Paul Mariman was a great friend, teacher and coach of many state champion teams. He is remembered today with the annual Paul Mariman Invitational Cross-Country meet at Philomath High School held on the Paul Mariman Memorial Course.
Below is Joe Fulton's eulogy for Paul Mariman at Paul's funeral in 1997.
In Memory of Paul Mariman
June 4, 1997
Peggy Mariman, the love of Paul's life and his main source of strength, asked me to come up here and share a few funny stories about Paul and perhaps cheer you all up a bit. I'm honored for the opportunity. Paul would have done the same for me, in fact he would have done it for any of you, but he would have done it a little differently. He would have handwritten his comments and they would have been in poetic verse. In fact, I guarantee that if Paul had forewarning he would have penned a poem for this service.
It is easy to be cheerful when you're talking about Paul Mariman. He wanted people to be happy. He was an optimist. He saw only the good in people. He made no enemies, but we all know he made thousands of friends and admirers.
For every person here today there's another ten who wish they could be here.
He was the most unlikely of heroes; mild-mannered, modest, soft-spoken, gentle and believe it or not, a bit shy. He was a clean-cut, honest, compassionate man. He didn't drink, smoke , swear or possess ill-will toward anyone. Kind of reminded me of an alter boy at times. In fact, he even looked like an alter-boy. This was a man that didn't seem to age. We called him the Dick Clark of the coaching world. I teased him about keeping Grecian Formula in business, but I was just jealous. Paul and I both graduated from Central Catholic High School in Portland but I'd have to assure people that we weren't in the same graduating class. Few could believe, what with my head of gray hair and his babyface, that Paul had actually graduated from Central the year before I was born.
Paul Mariman's personality was so endearing and often so humorous. Paul had such an innocent exuberance about life that he could make you laugh out loud in astonishment at some of the things he would say and do. What you saw was what you got with Paul, idiosyncrasies and all. He didn't hide what he was thinking about. He wasn't a reticent man; in fact, Paul Mariman was one of the all-time great talkers.
Remember how much you liked to talk on the phone when you were in high school? Well, my wife must have thought I was back in high school when Paul called and that was nearly every evening during cross country season when we coached together. When Paul called you just kicked back and relaxed. It was time to relive some great moments in the annals of high school athletics. We talked about many of you, we tossed around some training ideas and racing strategies and we laughed.
Paul couldn't help himself when it came to storytelling. But Paul didn't tell tall tales. He had far too many minute details for his stories to be anything but factual. And if you could be a good listener, his stories were always amazing accounts of human drama and the strange hand of fate. I wish Paul had written down his personal experiences and elaborate eye-witness accounts of the trials and tribulations of life. It would have made a remarkable book.
In fact Paul was working on a book during his retirement. He had a stack of remembrances from his father, Frank Mariman, a Belgian immigrant who by all accounts was as remarkable a man as Paul. Paul was translating the letters and preparing them as a family history for his children. I had the pleasure of reading several chapters and I was enthralled. They were remarkable stories of life in the old country filled with laughter and sadness. They gave Paul a great deal of comfort and strength because they not only kept him bonded to his heritage but they reaffirmed his belief that we Americans of the 20th Century have nothing to complain about. I hope that one of Paul's children will pick up that manuscript and finish it. It has the makings of a great book that would be of interest to many people. I'll volunteer to help, but I might have to learn a little Flemish first.
Paul liked to write as much as he liked to talk. His penmanship was a work of art. I don't know if he ever used a typewriter. Maybe he didn't even know they existed. His meticulous handwriting was a perfect window into his personality; extremely well-organized, neat, exact and yet disarming and beautiful. It's too bad that someone didn't take down one of Paul Mariman's chalkboards at Philomath High when he retired. It could have been sent to the Smithsonian as an example of a lost art form. It was a breathtaking experience to walk into Paul Mariman's classroom and see his chalkboards.
Now I know you've seen chalkboards with lots of stuff on them; half erased notes, problems and formulas scribbled out in every direction, graffiti from students. You've got the wrong image. Paul's chalkboards had an immaculately clean background accentuating a meticulous script that was written out in perfectly straight lines and often enclosed in attractive frames. And every chalkboard was completely filled. You would think he had written an entire novel on his chalkboard. He must have spent a previous life as a medieval monk copying books in a monastery library.
