For Paula, My Cherished Student

Delivered at her memorial service, June 5, 2005 at 2:15 p.m.

For Paula

Who is the teacher? Who is the student? This is an adage from the Buddhist tradition. In the classroom, as everywhere, we are interdependent. Though I was her creative writing teacher, the tables turn quickly with people like Paula around. I loved watching her writing grow. I was inspired by her. Over the years, she wrote science fiction, opinion pieces, children's stories, and more.

She liked to enter other characters' minds from time to time; one memorable piece she wrote was about a man sitting at a table with a hearing device turned up full blast so that he could eavesdrop on others' conversations. Although he thinks this will be great fun, he has the misfortune of overhearing a plot to take over the world. No one, of course, will believe him. As I read this passage from one of Paula's very short stories, perhaps listen for the bit of social criticism.

". . . what I heard was that they were from another planet and were planning to take over the earth! They were shooting for the year 2025 since their scientists said their planet was going to be destroyed by a meteor in 2030! They were sure that there wouldn't be any opposition from the people on earth -- because by that time almost everyone would be dependent upon the computer to think! In addition to that, people would also have difficulty in relating to each other . . ."

Paula had gotten the idea for "The Eavesdropper" by a picture of a hearing amplifier in a health products catalog.

I can still hear her deep and resonant voice -- a voice with expression in every syllable. But a great voice without any content would ring hollow. Paula had opinions on everything, and that is part of what made her an activist for causes she cared about, a great writer, and a friend.

Among her other memorable projects: I recall the children's story about a male ladybug and a female daddy-long-legs, both in the heart of an identity crisis. She read it to us in class, a test flight. Some time later, she entered it into a bookstore's writing competition, and it was one of the winners.

I also believe Paula was a bit of a visionary or psychic or -- if you prefer -- intuitive. Her angel on her shoulder pin was testimony that though she once was quite skeptical, she did have an experience or two that suggested that there was more to life than meets the pragmatic eye.

She was part of the OASIS group that, together with John Hay High School students, wrote a collection of creative work that was placed in Cleveland's Bicentennial/Tricentennial time capsule in 1996. If all goes as planned, it will be opened in ninety-one years.

A time capsule. What better place for Paula's insights and her expressive face (there is a picture of her in it) to live on. One of the class assignments was:

What do you think life will be like in the year 2096? I will read just a few of Paula's predictions:

1. "Instead of taking baths, showers, and so on, one steps into a stall and is dry cleaned."

2. "Rain and snow are caught before reaching the ground and go through a cleansing process so they can be used."

3. "Most schooling is done through the computer. And since the average life span is close to two hundred years, one usually has several careers.

In our last phone conversation, we planned to get together for tea. In that conversation, I let on that I was in the heart of a family crisis. She shared astute advice and the same wry insight that characterized her best writing.

I suspect that if there are choices of vocation in the next world, Paula will be on the inspiration management team.

I will miss her. I know everyone here will. Her short red hair, expressive glasses, rapt attention, clear voice, ingenious ideas, probing questions, humor, compassion. The angel pin on the shoulder pad of her businesslike blazer. She was pragmatic, imaginative, blunt, warm, a mature woman who could access the creative spirit that too many lose early in life.

Paula: Thank you for being my teacher.


Copyright 2005 by Maria Shine Stewart
Cleveland, Ohio