Just realised you're almost gone for 3 years. wish we could let you know every now and again, a lot of people still think and talk about you Paul. RIP mate.

Green Point 16th May, 2009 Dear Friends of Paul, To begin with allow me to thank Hans for creating this tribute page for Paul. And thank you also to John, David and Bob for their moving contributions. I have been through a couple of difficult weeks since this fateful 25th April. The idea of writing down some memories seemed an almost impossible task. But I guess as part of the process of working through this loss I might give it a trial. As so many people have said over the last 3 weeks, Paul was one of the most generous, selfless and giving people we have ever had the fortune to be friend with. There is a stereotypical description of Australians around, which says Australians are “eager to please”. This might sometimes be interpreted as belittling or as an expression of lack of confidence. In the case of Paul Smith this was the essence of a great and very honest personality and friend. He was the personified selflessness, in the best and most admirable humanist sense. Being kind and helpful towards every living being – and that includes humans as well as all fauna and flora - came very natural to Paul. There was never the element of ‘self’ involved. Paul was also a ‘sponge’ for knowledge. He was able to absorb and process facts and intellectual concepts at a speed and comprehensiveness which often baffled me. Imagine sitting on the roof garden in 71 Australia Street in the evening and seeing a plane crossing over towards Kingsford Smith Airport. We normal human beings would mutter about the bloody noise. Paul would look at the plane and tell you that this is the new Boing so and so which just had a new type of engine fitted which reduced fuel consumption by X % and which was now used for all Boing planes built after XYZ. Paul’s love and care for computers – and for that matter for anything technical – is legendary. As a consequence of that love, our little market research business – well and truly in the “small” category for this industry - must have been the one with the most working computers in the world. One of his other great loves were Citroens. (the older the better) It is not for nothing that we called his beloved Citroen DS his mistress. (temperamental and expensive) I remember vividly a trip which we did together with his partner Gary and our dear friend Ken. 4 weeks through some parts of Europe with Germany and Italy being the focus of our travel. And as you would expect, Paul took Italian lessons before the trip in order to be able to converse with the locals in Italy. Since traffic in Europe happens on the ‘wrong side’ (which is right) I was by default the designated driver. Also the brightest minds amongst us have their little weaknesses. Paul was always very keen to check the map and give directions as required. Problem was, that his grasp of “left” and “right” was at times a bit tenuous. Now can you imagine – somewhere in Luca (Tuscany) - having bellowed from the back of the car to you directions in Italian, like ….sinistro, sinistro (left, left) Please imagine, a Teutoaustralian at the wheel with reasonable fluency in German and English being giving directions in that to me far less familiar Italian with the clear risk that sinistro should have been dextro. Hilarious I can tell you. When I was still living in Australia street, just next to the office, we used to have, what became an almost classic institution, our Friday night dinner and drinks. The core group were four of us, Paul, Gary, Ken and I. And we would take turns in preparing meals. For most of the year those Friday nights were held in the backyard –semi alfresco so to speak – and we would usually open the back door to Australia lane and any neighbour, so inclined, was invited to join us for some tomato salad and/or a glass of wine. This very much reflected Paul’s great sense for neighbourhood and hospitality. I must say I remember those very many nights with great fondness, as do many of my overseas visitors who were quite naturally integrated in our group. Some time around 1995 Paul had some hard time in his employment and needed a change. And I was more than happy to offer him the position of office manager and IT guru in my company (contrary to the Stars recollection, STATUS QUO existed before Paul joined me professionally) I never had any doubt that Paul would be an important asset to my company and I owe him a large slab of gratitude for his immense loyalty and help which he gave me and my little company over the 15 years of tenure. I always knew what contribution he made. I now experience the loss even more. Friends working in one business together is, as we know, not always a recipe for success. Paul and I had a wonderful professional relationship which crossed over very naturally into our private friendship of 26 years. There was never a problem with those two levels. All this has always been very informal – as you would expect – (and at times causing headaches for formalists like my accountants.) We never had anything like a contract. We worked together for 15 years on the basis of a kiss and a hug. My company being small by design tends to have ups and downs which show themselves very obviously in cash flow. Where would you find an employer/employee relationship (and I use those expressions very loosely) where the employer rings his (only) employee and asks him “how are things with money?” and the employee responding “well at the moment I am fine, just don’t worry about salary payment” . It obviously also worked the other way around as one might expect in a friendship like ours. As we all know, Paul had a very good grasp of all things technical and a love for putting scientific theories to the practical test. In the scientific world on this planet, I think Paul was the first who succeeded in putting Chaos Theory into practice. He found a practical application for it. And he managed to prove, that there is order in chaos. We other mere mortals might, at times, have had some difficulty in recognising this order (I know, I have) but who would argue against success. There is a very special ‘club’ in gay Sydney, quite exclusive and – sadly – losing members who will never be replaced. The club came into being in April 1994. And it is called “the four merry widows”. We were four good friends with something very special in common. The four of us – Michael, Don, Jochen, Paul – had all been lovers and partners at some stage in our lives with Gregg. (in the above order) Gregg also died after suffering a severe heart attack. Given our stage in life in those days, in a somewhat more dramatic fashion, on the dance floor, during the black party in Newtown. What never died or ended was and is the friendship amongst those four. After Michael’s death on the 30th March 2007 and Paul now gone, our club has shrunk to half of its original membership. The club now looks at applications for associate membership with an open mind. As most of you will know, I am not a believer in things like heaven, afterlife etc. If there were such place, I would imagine it to have four distinct sections. The social club – a must for our social butterfly Michael – The creative/dancing hall – where you would find Gregg quite often – The tech club – where else would Paul get his hands dirty – The cuisine du monde – where the three will meet regularly for culinary delights - On that Friday night on the 1st of April 1994 when Gregg died and the four merry widows club was inaugurated, the music came from the Pet Shop Boys, and it was their song, “You were always on my mind” Paul, Michael, Gregg, I take the liberty of modifying the title to “you are always on my mind”