But he did clear one chalkboard for the day before the state cross country championships. On that day he would bring the entire team into his classroom and on the board would be an exact replica, drawn to scale, of the state cross country course. Every detail was there, every bush, every puddle. Every 500 meter interval was marked out exactly were it was suppose to be. How did Paul know where every 500 was when the state course wasn't even marked in 500 meter increments? Simple. He measured it himself, just like he measured every course we raced on. He didn't drive it in a car or on a bike, he didn't use a wheel or a measuring tape. No, he was much more accurate. He used the Marimeter stride. A stride that was exactly one meter long. And somehow he could continue counting those meters, stride by stride for 500 meters and beyond. I can't tell you how many times other coaches would ask me "What is Coach Mariman doing" as they watched him, with clipboard in hand , head down, leaning forward and striding around the course, looking every bit like an absent-minded professor deep in thought and oblivious to all. Paul would even scratch messages to his runners on the course; "500 meters to go, start kicking."
Our own course at PHS was measured only with the Marimeter and I contend it is the most accurate course in the state. That course was Paul's baby. He manicured it like a prize rose garden. And when he marked it for a meet it was a typical Paul Mariman masterpiece. Most courses might offer an arrow whenever a major turn came up, but Paul would paint a thousand arrows and compliment them with color-coded flagging, signs, cones, barriers and ribbon. You would have to be blind to get lost and if there had been a blind runner Paul would have doubled all the signs and arrows in Braille format, handmade, of course.
And what runner here, and I see a lot of you, will ever forget Paul's clipboard relays or whistle drills. And who amongst you can accurately explain the directions of a whistle drill? Paul's whistle was so strong it was usually followed by fire fighters who thought they were responding to an alarm. The directions might go something like this; At ten minutes you'll hear two whistles which means you have one minute until you hear three whistles and then you lift for three minutes, sprinting when going east, striding when going west until you hear four whistles which will mean you have three minutes of running before you hear the final whistle..and so it would go on until a kid said, "Could you repeat that coach?" And so a typical practice found our boys, known as the Loud Crowd and our girls, known as the TARBS, running in every direction at every imaginable speed with Paul in the middle punctuating the workouts with his deafening whistle. Invariably some wise guy from the football team would blow a whistle every now and then to further confuse us.
Paul must have developed his ability to carve out cross country trails from his years of hiking with his boys in the Wallowas. It was a tradition that he looked forward to with his usual zeal. But when it was over I couldn't tell from his stories if the highlight of the trip was reaching the pristine alpine meadows or finally getting to prepare his legendary hamburger, the prodigiously titled Copperwhopper Mountaintopper Hungerstopper! Paul would explain, in mouthwatering detail, how he would prepare everything at home, separating the essential ingredients, such as the great slabs of prime lean hamburger, the choicest onions and tomatoes, each sliced exactly one inch thick, and all the assorted condiments, in individualized containers. How he would haul these essential life-giving morsels up the mountains, hoping they wouldn't be smashed by Gabe or Andrew who he might also have to haul, and then preparing them over the open campfire. By the time he was explaining how he bit into that juicy hamburger my own mouth was drooling, and I'm a vegetarian. I'm telling you McDonalds would be a distant memory if Paul Mariman had ever opened his own Hungerstopper hamburger joint.
Paul was such a great conversationalist that it might come as a surprise to you that he was petrified of public speaking. And yet because he was so loquacious, and he had such a vast reservoir of knowledge and memories, he was regularly called upon to speak at coaches clinic, awards ceremonies, memorials and he even became the Voice of the Warriors at PHS football games. And because Paul was such a gentleman who never swore or made off-color remarks, it was particularly funny when he would have a Freudian slip during a speech, a lecture or an announcing stint.
He had some really funny ones in class that I better not say in these holy confines, but I've got to share his most famous blooper which he made at Parker Stadium while announcing a state playoff game. It seems there was a fumble and everyone started diving for the ball. Boys were piled high and the officials were ready to make a call when Paul blurted out over the loudspeaker, "There's a fag on the play."
Paul had a self-effacing humor that perfectly complimented his alter-boy image. He was a role model like no other and we are all better people because of him.
How do we pay tribute to this great man? It will be done in many ways. His cross country extravaganza will become the Paul Mariman Timbertown Invitational. The Loud Crowd talks of going to Sisters someday, with Peggy's permission, to build the handicapped-friendly abode that Paul had been enthusiastically designing with Marimilameter precision. We've talked about commissioning a bust to put out near the track. Creating a scholarship to running camp, planting trees, perfecting his cross country course and getting a guarantee that it will be kept up and protected just as we do for our football, baseball & soccer fields. And many more suitable memorials are being discussed. Suffice to say that his spirit will live on in Philomath.
