I met Paul in the spring of 1989, when he had his apartment in Marina del Rey. Before then, Paul worked, and often slept, out of an upstairs office at 360 Hampton Drive in Venice. “The Mecca of Bodybuilding.” Gold’s Gym. About a couple years after I met Paul he met Joanna, who would quickly become his best friend and the love of his life. Joanna was, and still is, Paul’s soulmate. Inseparable. Forever.
Nine years before I met Paul his brother Pete asked him to move from New York and join him in LA. Pete had a grand vision. He wanted to grow Gold’s Gym. He wanted to change the world. Pete knew Paul could deliver it. Along with Paul, and with the help and unwavering support of Paul’s good friend Rich Minzer, the three dramatically changed the health and fitness industry. What they did had never been done before. Gold’s went from a small handful of gyms to a worldwide fitness phenomenon, comprising over 535 gyms. This is just one of Paul’s many legacies. This was the Gold’s Gym family. These were Paul’s friends.
Closer to home, Paul loved his Topanga community. I attended many events with him and Joanna. The annual parades, the Will Geer theater, Froggy’s and other restaurants. Paul loved the local theater. Shakespeare wrote, “How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.” Paul’s good deeds were countless. His candle showered brightly and in abundance. For those of us who were fortunate enough to call Paul “friend” he showered us with his beams of light. Paul was many things to many people. But at the end of the day, Paul was one thing to everyone he met. A friend. If you met Paul and did not see it you were not paying attention.
Then there was the room at the inn. This is what Paul and I called a room in Paul and Joanna’s house on Horseshoe Drive. When I was in west LA for business Paul would insist that I stay with them and not in a hotel. A great room to wake up in. A view of the sunrise. Mornings in paradise. My stays with Paul and Joanna were never just visits. They were events. They were experiences of sharing: good conversation, food, hikes in the Topanga hills, more food, sometimes business meetings, and more food. When I left their home, there was no goodbye, just “see you later.”
Now we move forward, faced with profound loss. And with loss comes grief; a love we cannot share. And so we grieve. When you lose someone, who is close to you, you don’t just have a bad day, you have a new reality, emptier than the last. They say time heals all wounds. I do not believe it does. Time only fades the memory of loss’s pain. Fortunately, we all have exceedingly good memories of our time with Paul. Those memories help us wash away the hurt and amplify what he was and is.
My times and experiences with Paul were many, at both personal and business levels. And during those times Paul was always himself. I believe that every moment and every event of every man's life on earth plants something in his soul. In 1989 Paul gave his friendship to me. And it would grow into a true and lasting friendship. It was good. There is no legacy so rich as friendship. Friends are siblings God never gave us. For those of us here, God gave us Paul. I love him like a brother.
Paul believed that we each have a special gift, and we have a responsibility to find it and share it to benefit others. Paul was one of God’s gifts to us. Paul exemplified the meaning of friendship. Paul lived a fulfilling and purposed life. Paul’s gift to us was himself. He was a good man. He was a wonderful friend. Paul was my best friend. He will be sorely missed.
. . . Paul, you had a wonderfully good, full, rich, and loving life. You have the gift of a soulmate, a bashert, in Joanna; a true gift, a true friend, a forever friend, a blessing. Thank you for your March 23 email. You were not “AWOL.” My response to your message says, “No worries. Life’s transitions are often stressful. Take care and call me anytime.” That is where we left it. So, for my part, I will not say goodbye. Paul, take care of yourself, save a room at the inn for me, and I’ll see you later.
Scott Johannessen