If my deteriorating memory serves me correctly, I think it was in 1974 that first I met Paul Kitchen. At the time, I had little reason to suspect that our lives would intertwine so closely and that we would remain friends over the next 36 years of our lives.

Paul was a fireman. A fireman’s fireman, no less. He wore his uniform with pride, dignity and with sincere adoration for the fireman’s code of honor that he spoke about with such humility. His face was always adorned with a great solemn smile, as if he was glad to just be there and offer what help he could render. Although short in stature, he was one of the largest men in heart and soul that I have known.

I met Paul when he stopped by to chat with his brother, who was a draftsman with the Gwinnett County Engineering Department. I had recently begun work there after my first

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