But the greatest and most important honor for Paul is all the people he helped shape with his loving influence and that is you, his family, his students, his athletes and all of his friends. All of you will become Paul's most important and lasting memorial.
Below is Joe Fulton's eulogy for Paul Mariman at Paul's funeral in 1997.
In Memory of Paul Mariman
June 4, 1997
Peggy Mariman, the love of Paul's life and his main source of strength, asked me to come up here and share a few funny stories about Paul and perhaps cheer you all up a bit. I'm honored for the opportunity. Paul would have done the same for me, in fact he would have done it for any of you, but he would have done it a little differently. He would have handwritten his comments and they would have been in poetic verse. In fact, I guarantee that if Paul had forewarning he would have penned a poem for this service.
It is easy to be cheerful when you're talking about Paul Mariman. He wanted people to be happy. He was an optimist. He saw only the good in people. He made no enemies, but we all know he made thousands of friends and admirers.
For every person here today there's another ten who wish they could be here.
He was the most unlikely of heroes; mild-mannered, modest, soft-spoken, gentle and believe it or not, a bit shy. He was a clean-cut, honest, compassionate man. He didn't drink, smoke , swear or possess ill-will toward anyone. Kind of reminded me of an alter boy at times. In fact, he even looked like an alter-boy. This was a man that didn't seem to age. We called him the Dick Clark of the coaching world. I teased him about keeping Grecian Formula in business, but I was just jealous. Paul and I both graduated from Central Catholic High School in Portland but I'd have to assure people that we weren't in the same graduating class. Few could believe, what with my head of gray hair and his babyface, that Paul had actually graduated from Central the year before I was born.
Paul Mariman's personality was so endearing and often so humorous. Paul had such an innocent exuberance about life that he could make you laugh out loud in astonishment at some of the things he would say and do. What you saw was what you got with Paul, idiosyncrasies and all. He didn't hide what he was thinking about. He wasn't a reticent man; in fact, Paul Mariman was one of the all-time great talkers.
Remember how much you liked to talk on the phone when you were in high school? Well, my wife must have thought I was back in high school when Paul called and that was nearly every evening during cross country season when we coached together. When Paul called you just kicked back and relaxed. It was time to relive some great moments in the annals of high school athletics. We talked about many of you, we tossed around some training ideas and racing strategies and we laughed.
Paul couldn't help himself when it came to storytelling. But Paul didn't tell tall tales. He had far too many minute details for his stories to be anything but factual. And if you could be a good listener, his stories were always amazing accounts of human drama and the strange hand of fate. I wish Paul had written down his personal experiences and elaborate eye-witness accounts of the trials and tribulations of life. It would have made a remarkable book.
In fact Paul was working on a book during his retirement. He had a stack of remembrances from his father, Frank Mariman, a Belgian immigrant who by all accounts was as remarkable a man as Paul. Paul was translating the letters and preparing them as a family history for his children. I had the pleasure of reading several chapters and I was enthralled. They were remarkable stories of life in the old country filled with laughter and sadness. They gave Paul a great deal of comfort and strength because they not only kept him bonded to his heritage but they reaffirmed his belief that we Americans of the 20th Century have nothing to complain about. I hope that one of Paul's children will pick up that manuscript and finish it. It has the makings of a great book that would be of interest to many people. I'll volunteer to help, but I might have to learn a little Flemish first.
Paul liked to write as much as he liked to talk. His penmanship was a work of art. I don't know if he ever used a typewriter. Maybe he didn't even know they existed. His meticulous handwriting was a perfect window into his personality; extremely well-organized, neat, exact and yet disarming and beautiful. It's too bad that someone didn't take down one of Paul Mariman's chalkboards at Philomath High when he retired. It could have been sent to the Smithsonian as an example of a lost art form. It was a breathtaking experience to walk into Paul Mariman's classroom and see his chalkboards.
Now I know you've seen chalkboards with lots of stuff on them; half erased notes, problems and formulas scribbled out in every direction, graffiti from students. You've got the wrong image. Paul's chalkboards had an immaculately clean background accentuating a meticulous script that was written out in perfectly straight lines and often enclosed in attractive frames. And every chalkboard was completely filled. You would think he had written an entire novel on his chalkboard. He must have spent a previous life as a medieval monk copying books in a monastery library.
