The Narratives

Warning: This is not a pleasant tale. This is my first hand account of the events leading to Paul's death, and the events that followed. Please turn back now if you do not wish to see this.

...near The End

Last modified on 30 April 1995

These were days that are forever etched in my mind. I will never forget the pain, the confusion, the guilt and the heartache.
Sunday, 8 May 1994
Paul called me in the lab on Sunday. As I listened to him on the phone, I realized that he didn't seem to be feeling very well. He said that he appeared to have caught a bit of a cold, and that I shouldn't worry. I offered, no, insisted on going downtown and helping him, but Paul was his usual even more insistent self, saying that I need not worry. He assured me that he will be seeing a doctor the following morning.
Monday, 9 May 1994
A fairly uneventful day, so uneventful that I did not even hear back from Paul. I called him back late that evening, but only got the answering machine. I assumed that he was feeling better, and that he was out and about his chores. I left word for him to call me back, and that I was still a little worried about him.
Tuesday, 10 May 1994
The shock wave hits. I get a phone call at approximately 2 pm from Paul's doctor asking me if I knew that Paul had a brain aneurysm. Paul has apparently checked himself into Lenox Hill hospital, named me as the contact person, and promptly gone into a coma. After some minutes of total shock, the doctor asked me if I can get in touch with his family. I stammered that I would.
Paul had never confided in me the phone numbers of his family in Canada, although we had been planning a trip to Toronto (well, up until his car got stolen, but that is a different story).
I called up Judy Sterio to see if she knew the number, but she was just returning from out of town that day. I called up CS First Boston to see if they would release his family's phone number to me. Of course, they wouldn't. but offered to call his sister in Toronto, and have her call me back. I called back the hospital, was told that Paul was in Recovery, and that only immediate family will be permitted in. I decided not to go down to the hospital.
We had a volleyball game that day, but I don't remember much from that, other than being very distracted, worried about Paul, but trying to be optimistic. After the game, I went with my friends to Coogan's to calm my nerves a bit (for the company - I still do not drink).

When I got home, Cheryl had called. In fact, Cheryl had tried calling the lab, and got into a minor altercation with Jakob Franke. I called her back, and tried to tell her everything I knew, which was not much. Although Paul had named me as his immediate contact, I was still not immediate family and hence not privy to his medical records.

I also found out that Paul's parents will be arriving the next morning. I called up Judy, and promised to be at Paul's apartment for support. In the meantime, Judy had managed to get into the hospital by saying she was a cousin of Paul's. That is one tactic I could not have used...but I wish I did. After the long evening, I decided to post to the rec.arts.theatre.* newgroups and the RATcon mailing list to keep our friends informed.

Wednesday, 11 May 1994
I met with Judy at the lobby of Paul's apartment building. We waited, in an odd, nervous way, for Paul's family to arrive. I can still remember them arriving in the cab, and thinking how awful that meeting them should happen in this way. Judy had Paul's keys, and clearance with the doorman, and we let Paul's parents, Aunt Mary, and Cheryl into the apartment. On the way, Paul's stolen car was mentioned, much to Mrs. Goldsmith's surprise; Cheryl quickly stepped in, but that was when I realized that Paul had not told his parents about the car being stolen. Cheryl knew, but not Mrs. Goldsmith.

We entered Paul's apartment, which was in disarray. I did not exactly feel right about leaving the Goldsmith family by themselves, but I figured that they needed time to go and attend to the details. After leaving all necessary contact information, I walked with Judy to the subway. On the way, we decided to stop by A&S for a bite to eat. We mulled over the possible consquences of Paul's injury, realizing that most likely, he will be brain damaged, and will require a lot of care.

I returned to the lab, tense, tired, and very worried. Nonetheless, somewhere in me, there was a voice that defiantly said,"Things WILL work out just fine!" Optimism or escapism, that I cannot glen.

Later in the afternoon, I received a phone call from the hospital. Since Paul had left my name and number as the primary contact person, the hospital staff needed my permission to release Paul's personal belongings to his family.

That evening, this is what I posted to the rec.arts.theatre newsgroup:

I apologize in advance. This letter may not be relevant to some people, but I think the subject touches us all.

As of tonight, Paul Goldsmith is lying in the recovery room of the Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan. He has no detectable brainwave activity. His family has just given consent to remove life support in approximately seven hours from now.

