I just wish he’d had more time to enjoy it.
Roy Ockert is editor emeritus of The Jonesboro Sun. He may be reached by e-mail at royo@suddenlink.net.