But he did clear one chalkboard for the day before the state cross country championships. On that day he would bring the entire team into his classroom and on the board would be an exact replica, drawn to scale, of the state cross country course. Every detail was there, every bush, every puddle. Every 500 meter interval was marked out exactly were it was suppose to be. How did Paul know where every 500 was when the state course wasn't even marked in 500 meter increments? Simple. He measured it himself, just like he measured every course we raced on. He didn't drive it in a car or on a bike, he didn't use a wheel or a measuring tape. No, he was much more accurate. He used the Marimeter stride. A stride that was exactly one meter long. And somehow he could continue counting those meters, stride by stride for 500 meters and beyond. I can't tell you how many times other coaches would ask me "What is Coach Mariman doing" as they watched him, with clipboard in hand , head down, leaning forward and striding around the course, looking every bit like an absent-minded professor deep in thought and oblivious to all. Paul would even scratch messages to his runners on the course; "500 meters to go, start kicking."
Our own course at PHS was measured only with the Marimeter and I contend it is the most accurate course in the state. That course was Paul's baby. He manicured it like a prize rose garden. And when he marked it for a meet it was a typical Paul Mariman masterpiece. Most courses might offer an arrow whenever a major turn came up, but Paul would paint a thousand arrows and compliment them with color-coded flagging, signs, cones, barriers and ribbon. You would have to be blind to get lost and if there had been a blind runner Paul would have doubled all the signs and arrows in Braille format, handmade, of course.
And what runner here, and I see a lot of you, will ever forget Paul's clipboard relays or whistle drills. And who amongst you can accurately explain the directions of a whistle drill? Paul's whistle was so strong it was usually followed by fire fighters who thought they were responding to an alarm. The directions might go something like this; At ten minutes you'll hear two whistles which means you have one minute until you hear three whistles and then you lift for three minutes, sprinting when going east, striding when going west until you hear four whistles which will mean you have three minutes of running before you hear the final whistle..and so it would go on until a kid said, "Could you repeat that coach?" And so a typical practice found our boys, known as the Loud Crowd and our girls, known as the TARBS, running in every direction at every imaginable speed with Paul in the middle punctuating the workouts with his deafening whistle. Invariably some wise guy from the football team would blow a whistle every now and then to further confuse us.
Paul must have developed his ability to carve out cross country trails from his years of hiking with his boys in the Wallowas. It was a tradition that he looked forward to with his usual zeal. But when it was over I couldn't tell from his stories if the highlight of the trip was reaching the pristine alpine meadows or finally getting to prepare his legendary hamburger, the prodigiously titled Copperwhopper Mountaintopper Hungerstopper! Paul would explain, in mouthwatering detail, how he would prepare everything at home, separating the essential ingredients, such as the great slabs of prime lean hamburger, the choicest onions and tomatoes, each sliced exactly one inch thick, and all the assorted condiments, in individualized containers. How he would haul these essential life-giving morsels up the mountains, hoping they wouldn't be smashed by Gabe or Andrew who he might also have to haul, and then preparing them over the open campfire. By the time he was explaining how he bit into that juicy hamburger my own mouth was drooling, and I'm a vegetarian. I'm telling you McDonalds would be a distant memory if Paul Mariman had ever opened his own Hungerstopper hamburger joint.
Paul was such a great conversationalist that it might come as a surprise to you that he was petrified of public speaking. And yet because he was so loquacious, and he had such a vast reservoir of knowledge and memories, he was regularly called upon to speak at coaches clinic, awards ceremonies, memorials and he even became the Voice of the Warriors at PHS football games. And because Paul was such a gentleman who never swore or made off-color remarks, it was particularly funny when he would have a Freudian slip during a speech, a lecture or an announcing stint.
He had some really funny ones in class that I better not say in these holy confines, but I've got to share his most famous blooper which he made at Parker Stadium while announcing a state playoff game. It seems there was a fumble and everyone started diving for the ball. Boys were piled high and the officials were ready to make a call when Paul blurted out over the loudspeaker, "There's a fag on the play."
Paul had a self-effacing humor that perfectly complimented his alter-boy image. He was a role model like no other and we are all better people because of him.
How do we pay tribute to this great man? It will be done in many ways. His cross country extravaganza will become the Paul Mariman Timbertown Invitational. The Loud Crowd talks of going to Sisters someday, with Peggy's permission, to build the handicapped-friendly abode that Paul had been enthusiastically designing with Marimilameter precision. We've talked about commissioning a bust to put out near the track. Creating a scholarship to running camp, planting trees, perfecting his cross country course and getting a guarantee that it will be kept up and protected just as we do for our football, baseball & soccer fields. And many more suitable memorials are being discussed. Suffice to say that his spirit will live on in Philomath.
But the greatest and most important honor for Paul is all the people he helped shape with his loving influence and that is you, his family, his students, his athletes and all of his friends. All of you will become Paul's most important and lasting memorial.
