Remembering Paul Wye

A year after his sudden, tragic death, remembering Paul in words is hard, perhaps even more difficult than in the days immediately following his passing. An extraordinary and gifted work colleague, our late Manager, IT & Innovation meant so much to so many in the Osgoode community. We each have our own memories of Paul, who somehow forged and kept a connection with students, instructors, and colleagues that was professional yet personal, unique yet not singular, fun but task focused. Following his death, an instructor wrote me that the best part of coming to work at 1 Dundas was talking to Paul. Yes, we know.

Starting as a student, Paul spent his entire adult working life at Osgoode Professional Development, more than (and now only) twenty years. Successive managers gave up on reining in his proclivity for over-the-top service – house calls at all hours, equipment beyond necessary, help with personal IT (and other) issues – realizing eventually that’s what made him tick. To get the genius of Paul, you had to indulge the servant in Paul.

And Paul was a servant, well beyond the time he spent in a front-line service role. A “servant leader” would be more on the nose. He set the highest of standards in making everyone look and sound good, see and hear well. When he eventually became a manager, he served his team by making late night personalized video guides of tricky next-day equipment set-ups, by making sure their wedding day went off perfectly, by making them “feel safe,” as one of his staff said recently.

In the days after he left us and we learned more about his life beyond work, it became clear that Paul had an extraordinary gift and capacity for friendship. So many of his connections went beyond surface level human interaction, and he inspired such deep admiration, that it was hard to comprehend how he kept all the plates spinning, what with his job, his partner and his three young sons. He was truly a wonder. After a year of missing him, what seems just as clear and wonderful now is that the man was completely without artifice or arrogance. Authentic, without guile, honest or whatever you want to call it, despite his prodigious talents, he never seemed fully confident that things would turn out OK, and he never promised they would. But he asked the questions no one else would. He did everything he possibly could to fix and create, make things work. And they did.

Many days it’s hard to believe he won’t suddenly round the corner, flipflops flapping, keys jangling. Or pop up on a zoom meeting on his phone, half-heartedly keeping his boys at bay, until finally they hang off his neck and shoulders. We miss you, friend, and we’re so lucky to have known you.