The Sydney Star published one of my Haystacks (#27) on 24 January 1985. It repeats many of the most poignant memories I have of my 15 years living with this wonderful man. But it said nothing, of course, of the many years of friendship I was to have thereafter with Paul. I still can't quite believe he has gone. MY FIRST LETTER TO PAUL Dear Paul, Do you know, I write letters every day of the week to other men all round the world but in all the years we have been together, I have never written one to you! Soon it will be our anniversary again. We generally don't make much of it. Just a hug and a hope we will be together for many more Australia Days. But this time I want to say more. And say it in a letter, in my way, so you will know much more. We met - it seems not so long ago - at a SPMC barbeque. I must admit, for me it was not love at first sight. In fact I hardly noticed you I was so busy talking. But a little later, some man, gamer than I could ever be, unbuttoned your shirt and exposed your hairy tummy. He ran his fingers up and down your chest. I watched and wanted to do the same but I didn't dare. So I told you, four of us on the way home in Bruce's car, that I needed an architect to measure up my house. You said you wouldn't mind and could come for tea tomorrow night. You came all right but forgot to bring your measuring chain. So we found other things to pass the time and you left next morning. You came again the following night and we both pretended you would measure up the house (You still haven't done it, by the way!). The next day you arrived with enough clean shirts to last a week and the night after that, with your Railway clock. On Saturday you brought your twin turtles and set them up in an old fish tank. I knew then you had come to stay. I resented it a bit at first. After years of marriage and several gay relationships I was single again and this I was now beginning to enjoy. But I resented it only for a little while. Most of the time since then I have been damned glad and the happiest of men that you unilaterally married me. We've travelled and had some fun times - sometimes very close times - together overseas. We went to India once and strolled down malls in Raj hill towns and on the plains we saw the Taj, not by moonlight but shimmering in a heat haze so hot our cameras became too hot to handle and I fainted. You brought me round with tepid tea and Indian boys with fans in their hands. And another time we travelled across Canada on a train, up the Rockies and over the prairies before the lakes froze in and winter came. We came too, together, shouting and then not knowing what to do but laugh when after screwing staring through the cabin window into the icy dark we shot as our train shot at midnight into the floodlit station at Medicine Hat and everyone could see in at our window. You are fun to travel with and always so patient, even with me when I mess things up for you. Like the night we were both thrown out of the Club Baths because I had a fight with that rude man on the desk at the door. And when I back-seat drove, of course on the wrong side of the road and always in the wrong direction, all the way to Russian River and down to Jenner-on-the-Sea. Back home you've cared and looked after me. I recall your face, white and pleading with me to be alright the night you sat for hours in Casualty while doctors sewed me up again after my fall. We had guests coming. You were thoughtful then and left them a note "Your dinner's in the oven...." And I remember too the good face you put on when you said good night, that night in hospital before I had my operation. And your relief — because I was safe — when I quit smoking. I remember too your despair as we drove back to Sydney the night your father died. And a couple of years later, how tender you were when you called to tell me my own father too had died when I was half the earth away in Atlanta. And how we sat, just holding each other too hurt to speak when our dog had to be put down. In the early days you came home each night from work ill from all the fumes of the printing shop. I worried and was relieved when you went to work for Michael at "The Star". But the new job meant little money and long hours which kept you away from me so our new dog became my dog and I felt like a Navy wife. Most nights I went to bed alone while you photographed leather men and noisy drags for the never-ending, always coming next edition of "The Star". I came to hate it and them and even often, you, while I waited those lonely nights but belatedly, I saw what you had seen right from the start, that we must have a strong gay paper if we are to defend ourselves and grow. Since then I have admired your loyalty and dedication and felt myself a bastard for my selfish thoughts. Now of course you are the paper's editor and a good one too. Before, I had not seen you as a leader of men but you do bring out the best in us while your patience and cool head, taste and sensibility have made a paper we are proud to show the world. And in other groups and organisations, you, more than any one, have shown gays how to communicate. All those years of architecture and printer's ink, not that you enjoyed them very much, have now been all put to our advantage. But I know you feel the burdens and grow tired of ceaseless crises. And I worry that you do all this and still do your other job, the one that pays! It all leaves you little time for yourself after I have claimed my share. It seems you spend your life doing things for others and for causes. Time is always the most generous of gifts. I watch you grow older. You were 23 when I met you. Now you are 32. Sometimes your age and your maturity shock me a bit. I forget you are no longer just a boy. What were you like as a boy, I often wonder, as I watch you doing things and you don't know I'm looking? Eager to please, I know. Probably often scared and never thinking enough of yourself. A gay boy but frightened where that might go. Your father was never supposed to know - "It would kill him" your family all said. But he used to show me your baby photos. He was proud of you and I think he knew. I think he was glad you were happy and he did not mind how. There's not much I regret these years with you. From you. Maybe you could be a bit tidier around the house. Mostly if I am sorry it is for things I've done. Times I kick you instead of the cat. And when I've scared you with my angers at the world. Most of all I regret times I've doubted us and those times too my we-men-together reticence has stopped me saying all you mean to me. And I regret not having written you a letter. But now I have. Sorry I took so long! Bob