Paul Mariman was a great friend, teacher and coach of many state champion teams. He is remembered today with the annual Paul Mariman Invitational Cross-Country meet at Philomath High School held on the Paul Mariman Memorial Course.
Below is Joe Fulton's eulogy for Paul Mariman at Paul's funeral in 1997.
In Memory of Paul Mariman
June 4, 1997
Peggy Mariman, the love of Paul's life and his main source of strength, asked me to come up here and share a few funny stories about Paul and perhaps cheer you all up a bit. I'm honored for the opportunity. Paul would have done the same for me, in fact he would have done it for any of you, but he would have done it a little differently. He would have handwritten his comments and they would have been in poetic verse. In fact, I guarantee that if Paul had forewarning he would have penned a poem for this service.
It is easy to be cheerful when you're talking about Paul Mariman. He wanted people to be happy. He was an optimist. He saw only the good in people. He made no enemies, but we all know he made thousands of friends and admirers.
For every person here today there's another ten who wish they could be here.
He was the most unlikely of heroes; mild-mannered, modest, soft-spoken, gentle and believe it or not, a bit shy. He was a clean-cut, honest, compassionate man. He didn't drink, smoke , swear or possess ill-will toward anyone. Kind of reminded me of an alter boy at times. In fact, he even looked like an alter-boy. This was a man that didn't seem to age. We called him the Dick Clark of the coaching world. I teased him about keeping Grecian Formula in business, but I was just jealous. Paul and I both graduated from Central Catholic High School in Portland but I'd have to assure people that we weren't in the same graduating class. Few could believe, what with my head of gray hair and his babyface, that Paul had actually graduated from Central the year before I was born.
Paul Mariman's personality was so endearing and often so humorous. Paul had such an innocent exuberance about life that he could make you laugh out loud in astonishment at some of the things he would say and do. What you saw was what you got with Paul, idiosyncrasies and all. He didn't hide what he was thinking about. He wasn't a reticent man; in fact, Paul Mariman was one of the all-time great talkers.
Remember how much you liked to talk on the phone when you were in high school? Well, my wife must have thought I was back in high school when Paul called and that was nearly every evening during cross country season when we coached together. When Paul called you just kicked back and relaxed. It was time to relive some great moments in the annals of high school athletics. We talked about many of you, we tossed around some training ideas and racing strategies and we laughed.
Paul couldn't help himself when it came to storytelling. But Paul didn't tell tall tales. He had far too many minute details for his stories to be anything but factual. And if you could be a good listener, his stories were always amazing accounts of human drama and the strange hand of fate. I wish Paul had written down his personal experiences and elaborate eye-witness accounts of the trials and tribulations of life. It would have made a remarkable book.
In fact Paul was working on a book during his retirement. He had a stack of remembrances from his father, Frank Mariman, a Belgian immigrant who by all accounts was as remarkable a man as Paul. Paul was translating the letters and preparing them as a family history for his children. I had the pleasure of reading several chapters and I was enthralled. They were remarkable stories of life in the old country filled with laughter and sadness. They gave Paul a great deal of comfort and strength because they not only kept him bonded to his heritage but they reaffirmed his belief that we Americans of the 20th Century have nothing to complain about. I hope that one of Paul's children will pick up that manuscript and finish it. It has the makings of a great book that would be of interest to many people. I'll volunteer to help, but I might have to learn a little Flemish first.
Paul liked to write as much as he liked to talk. His penmanship was a work of art. I don't know if he ever used a typewriter. Maybe he didn't even know they existed. His meticulous handwriting was a perfect window into his personality; extremely well-organized, neat, exact and yet disarming and beautiful. It's too bad that someone didn't take down one of Paul Mariman's chalkboards at Philomath High when he retired. It could have been sent to the Smithsonian as an example of a lost art form. It was a breathtaking experience to walk into Paul Mariman's classroom and see his chalkboards.
Now I know you've seen chalkboards with lots of stuff on them; half erased notes, problems and formulas scribbled out in every direction, graffiti from students. You've got the wrong image. Paul's chalkboards had an immaculately clean background accentuating a meticulous script that was written out in perfectly straight lines and often enclosed in attractive frames. And every chalkboard was completely filled. You would think he had written an entire novel on his chalkboard. He must have spent a previous life as a medieval monk copying books in a monastery library.