Some of you may be asking who Paul Goldsmith is. Paul is one of the original participants of RATcon, a regular members of the rec.arts.theatre community, and a generous and original man.

Some of you who know or met Paul are no doubt with questions. Here are the events as I have pieced them together: On Sunday night (May 8) I had talked to Paul on the phone, who mentioned he was feeling unwell. I repeatedly offered to come down and help him to a doctor, which he firmly refused. He promised to take the next day off and see a doctor. On Tuesday (May 10), I received a call from his doctor. It appears that Paul had left my name as a contact. His doctor had immediately suspected something was wrong, and sent him off the hospital on Monday (May 9). Upon checking himself in, he promptly lost conscioussness. A few hours later, a CAT scan confirmed that he had an aneurysm in his brain, and it had burst. Surgery began to alleviate the pressure early Tuesday. He has not regained consciousness since Monday night.

Tuesday I had spent tracking down and contacting his family. They arrived today (May 11), and under the trying circumstances, Judy (Paul's ex girlfriend) and I met them. This afternoon, they were informed that Paul's EEG is a flat line - they think he is brain dead. Paul's family gave consent to pull the plug.

Paul has been a good and kind friend to me, and I hope I have been to him likewise. There is a very slim chance that he will still pull through, and as long as that chance is there, I would like to cling to it.

He could use your prayers tonight.

Thank you everyone, and God bless.

-rich
Richard Sucgang
rs54@columbia.edu

The Aftermath

Shortly after Paul's death (almost exactly two weeks later), Tovah Hollander died. She was the first person to get in touch with me when I announced that Paul had entered a coma, and was so wonderfully supportive. A couple of months after these two events, I gathered the courage to write something on the rec.arts.theatre.* heirarchy to tell the world how I was feeling. This is what I wrote:

It has been about two months since the tragedy first struck - when my good friends Paul Goldsmith and Tovah Hollander died, within weeks of each other, causes completely unrelated. To this day, I look back, and it all seems so unreal, so completely mystifying and horrifying at the same time. Both Paul and Tovah were regular readers and contributors to the rec.arts.theatre community, and among the founding attendees of the RATcon theatrefests in New York - indeed, they acted as hosts to other members of the r.a.t. community who came into town in need of a place to stay. In fact, it was in the course of arranging the first RATcon that we all first came to realize that we even lived in the same city. Paul and I became quite good friends, and I was involved from the moment that he called to tell me he was feeling nauseous to the time we were finished packing his apartment for shipment back to his home in Montreal. Tovah was ever the most comforting soul to this first tragedy, and it was quite painful to hear about her demise.

It is interesting how much the electronic bonds meant to these two people. Paul used to say, with much pride, that he checked his e-mail before he even took his coat off. I don't think I could have made it through this without the understanding and caring support of many members of rec.arts.theatre, from the likes of Andrew, Myra, Marc, Desiree, Lynn, David, Matt, and others, many of who took the time to make long distance phone calls and share in the grief and the healing. Paul's family was dumbfounded by the sheer number of people attending his funeral (over 800), but they have yet to grasp how many friends he made over e-mail and netnews. They are only beginning to understand how much being connected to the network meant to Paul. To Tovah, it was a whole new world, where she was judged for what she truly was - a generous heart, and a sharp mind.

Often, in the midst of arguing our rage or enthusiasm over the stage, we sometimes miss the drama and theatricality of our own lives. Tovah was quite known for her quips that would make Paul Rudnick kill to have thought up of them. And Paul was an avid performer as well as appreciator of things theatrical, with a particular passion for the works of Gilbert and Sullivan. As our lives begin to heal, I was thought there ought to be a song from some musical that is appropriate for the time - the one most appropriate I think should credited to Eva Heinemann for the idea. A certain Sondheim song called "Not a Day Goes By".

I thank everyone for just being around, and being part of this great remarkable virtual village. In its way, this tragedy has opened more hearts, and made me realize just how true the friends one can make over these packets and notes. In some way, we are all Amalias writing to Dear Friends - and making them in earnest. Behind these electrons pulse real hearts and minds, behind the cathode tubes and LCD screens, are real faces that smile and cry. And behind each name is a person as real as your childhood friend or high school sweetheart. And there is more to him or her than a Passion for Sondheim or (Aspects of) Love for Lloyd Webber.

Salutations. The show goes on.

-rich
richard sucgang; rs54@columbia.edu

ps thank you for indulging me in this crossposting