Sam Zygielbaum

I’m Paul’s oldest son, Sam.

Today we celebrate the life of a great man. We know Paul by the many things he did in his life because he never missed an opportunity to tell anyone who'd hold still.

He showed us what drove him; what excited him; what made him laugh. It was his gift to the people he loved and everyone he tried to help.

We knew his passion for being right, which he did a pristine job of passing on to his children…..and God willing, his grandchildren. He was highly, sometimes impossibly, principled. But he also never discriminated. In any way. He gave everyone a chance. All that mattered were brains and courage. And bbq potato chips. He was everyone’s most worthy opponent. It didn't always feel good, but he played hardball because as the natural leader he was, he wanted to elevate everyone around him.

If you asked about politics (or even if you didn’t ask…) he’d often speak of the Founding Fathers and his interpretation of their motivations, their ideals, and the compromises they reached in the interest of the greater good. He admired them for their foresight and their courage, and he wanted to be a part of that…of making things right for humanity. In his many ways, and with mom always at his side, he actually did.

We know how proud he was of the family history, and the stories of his father and grandfather’s heroics and accomplishments and sacrifices. His career, his philanthropy, his contributions to science, technology and medicine, and his political activism at the highest level in the land. And he and mom were always together through all of it. He needed you, and he knew it.
We know of the attempt he and his Caltech buddies made, to create a technology that had the potential to improve the lives of literally billions. They almost got there too. And while that will always remain a great disappointment, in the vein of many great inventors and visionaries, though they were not the ones to bring their creation to the world, their work fuels the next generation of innovators.

We know of the mesothelioma, and the 15 years he was able to live with it. This made him a certified one of a kind: the perfect thing for Paul to know about Paul. He really did set records, and in the process, he blazed a trail for those unfortunate enough to be afflicted with this form of cancer.

And latest in life, we know of his work in building a non-profit whose goal is to expose young people to all kinds of career opportunities and encourage them to follow their dreams.

While it’s fitting that we recite the life and times of Paul the Super Hero, here are a few things you may not know about Paul the Human:
He used to sing lead in a barbershop quartet.
He created his own bbq sauce recipe, and it is GOOD.
He loved baseball. He played first base in high school and college, and he thought of putting on stirrups as a ritual.
One time, quietly, but firmly, and face to face, he told Al Franken if he wanted to be taken seriously as a Senator, he needed to stop joking so much in his speeches. And he did.

He almost killed me once, because I almost killed him once, with a fully functioning crossbow that I made from things we had in the garage. In my defense, while playing in the back yard, we’d gotten a frisbee stuck on the roof. Having recently completed the crossbow, I hatched a righteous plan to attach a hook and string to an arrow, which we would then use to rescue the stranded frisbee. However, instead of hooking the frisbee, the crossbow worked so well (which I know he appreciated somewhere amongst the rage), that I managed to over-shoot the roof entirely, with the arrow landing at his feet in the driveway on the other side of the house. While my dad survived unscathed, the crossbow met a rather untimely demise.

For as long as I can remember, he shared with me his great love of Space and our exploration of it. We spent countless hours discussing the history of the Space program, the various launch systems and space craft, and the physics of it all. We agreed that putting humans on the moon was likely the most significant thing our species has ever done. The first time we ever showed ourselves on the grand stage of the Universe. It is our continued expansion into the great and perilous unknown, that excited him so much, that he found so sacred.

So, of course he loved Star Trek. He idolized Kirk and Spock for always coming in peace, for their sense of the greater good, their ingenuity, their swashbuckling adventures, and for standing up to oppression across the galaxy.

Now, Spock dies in the second Star Trek movie, the Wrath of Khan, having sacrificed himself to save the crew. The way dad told it, it was one of the darker moments of his life. He agonized over how Star Trek could even continue, sans Spock. So thank god Roddenberry gave us Spock's surprise-rebirth in the 3^rd movie, or there’s no telling where that might have left him.

Back in December, the day after he decided to stop treatment, my wife Kim and I came up to visit. She and mom went out for lunch, and dad and I had some time alone. We discussed many things at random: science and politics, as we always did; how we thought my brother and sister were handling the news of no more treatments. I expressed hope that like me, they were able to leave nothing unresolved with him. There was a moment of pause, and I realized I’d had a question for some time, that I wasn’t aware of until right then: “Are you afraid?” “Of what?” He replied. “The end...” I said. Without the slightest hesitation, confidently, peacefully, and ultimately true to form, he replied, “No Sam, not at all. It’s just another adventure.”

I liked that, and it did comfort me, and maybe it comforts some or all of us today. At the time though…I still wondered if even some small part of him was afraid, and he just wasn’t saying it. But even if that were true, it just calls to mind the question he’d always ask when someone was apprehensive about taking a leap: “What would you do if you weren't afraid?”

He told me once when I was a teenager, “You need to leave your mark on the world.” I don’t know if that’s true for everyone; I’m not even sure it’s true for me. But without a doubt, his life was an adventure he shared with all of us, and he left us too many marks to count.

Dad/Paul/Uncle Paul/Grampa Paul: I love you, we all love you, and we’ll always miss you. Thank you for everything you were, and everything you continue to be.