Paul Sokoloff’s sudden unexpected death occurred August 24, 2024, while enjoying brunch with his wife and friends in his home.  Paul’s increasingly challenged ability to swallow ultimately made his bagel with lox more than his body could handle.  His last breath was a double-edged sword – a successful thwarting of brain cancer’s final horrific plans and a parting middle finger to one of life’s cruelest enemies; but also a tremendous loss for us all, the dimming of a light many relied on for guidance in an often dark world. 

Paul would probably not approve of this obituary.  He would not find it the best use of time (composing or reading).  The last thing Paul would be caught doing would be singing his own praises or otherwise positing himself as a person to be admired.  Only slightly less useful, he would think, would be praising him posthumously to people who either already have an opinion of him or will never get to form one.  He’d likely comment that both types of readers were liable to think it was mostly bullsh*t.

Paul often defied tradition in favor of reason.  Though he would compassionately understand our grieving and weakness, he would likely object to our insistence in focusing on him and he would certainly object to any attempts to canonize him.  However, Paul’s devoted sons have always felt his modesty was dumb – his humbleness, by far, his most ridiculous quality.  Similarly defiant by nature, though lacking Paul’s fiscal sensibility, his sons feel blowing a significant chunk of their inheritance on an excessive and indulgent obituary to be completely reasonable. They know their father would disagree.  Paul’s defiance lives on.  Enjoy the read, Pop!

Paul Harry Sokoloff was born to Lawrence and Miriam Sokoloff (Groden) on June 1, 1952, in Brooklyn, NY, an unwelcome imposition to a home already perfectly supplied with offspring in the form of 3-year-old Judith.  Whether it was Big Sister’s magnanimity or her recognition of young Paul’s usefulness as scapegoat that caused her to come around, we’ll never know, but the two would soon, and forever, be bonded in a way that time has no effect on. 

Paul enjoyed an idyllic 1950’s and 60’s childhood in Brooklyn and Long Island.  He would recount playing stickball in the streets, trespassing with friends through the woods behind the house on Stowe Ave, and trips to ride the carousel or play skeeball at Nunley’s.  Some of his fondest childhood memories were of his summers at sleep-away camp.  The preserved letters he wrote home from camp remain a cherished keepsake; his powers of efficient communication evident from a young age:  “Dear Mom and Dad, I am alive. We won. Love, Paul. Send Pretzels.”  He enjoyed sports, music, reading, and art, even from a very young age.  Little Paul’s first art acquisition, a small oil painting of an elephant he purchased with all the money in his pocket, is still on display amongst his and Debbie’s inspiring collection.

But the Big Apple couldn’t contain Paul.  After graduating Baldwin High in 1970, he headed off to SUNY Albany… and then to parts unknown.  He ranged far and wide, though all seemingly very far away from any barber shops.  He wandered the world searching. “Searching for what?” you might ask.  We don’t know what 20-something Paul’s answer to that would have been, but we’re confident it would have gone over our heads.  His journeys took him to from coast to coast and overseas – New York, Boston, San Francisco, Los Angeles, India, and elsewhere. But none of those places could keep him.  Paul needed more.  Paul longed for a life of fast times, excitement and action; he needed the sports cars, fancy clothes, wild women and Avant Garde lifestyle that could only be found…in Kansas City.  Or, just maybe, it was that Paul longed for a life with a certain Kansas girl he was smitten with.

Fortunately for everyone, a criminal conspiracy seemingly ripped from the headlines would ultimately play matchmaker.  Thankfully, that Kansas girl had no problem committing employee theft, and Paul felt there was grey area in the ethics involved when a cute girl working the bookstore is willing to give you her employee discount on the books you need… plus you’re broke… plus she’s really cute… Mistakes were made.  And a beautiful partnership, based on love and respect, (and only a few low-level criminal acts) was formed.  Since the statute of limitations has long expired, we are happy to write here that the cute, deviant bookstore employee was Deborah Lyn Sokoloff (Brewster), Paul’s beloved wife of the last 48 years.

Paul’s interest in art, love of learning, and general passion for expressions of human meaning found its match in Debbie.  These shared passions also coincided with a shared idealistic Hippie-ness and general lack of conventionality.  The ‘Tofu and Brown Rice’ years followed.

Delusional worldview or not, Paul was always a hard-worker and deeply committed to providing for his family.  During those early lean times, Paul often held down 2 jobs to make sure Debbie and infant son Daniel were taken care of.  Managing an apartment building in exchange for discounted rent. Riding his bicycle everywhere. He weighed 155 pounds. 

Years later, ensconced in his European sedan and solidly topping 200 on the scale, Paul would point out to his sons the routes he used to pedal.  “The suburbs got me fat,” he’d unemotionally observe.  You earned it, Pop.

