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ANNELIES M. MONDI
"It's bomb-proof!" he assured me.
He would have known; he once designed an
explosives plant. I remember thinking, sure,
just another one of his tall tales. The thing
about Paul was that he was so full of experi
ence that it was hard to believe he contained
it all in what ended up being one all too short
a life. I've scoffed with coworkers that if he
had actually done what he said, he'd be 100
years old. As the years unfolded, it seemed
like every story he ever told me was verified
by a conversation with an old friend or a pic
ture he had found and brought to the office or
by his mother, over her evening beer.
William Paul Cassilly, architect, passed
away on the evening of Thursday, Jan. 16:
for certain, a tremendous loss felt by all who
knew him. Drained by a battle with other
medical issues, he was fodder for pneumo
nia, which cut him down with astounding
efficiency.
"It seems impossible," said one friend. It's
hard for those who saw him almost daily to
understand, because he worked so hard not
to have his illness affect those around him.
That alone must have been exhausting. I first
thought it was because he didn't want to
seem weak. And, although that was probably
a part of it, I've come to understand that he
didn't want the people who cared about him
to worry.
Paul almost always believed that the solu
tion was lighter than what was required: a
minimalist of the first order. Less is more.
His structural mind would push a two-by-four
piece of lumber past what anyone thought
it could do, just to do it. As an architect, he
would show you the elegance in the balance
required to make that piece of wood work by
detailing it perfectly. He lived that way, too,
committed to living and treading lightly upon
the earth and providing that example by the
way he lived and worked. It factored into
every single decision he made. Less is more.
He believed in people and was generous
to a fault. He was a quick study of a person's
intellect and ability, two qualities he valued
greatly. He used that skill to elevate those in
which he found value and often took personal
risk to his credibility and finances to give a
second and even third chance to those he
believed in. He did not tolerate fools, but he
did try to better them. Failing that, he went
through or around them and often just maneu
vered them into doing what he thought was
right by convincing them it was their idea.
Paul was fierce and fearless, the character
istics that stocked his lifetime of experience.
He approached every task, no matter how
unpleasant or menial, with great commitment
and conviction and never with a negative atti
tude. His mother taught him the phrase "life
is work." Not that life is drudgery, but rather
that the value in life lies in the effort to live
it both full and well as opposed to the com
fort of living it easy.
He saw and felt the critical little things
others do not, with a keen mind for detail and
an inquisitive passion to discover why some
times the details don't add up, followed by an
intense need to fix or improve it in some way.
Nothing went unsolved in his mind.
He loved with near abandon and burned
brightly as a result. And the loss of that flame
is the tragedy for the rest of us.
This isn't an obituary or a eulogy. It's a
cautionary tale, one you've heard before about
loss and regret. The loss of my dear friend
Paul ranks with the loss of family and my best
black dogs. And every time it has happened
I've thought to myself, "I always thought
there would be more time." But there isn't;
there never is.
When I returned to the office following my
own mother's passing 10 years ago, I wrote a
similar sentimental note to the office, and I
offered at the end that if your mother is still
alive, "tell her you love her... because there
won't be enough time." Paul met me in my
office the next morning in tears; it had struck
him hard. His mother, Mary, was aging, and in
the closing years of his own life, through his
own struggles, he was constantly on the road
back home to Owensboro, KY to see her. Theirs
was a beautiful and admirable relationship.
No doubt her passing not quite six months
ago left him without perhaps his most kindred
spirit. Heartbreak can't be discounted.
I always thought there would be more
time, but I'll just have to miss Paul now. And,
for all of the above reasons, it's left me in a
place where I know I need to be more, need
to be better. I need to be more adventurous,
compassionate, loving, observant, thoughtful
and kind. Paul always thought there would be
more time, too; he had recently finished pre
paring his property for a retirement filled with
his passions???reading, design and building.
But that must lie unfulfilled. Life, after all, is
fragile and fleeting and far from bombproof.
Scott Messer
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