gary

14 years ago

Hi Bob Sorry you could not make it on the Monday. Jochen very generously sent me to Hawaii to get away from the madness for a week and I have only just returned. It was a beautiful letter and such an appropriate memory. I will give you a call during the week. Gary

I met Paul in the early 80s a couple of years before my nine difficult months as editor of The Star during which he was often able to clear a path through the complexities of gay politics for me and help me make a decision about lead stories. Since then he has always been a ready source of friendship, technical information, gossip and hot scandals. He eschewed the mundane and unearthed the exotic and perverse, but always shared his findings with a sense of joy and discovery. His imagination reached great heights in the kitchen and I shared many wonderful meals he prepared for whoever happened to be visiting his home at the time. Paul gave advice and tech tips to a huge number of people, rebuilt and upgraded dozens of computers and networks, maintained a fleet of classic Citroens, wrote and edited many publications, and was a discerning wine collector and drinker. I will remember him for all of the above but mostly for his constant curiosity, delightful eccentricities, keen intelligence and unswerving friendship. John Wishart

hakoning

14 years ago

Thanks John, Appreciate your kind and personal memory. Please feel free to send the link of Paul's tribute to friends. I have met Paul via Jochen, who is a close friend of mine. As I life in Amsterdam, and only saw Paul once or twice a year, I do not know a lot of his friends; let alone me knowing their email addresses.

Bob Hay

14 years ago

John, I was sorry I could not get to Sydney for Paul's funeral and catch up with you and others from so long ago, even if for such a sad occasion... I cannot drive so far now on my own (age does weary one and with the going down of the sun, the eyes are too dim to see the gas-guzzler in front). Do keep in touch - I'm still in the same old place among the Pollies and the falling leaves... Bob Hay.

http://www.starobserver.com.au/community/2009/04/28/death-in-the-star-family/5859 Paul Smith, former editor and co-owner of this newspaper’s predecessor, the Sydney Star, in the early 1980s, died from a heart attack on Saturday aged 56. Smith was survived by his partner of 14 years, SSO office manager Gary Stocks, and siblings Bernie, Stephanie, Tim and Damian. Trained as an architect, Smith instead chose to pursue life and career with as many diverse interests as possible, particularly in politics, media and community. He joined Campaign Against Moral Persecution (CAMP) soon after its founding in the mid-1970s, where he met Bob Hay who would be his partner for 15 years. The pair were strong supporters of the Gay and Lesbian Counselling Service, and were among the first gay couples to move to Newtown before the suburb became a gay enclave. Smith joined the Star in 1981 and together with Hay, Richard Turner and Tony Cooper, bought the newspaper from its founder Michael Glynn. Turner said Smith really came into his own during their ownership in the early ’80s. He filled many roles including journalist and layout designer. Larry Galbraith, a later editor, said Smith continued to provide guidance after the paper was sold again in 1985. “Paul was a very calm, level-headed person, who in his own quiet way kept the ship afloat,” Galbraith said. “He was the least well known to the general public, surrounded by larger than life characters with big egos, but his role was far more significant than the public knew.” Smith remained a Star director after leaving to join Media Monitors. He later established his own market research consultancy, Status Quo. Smith was a long-term survivor of HIV and attributed his general good health to “surfing the wave of science”. His death was related to genetic heart disease. http://www.starobserver.com.au/community/2009/04/28/death-in-the-star-family/5859

I always felt bad of getting Paul up so early in the morning to give/hand in the keys. Yet he has always been gracious and kind about it. I guess that was his personality - a kind and gracious person. I'm sure he will be sadly missed by everyone who knows him. God bless. David.

Paul and I were introduced via our mutual friend Jochen. Actually, quite often Paul was the intermediate between us; I often house sit at Jochen’s place, and pick up the house and car keys via Paul. Only a couple of weeks ago I dropped off the car again at Australia Street, had a quick chat with Paul, and then head to the airport. If I close my eyes I can still see Paul standing there in his shorts and t-shirt, fiddling his beard, and always interested in what we’ve been up to. I find it hard to believe Paul is gone, and will miss him. Coming to Australia will never be the same. Cheers Paul. I hope that all those who are close to him will find consolation in us sharing these memories. Hans Koning Amsterdam, the Netherlands.