Paul and Debbie supported each other through nursing school while successfully raising the adorable, toddling Daniel.  Over the next few years, they would continue to adeptly juggle life, allowing both of them to complete graduate school while still creating a loving home – ever-doting on young Daniel, and securing basic needs for their newer addition, Adam.  

Paul quietly impressed in all his various roles at Rainbow Mental Health Hospital, St. Joseph Hospital, and Truman Medical Center, respectively.  He enjoyed his work, and the people he worked with.  Paul found friends at every place and within every department he impacted.  That isn’t always true for folks in management.   But Paul earned respect as freely as he doled it out.  He truly led by example, and both those who worked with him and those helped by him consider themselves fortunate to have crossed his path.

Whatever Paul put into his work, he gave even more of himself to the causes and interests dear to him.  Perhaps most important to Paul was his work as an advocate for individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities.  Past president and longtime member of the Lakemary Center Board of Directors and a founding member of the Lakemary Family Association, Paul was committed to growing resources, creating opportunities, and providing support for people with IDD and their loved ones.   He also served on the board of Advocates for Citizens with Retardation as well as the Johnson County Mental Health Board.  His memberships and contributions to worthy endeavors are too numerous to list. 

Paul was similarly invested in the art world.  The two-time president of the Kansas City Print Society, Paul was an avid collector of a variety of styles and media.  Japanese wood block prints, Inuit sculpture, ancient etchings, ceramics, contemporary abstract pieces, and textiles from around the world adorn the walls and surfaces of Paul and Debbie’s home.  A voracious reader and researcher, Paul enjoyed the education and the search as much as the acquisition of a new piece.

Noticeably absent from the home’s living room is a TV set.  Instead, a stereo system is the central feature.   Unsurprisingly, Paul’s vast and varied music collection, like his art, reflected his worldly experience and his appreciation of quality.  He also loved live music, of all kinds, attending countless concerts over the years with family and friends.  He was as thrilled to enjoy the symphony with Debbie as he was to see a Grateful Dead cover band at a bar.  Paul passed his passion for music, and for collecting it, on to his sons, both of whom are obsessive completists who, like their father, possess more music than storage space. 

Paul’s enthusiasm for life was palpable to anyone who spent time with him.  As was his fierce yet unthreatening intellect, and genuine kindness.  He had an easiness about him that made people comfortable – his ability to almost instantly soothe any crying baby was famous. 

Paul’s natural and acquired abilities allowed him to avoid or overcome whatever stood between him and his objective.  When Paul applied himself, the world presented few, truly challenging obstacles.  He navigated through the familiar and foreign with equal skill, always seemingly well-adjusted and able to thrive in just about any setting.

Sadly, there was nothing that could prepare Paul, or those who loved him, for the arrival of glioblastoma multiforme (GBM) in 2022.  Stage 4 f*cking brain cancer. 

When Paul woke up after the surgery that removed a racquetball-sized mass from his brain, he looked curiously at his younger son.  Paul moved his head side to side, in the way one might check out new earrings in a mirror. “How do I look?” he joked.  “You look great, Pop,” replied the son, “we had the doc do your nose while you were under.”  Without missing a beat, the freshly conscious Paul responded “Shoulda had ‘em do my prostate.”  Perfect comedic timing.

Through everything, Paul maintained his sense of humor.  He’d joke with nurses and doctors to lighten the mood and entertain himself.  He’d point out parts of the treatment process that he found funny.  At an appointment with the neurooncologist, the doctor used a rubber mallet to tap Paul’s knees for reflexes.  “It’s up here, Doc,” Paul said dryly, pointing to his head and then smiling.

As the cancer progressed, it gradually robbed Paul (perhaps more so those around him) of much of his connection to emotional reactivity.  His years of existentialist study and Zen practice made the change harder to notice for some.  Early in the process, one of Paul’s sons joked to him about how after 50 years of practice, he had really become pretty Zen, but apparently it just took a brain tumor to get him over that last hump.  Paul replied that it was merely coincidence, that he had actually attained enlightenment shortly before the diagnosis.  Later, as words became more difficult for him, sly looks, stolen glances, raised eyebrows and the occasional love handle pinch let his family know that he was still there.  Always observant.  Always trying to get a smile.

Ultimately, those who loved and were loved by Paul know exactly what the young scholar of life was searching for when he set out: Ways that he could help make things better. Himself, those around him, and the world at large.  By any measure, you succeeded, Pop.

Paul is survived by his partner, great love, best friend and dedicated wife, Debbie; their devoted sons and daughter-in-law, Daniel, Adam, and Jessica; and Paul’s original partner-in-crime, role model, antagonist, and advocate, Big Sister Judith.  Paul also leaves behind countless friends and family, all of whom were so important to him, and he to them.

A Memorial Service will be held at 11am on September 14, at the Meadowbrook Park Clubhouse (9101 Nall Ave).  All are welcome. 

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to Lakemary Center - https://lakemary.org/give/

or Head for the Cure  - https://headforthecure.org/donate/