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He called himself "The Big Cheese Dog". The purpose of this reference was to insure to his students, his audience, that what he was about to state was to be written down, that this nugget of information was somehow to be seared into the recesses of their minds. His classes were, generally speaking, attentive, whether they were seventh graders or seniors or somewhere in between. The words, "The Big Cheese Dog", were simply the icing on the cake. Prior to the conclusion that included those words were a series of gestures, gyrations, stories, analogies, graphs, demonstrations, and other illustrations that kept attention and attempted to make the complex real. As a former math student of Paul Edward's stated, "I'll never forget the chalk all over Mr. Edwards' pants as he would rise up and down on his tippy toes, flailing his arms and scribbling on the board as he lectured". I remember when he took his math class outside for "a wake up call". The students were drowsy and didn't meet Paul's expectation of attentiveness so his class took a brief field trip into the Minnesota winter, a crisp -10°F awakening that attributed to the legend of his intensity and his commitment to the education of his students.
Paul passed away August 6th, 2014. With his passing, a hole opened in my soul. I taught with Paul in two school districts. We commuted for 7 years to one of those districts. We had an hour and a half each day to share ourselves. I loved and admired Paul. He showed me that math could be cool. He made me aware that I was not alone, there were others that were as passionate about mathematics I was. He being one. During our commutes we would be irrelevant, challenging, blasphemous, contemplative, and flippant. Our mantra was that "only fools took themselves seriously." We really believed that the two of us could change the world, as Paul often quoted, "Chuck, its us against the world of ignorance." We once convinced a colleague that Ozzy Osbourne was the son of Bob Keeshan, Captain Kangaroo.
Practical jokes were not limited to "outsiders". I convinced students that Paul's real name was Polycarp Whitecloud Edwards and registered him as such for a national mathematics convention. As he picked his name card and realized what was printed on it, a series of expletives were machine gunned at me. The resulting expense of calming beers was worth his reaction. In turn, he frequently enjoyed placing my car keys in strategic locations in my room prior to the end of our work day. The most memorable being just 18 inches above my head resting on my document camera. The calming beers on that Friday were well received.
Paul and I worked on our masters degrees together. Our degrees are in mathematics. Paul started ahead of me. He saw the potential of a masters degree in mathematics. He eventually left teaching and applied what he learned in the area of Statistics. Our relationship became more focused on the success of learning a higher level of mathematics. Our individual strengths complemented each other. Paul was excellent at taking notes. I, in contrast, listened. We would share our perspectives, mine, a view of the "big picture" and his, a detailed account on how to get from point A to point B. His wife quipped that she overheard our discussions and believed we were making up the words, "real people didn't really talk that way."
Paul's life and mine coincided for 13 years, merging at one district and diverging at another. He changed the way I teach and eventually how I view my own life. He could be intense and childlike within the same moment. I will miss him. He told me that he loved me as a brother. I will always cherish his love.