But he did clear one chalkboard for the day before the state cross country championships. On that day he would bring the entire team into his classroom and on the board would be an exact replica, drawn to scale, of the state cross country course. Every detail was there, every bush, every puddle. Every 500 meter interval was marked out exactly were it was suppose to be. How did Paul know where every 500 was when the state course wasn't even marked in 500 meter increments? Simple. He measured it himself, just like he measured every course we raced on. He didn't drive it in a car or on a bike, he didn't use a wheel or a measuring tape. No, he was much more accurate. He used the Marimeter stride. A stride that was exactly one meter long. And somehow he could continue counting those meters, stride by stride for 500 meters and beyond. I can't tell you how many times other coaches would ask me "What is Coach Mariman doing" as they watched him, with clipboard in hand , head down, leaning forward and striding around the course, looking every bit like an absent-minded professor deep in thought and oblivious to all. Paul would even scratch messages to his runners on the course; "500 meters to go, start kicking."
Our own course at PHS was measured only with the Marimeter and I contend it is the most accurate course in the state. That course was Paul's baby. He manicured it like a prize rose garden. And when he marked it for a meet it was a typical Paul Mariman masterpiece. Most courses might offer an arrow whenever a major turn came up, but Paul would paint a thousand arrows and compliment them with color-coded flagging, signs, cones, barriers and ribbon. You would have to be blind to get lost and if there had been a blind runner Paul would have doubled all the signs and arrows in Braille format, handmade, of course.
And what runner here, and I see a lot of you, will ever forget Paul's clipboard relays or whistle drills. And who amongst you can accurately explain the directions of a whistle drill? Paul's whistle was so strong it was usually followed by fire fighters who thought they were responding to an alarm. The directions might go something like this; At ten minutes you'll hear two whistles which means you have one minute until you hear three whistles and then you lift for three minutes, sprinting when going east, striding when going west until you hear four whistles which will mean you have three minutes of running before you hear the final whistle..and so it would go on until a kid said, "Could you repeat that coach?" And so a typical practice found our boys, known as the Loud Crowd and our girls, known as the TARBS, running in every direction at every imaginable speed with Paul in the middle punctuating the workouts with his deafening whistle. Invariably some wise guy from the football team would blow a whistle every now and then to further confuse us.
Paul must have developed his ability to carve out cross country trails from his years of hiking with his boys in the Wallowas. It was a tradition that he looked forward to with his usual zeal. But when it was over I couldn't tell from his stories if the highlight of the trip was reaching the pristine alpine meadows or finally getting to prepare his legendary hamburger, the prodigiously titled Copperwhopper Mountaintopper Hungerstopper! Paul would explain, in mouthwatering detail, how he would prepare everything at home, separating the essential ingredients, such as the great slabs of prime lean hamburger, the choicest onions and tomatoes, each sliced exactly one inch thick, and all the assorted condiments, in individualized containers. How he would haul these essential life-giving morsels up the mountains, hoping they wouldn't be smashed by Gabe or Andrew who he might also have to haul, and then preparing them over the open campfire. By the time he was explaining how he bit into that juicy hamburger my own mouth was drooling, and I'm a vegetarian. I'm telling you McDonalds would be a distant memory if Paul Mariman had ever opened his own Hungerstopper hamburger joint.
Paul was such a great conversationalist that it might come as a surprise to you that he was petrified of public speaking. And yet because he was so loquacious, and he had such a vast reservoir of knowledge and memories, he was regularly called upon to speak at coaches clinic, awards ceremonies, memorials and he even became the Voice of the Warriors at PHS football games. And because Paul was such a gentleman who never swore or made off-color remarks, it was particularly funny when he would have a Freudian slip during a speech, a lecture or an announcing stint.
He had some really funny ones in class that I better not say in these holy confines, but I've got to share his most famous blooper which he made at Parker Stadium while announcing a state playoff game. It seems there was a fumble and everyone started diving for the ball. Boys were piled high and the officials were ready to make a call when Paul blurted out over the loudspeaker, "There's a fag on the play."
Paul had a self-effacing humor that perfectly complimented his alter-boy image. He was a role model like no other and we are all better people because of him.
How do we pay tribute to this great man? It will be done in many ways. His cross country extravaganza will become the Paul Mariman Timbertown Invitational. The Loud Crowd talks of going to Sisters someday, with Peggy's permission, to build the handicapped-friendly abode that Paul had been enthusiastically designing with Marimilameter precision. We've talked about commissioning a bust to put out near the track. Creating a scholarship to running camp, planting trees, perfecting his cross country course and getting a guarantee that it will be kept up and protected just as we do for our football, baseball & soccer fields. And many more suitable memorials are being discussed. Suffice to say that his spirit will live on in Philomath.
