We fly to New Orleans this week for Saturday's memorial, and this song has been in my head for days. 

After Mardi Gras by Steve Earle

See that shadow on the wall

Doesn't look like me at all

Head hung down

Intentions melting on the ground

Saddest shape I ever saw

There’s so much I need to do

Before I get over you

I can’t bother with it all

Until after Mardi Gras

All that music in the air

Happy people everywhere

Make it hard to sing the blues

Until Mardi Gras is through

Put my loneliness away

Save it for a rainy day

Delay the pain

Nothing ventured, nothing gained

The time’ll come, but that’s okay

Right now I ain't got the time

To sit at home and cry

When outside, it's a carnival

Maybe after Mardi Gras

I can learn to take it well

Psychoanalyze myself

But for now, I'm having fun

Until Mardi Gras is done

I met Pableaux in New York at the 2005 James Beard Foundation Journalism Awards when we were both finalists in the same category (then LA Times food editor Russ Parsons won). A few years later one of our boys moved to New Orleans and met him at a second line. I reconnected with Pableaux a few months later over red beans and rice one Monday night at his tiny Uptown shotgun.

Over the years Pableaux fed us, introduced us to new friends at his Monday night red beans dinners, showed me how he makes his famous turkey bone gumbo, led us to the neighborhoods where we’d see Mardi Gras Indians on St Joseph night, and sent us photos of our grandsons.

A prairie Cajun from New Iberia, Pableaux helped me understand the food of Louisiana. When we took our first trip to Acadiana and I asked what I should eat for a real Cajun experience, he said, “Anything with gravy.” Pableaux told me that “Cajun food isn’t sentimental,” but it’s about making what you’ve got taste good. And if you need to make gumbo in a hurry, it’s okay to reach for Tony C’s instant roux.

Something will be missing the next time we’re in New Orleans. We won’t spend a Monday night sitting in the old church pew pulled up to that big table from his grandmother’s kitchen eating red beans and cornbread. But we will find a club second line and spend Sunday afternoon with his chosen family, ice cold beer in hand, shuffle dancing behind the brass band, and thinking about Pableaux.

I met Paul in the fall of 1982 when he wandered into my classroom interested in being on the speech and debate team. He became a central force of energy on that team for two years, making friends around the state at every event we attended. After his graduation, we kept in touch and became friends. 

I had the privilege of watching him evolve into a respected man of many talents. But his talents - and there are many - are eclipsed by his natural gift of making people feel welcome and important. If you met him, you became his friend. And he seemed to have a limitless capacity for making a new friend of everyone he met. 

I am grateful for his friendship and for the many times that we’ve been able to share stories, laughs, conversation, and tears in so many places over decades. Rest in peace my dear friend.  I will miss you!! 

I met Pableaux roughly 5 years ago - he was working one of the many professional events that I would run into him at over the years. Pableaux was the kind of guy that would make you feel seen within the first few words of a conversation. He was a collector of stories - always listening, genuinely interested, and constantly asking questions.

Pableaux and I would collaborate over the years - working on graphics for events together. I still have that text from our first collaboration where he proclaimed 'funny thing: I was thinking "an ARCHITECT? Choosing a GARAMOND? Hmmm...."' I had to explain I had no choice, and we had a good laugh over it. This was followed by a rant of his favorite and least favorite fonts, of course.

The last year or so I would run into him at Cherry Coffee occasionally, and we would catch up on life, the city, the world... Like countless others in New Orleans, I found a friend in Pableaux, and he will be deeply missed. I am grateful for the conversations, laughs, and memories I was able to share with such a wonderful human.