Paul Avrich 1931-2006

Please read one of the online obituaries.
Paul was a colleague of my mother's and a friend of my family's. My first conscious memory of him (I may have met him as a baby) is from 1985, when we went on a day trip to visit the silk mill museum in Patterson, New Jersey. (His interest in the labor movement, my father's interest in silk mills...) It was a grim winter day, and I was prepared to be very bored, but the excursion turned out to be a pleasure thanks to Paul's enthusiasm and his inexhaustible supply of anecdotes about old anarchists. That's when I decided that Paul was someone who could talk to children, and to whom I, as a child, could talk. He didn't condescend; he was a tireless and very entertaining explainer. (He later wrote a recommendation for me for middle school. I can say this, but my mother actually plans to mention it in an obituary she's writing for a trade publication, as evidence of his "mensch"lich qualities. I'm embarrassed before the fact.)
The last time I saw him was just over two years ago, just before he fell ill (I think). But I remember most vividly the time before that, on the top floor of Alouette at 98th and Broadway. He was full of life, brimming over with stories. I especially remember a story about a dog he had as a child. At some point the dog got too big, and he had to give it away. He was heartbroken. He didn't see the dog for years, until one day he went to a political rally. (There were significant details about the political rally — the slogan? the buttons? I can't quite remember.) He was at the back of the crowd, leaning in to hear the speaker, when he felt two paws on his back. He turned around, and there was his long lost dog! The dog jumped for joy, and slobbered over Paul's face and hands. Paul was hardly less delighted.
He was such a good storyteller that I actually had tears in my eyes at this point, though I was laughing too. It seems so unfair that conversation should be so ephemeral. I remember that story, and there must be others who have heard it. But none of us, I'm sure, will bring anyone to tears recounting it. So when we die the story will die with us.
Luckily, in Paul's case, we have his books as well. He nearly managed to finish his last book, and his family is planning to publish it. It's about Alexander Berkman, a friend of Emma Goldman's.