My pal, Paul Frederick Bergdahl. He was able to get me to do many things I didn’t want to do. This is probably the thing I most not want to do. Eulogize Paul Bergdahl. Something compelled me to do this. And here he is again, making me d o something, that in my wildest imagination, I couldn’t believe I would need to do.

I can't tell you all anything about Paul. You all knew him that's why you’re here tonight. He loved life, his family, Scouting, the outdoors, and unfortunately, that damn coffee and smoke. Boy, did he love that coffee.

I think it irked him to this fateful day that I wouldn’t start a pot of coffee on a campout. Actually, I think I did start one, just once. That is why he never let me do it again. He loved some of the things I was able to teach him. He couldn’t get over some of the more descriptive Yiddish expressions I used. His favorite was schmutz. He even said with a good accent. He loved that word. He used to say he was the goy with the oy.

When I first met Paul and we got to know each other, I felt this would never be a friendship. A born-again Christian? With this Jew? But, he certainly had a way about him. He had a story for just about everything. Funny as all get out. From his Vietnam War days, to camping, he was able to spin yarns. And that mouth of his made us all blush sometimes. Down to earth kind of guy. Not my idea of what I thought he would be.

You had to understand him though. He would drive us crazy. You never knew if he was joking or not. He would come up with some Vietnamese or Norwegian saying or something like that. He would tell a scout to go get the Moiteck. The kid would like at him like he was nuts and we would all have a laugh. His favorite was Thundermug. Even adult Scouters thought that was weird. He had some very descriptive phrases for certain bodily functions. But we put up with it.

Paul has been a part of many of my family’s and my personal milestones. He was the Cubmaster of Pack 339 for my son, Barry. He was at Barry’s Bar Mitzvah. He was Barry’s Scoutmaster of Troop 339 when he made Eagle rank. He was at my home for Passover services. But, I guess this is the final milestone for Paul. It comes to us all eventually. But who would have thought. Not now.

You all knew him. Right? Did you know he was the one who coined my nickname that has haunted me ever since? When he called me Dr. Bob, it became a term of endearment from him to me. But when he called me Robert, or G-d forbid, Dr. Sharek! I knew I was in for it. Kind of like when your mother called you by your first and middle name. Did you know that he was the one who finagled me to do Scout’s Own services the first time? It was at Scoutmaster training. He figured, hey, let the Jew do it! Well, I fooled him and actually enjoyed it and for quite some time I did those services.

Look around here. It has to be a proud legacy of a man that so many would pay tribute to him. He touched so many lives. Until a short time ago, he didn’t know how to say NO to someone. He was a Unit Commissioner some time ago. That Unit was in serious trouble and he became their Cubmaster. This was after he already did his duty for Pack 339 and was already a troop leader. Get this -- He made major contributions to the following Boys’ Eagle rank advancement. P.J. Rini, Steven Shaw, Kevin Petrow, Barry Sharek, Dennis Zvolensky, Frank McCleary, Rusty Shaw, and Jason Kaufman. Who knows what else he did and never said anything about?

He did have an outside job. I know he enjoyed that, too. I would call him often during lunch and he would be munching away on frozen grapes. Boy, he did like to eat well. It didn’t matter where we were. Camp Seminole, The Peace, freezing in St. Augustine, but he would always manage to come up with Shrimp Scampi! No running water, no toilet, but always it had to be Shrimp Scampi. Sometimes, though, his idea about camping consisted to a hammock and two tall trees. On one of our Peace River trips, we were paddling down river and all of a sudden, no Paul and Mike. They always canoed together, pardon me. Went back to see what happened and the two of them, peaceful as can be, with their fishing poles in the river, minding their own business. Didn’t matter that the river was only about 6 inches deep. His outdoor skills were really exceptional. His leadership was great. So were his skills to delegate certain jobs that needed to be done.

THE MEASURE OF A MAN

Not - "How did he die?" But - "How did he live?"

Not - "What did he gain?" But - "What did he give?"

These are the units to measure the worth

Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.

And - "How did he play his G-d-given part?"

Was he ever ready with a word of good cheer?

To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?

But - Had he befriended those really in need?"

Not - "What did the sketch in the newspaper say?"

But - "How many were sorry when he passed away?"

Paul probably would have said, have a beer or Go fishing instead of everyone being here tonight. I hope he realized how much he meant to me.

Rest In Shalom. Rest in Peace, my friend.