But the greatest and most important honor for Paul is all the people he helped shape with his loving influence and that is you, his family, his students, his athletes and all of his friends. All of you will become Paul's most important and lasting memorial.
Below is Joe Fulton's eulogy for Paul Mariman at Paul's funeral in 1997.
In Memory of Paul Mariman
June 4, 1997
Peggy Mariman, the love of Paul's life and his main source of strength, asked me to come up here and share a few funny stories about Paul and perhaps cheer you all up a bit. I'm honored for the opportunity. Paul would have done the same for me, in fact he would have done it for any of you, but he would have done it a little differently. He would have handwritten his comments and they would have been in poetic verse. In fact, I guarantee that if Paul had forewarning he would have penned a poem for this service.
It is easy to be cheerful when you're talking about Paul Mariman. He wanted people to be happy. He was an optimist. He saw only the good in people. He made no enemies, but we all know he made thousands of friends and admirers.
For every person here today there's another ten who wish they could be here.
He was the most unlikely of heroes; mild-mannered, modest, soft-spoken, gentle and believe it or not, a bit shy. He was a clean-cut, honest, compassionate man. He didn't drink, smoke , swear or possess ill-will toward anyone. Kind of reminded me of an alter boy at times. In fact, he even looked like an alter-boy. This was a man that didn't seem to age. We called him the Dick Clark of the coaching world. I teased him about keeping Grecian Formula in business, but I was just jealous. Paul and I both graduated from Central Catholic High School in Portland but I'd have to assure people that we weren't in the same graduating class. Few could believe, what with my head of gray hair and his babyface, that Paul had actually graduated from Central the year before I was born.
Paul Mariman's personality was so endearing and often so humorous. Paul had such an innocent exuberance about life that he could make you laugh out loud in astonishment at some of the things he would say and do. What you saw was what you got with Paul, idiosyncrasies and all. He didn't hide what he was thinking about. He wasn't a reticent man; in fact, Paul Mariman was one of the all-time great talkers.
Remember how much you liked to talk on the phone when you were in high school? Well, my wife must have thought I was back in high school when Paul called and that was nearly every evening during cross country season when we coached together. When Paul called you just kicked back and relaxed. It was time to relive some great moments in the annals of high school athletics. We talked about many of you, we tossed around some training ideas and racing strategies and we laughed.
Paul couldn't help himself when it came to storytelling. But Paul didn't tell tall tales. He had far too many minute details for his stories to be anything but factual. And if you could be a good listener, his stories were always amazing accounts of human drama and the strange hand of fate. I wish Paul had written down his personal experiences and elaborate eye-witness accounts of the trials and tribulations of life. It would have made a remarkable book.
In fact Paul was working on a book during his retirement. He had a stack of remembrances from his father, Frank Mariman, a Belgian immigrant who by all accounts was as remarkable a man as Paul. Paul was translating the letters and preparing them as a family history for his children. I had the pleasure of reading several chapters and I was enthralled. They were remarkable stories of life in the old country filled with laughter and sadness. They gave Paul a great deal of comfort and strength because they not only kept him bonded to his heritage but they reaffirmed his belief that we Americans of the 20th Century have nothing to complain about. I hope that one of Paul's children will pick up that manuscript and finish it. It has the makings of a great book that would be of interest to many people. I'll volunteer to help, but I might have to learn a little Flemish first.
Paul liked to write as much as he liked to talk. His penmanship was a work of art. I don't know if he ever used a typewriter. Maybe he didn't even know they existed. His meticulous handwriting was a perfect window into his personality; extremely well-organized, neat, exact and yet disarming and beautiful. It's too bad that someone didn't take down one of Paul Mariman's chalkboards at Philomath High when he retired. It could have been sent to the Smithsonian as an example of a lost art form. It was a breathtaking experience to walk into Paul Mariman's classroom and see his chalkboards.
Now I know you've seen chalkboards with lots of stuff on them; half erased notes, problems and formulas scribbled out in every direction, graffiti from students. You've got the wrong image. Paul's chalkboards had an immaculately clean background accentuating a meticulous script that was written out in perfectly straight lines and often enclosed in attractive frames. And every chalkboard was completely filled. You would think he had written an entire novel on his chalkboard. He must have spent a previous life as a medieval monk copying books in a monastery library.
But he did clear one chalkboard for the day before the state cross country championships. On that day he would bring the entire team into his classroom and on the board would be an exact replica, drawn to scale, of the state cross country course. Every detail was there, every bush, every puddle. Every 500 meter interval was marked out exactly were it was suppose to be. How did Paul know where every 500 was when the state course wasn't even marked in 500 meter increments? Simple. He measured it himself, just like he measured every course we raced on. He didn't drive it in a car or on a bike, he didn't use a wheel or a measuring tape. No, he was much more accurate. He used the Marimeter stride. A stride that was exactly one meter long. And somehow he could continue counting those meters, stride by stride for 500 meters and beyond. I can't tell you how many times other coaches would ask me "What is Coach Mariman doing" as they watched him, with clipboard in hand , head down, leaning forward and striding around the course, looking every bit like an absent-minded professor deep in thought and oblivious to all. Paul would even scratch messages to his runners on the course; "500 meters to go, start kicking."
Our own course at PHS was measured only with the Marimeter and I contend it is the most accurate course in the state. That course was Paul's baby. He manicured it like a prize rose garden. And when he marked it for a meet it was a typical Paul Mariman masterpiece. Most courses might offer an arrow whenever a major turn came up, but Paul would paint a thousand arrows and compliment them with color-coded flagging, signs, cones, barriers and ribbon. You would have to be blind to get lost and if there had been a blind runner Paul would have doubled all the signs and arrows in Braille format, handmade, of course.
And what runner here, and I see a lot of you, will ever forget Paul's clipboard relays or whistle drills. And who amongst you can accurately explain the directions of a whistle drill? Paul's whistle was so strong it was usually followed by fire fighters who thought they were responding to an alarm. The directions might go something like this; At ten minutes you'll hear two whistles which means you have one minute until you hear three whistles and then you lift for three minutes, sprinting when going east, striding when going west until you hear four whistles which will mean you have three minutes of running before you hear the final whistle..and so it would go on until a kid said, "Could you repeat that coach?" And so a typical practice found our boys, known as the Loud Crowd and our girls, known as the TARBS, running in every direction at every imaginable speed with Paul in the middle punctuating the workouts with his deafening whistle. Invariably some wise guy from the football team would blow a whistle every now and then to further confuse us.
Paul must have developed his ability to carve out cross country trails from his years of hiking with his boys in the Wallowas. It was a tradition that he looked forward to with his usual zeal. But when it was over I couldn't tell from his stories if the highlight of the trip was reaching the pristine alpine meadows or finally getting to prepare his legendary hamburger, the prodigiously titled Copperwhopper Mountaintopper Hungerstopper! Paul would explain, in mouthwatering detail, how he would prepare everything at home, separating the essential ingredients, such as the great slabs of prime lean hamburger, the choicest onions and tomatoes, each sliced exactly one inch thick, and all the assorted condiments, in individualized containers. How he would haul these essential life-giving morsels up the mountains, hoping they wouldn't be smashed by Gabe or Andrew who he might also have to haul, and then preparing them over the open campfire. By the time he was explaining how he bit into that juicy hamburger my own mouth was drooling, and I'm a vegetarian. I'm telling you McDonalds would be a distant memory if Paul Mariman had ever opened his own Hungerstopper hamburger joint.
Paul was such a great conversationalist that it might come as a surprise to you that he was petrified of public speaking. And yet because he was so loquacious, and he had such a vast reservoir of knowledge and memories, he was regularly called upon to speak at coaches clinic, awards ceremonies, memorials and he even became the Voice of the Warriors at PHS football games. And because Paul was such a gentleman who never swore or made off-color remarks, it was particularly funny when he would have a Freudian slip during a speech, a lecture or an announcing stint.
He had some really funny ones in class that I better not say in these holy confines, but I've got to share his most famous blooper which he made at Parker Stadium while announcing a state playoff game. It seems there was a fumble and everyone started diving for the ball. Boys were piled high and the officials were ready to make a call when Paul blurted out over the loudspeaker, "There's a fag on the play."
Paul had a self-effacing humor that perfectly complimented his alter-boy image. He was a role model like no other and we are all better people because of him.
How do we pay tribute to this great man? It will be done in many ways. His cross country extravaganza will become the Paul Mariman Timbertown Invitational. The Loud Crowd talks of going to Sisters someday, with Peggy's permission, to build the handicapped-friendly abode that Paul had been enthusiastically designing with Marimilameter precision. We've talked about commissioning a bust to put out near the track. Creating a scholarship to running camp, planting trees, perfecting his cross country course and getting a guarantee that it will be kept up and protected just as we do for our football, baseball & soccer fields. And many more suitable memorials are being discussed. Suffice to say that his spirit will live on in Philomath.
But the greatest and most important honor for Paul is all the people he helped shape with his loving influence and that is you, his family, his students, his athletes and all of his friends. All of you will become Paul's most important and lasting memorial.
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