Andrew Wallace
This is the eulogy I gave at Paul's Celebration of Life.
Paul was my brother, and also my best friend. I don’t think I’m the only person who would say that; certainly my sister Sarah would say the same thing.
I don’t remember the world before Paul was a part of it. And from now on, I am going to hold him in my memory, so that he is always a part of this world.
Paul was fearless. I learned this when I was about eight years old, and Paul would have been six or seven. One day, two kids from down the street stole my bike from me. I ran home to try and get my mum to solve my problem, but when Paul heard the story, he took off outside and went steaming down the street, with me following behind. The two kids were still on their front lawn. Paul pushed one of them off the bike, hit the other one in the face, and returned home in triumph with my bicycle. Of course, this was completely embarrassing - to have been rescued by my little brother. But I was, in spite of myself, full of admiration for his courage. Paul was like that for the rest of his life; always ready to help anyone who needed it, often without regard for his own interests or safety.
Paul was charming. In 1986, David Bowie came to Ottawa to play at Landsdowne Park, on the Glass Spider Tour. Paul and I really wanted to go, but we had no money. So he and I, along with Ken Shen and Rob Crouch, decided to try and sneak in. Lansdowne Park is now renovated and nice, but in those days the stadium was surrounded by a scruffy gravel parking lot. We walked around the building until we found a spot where the security fence was lower, and we scaled it and jumped down on the other side. But several security guards spied us, and we were hauled out by the scruff of our necks. Dejected, we walked around the stadium until we came to the back where the loading docks and service entrances were. As we walked by, a blank steel door opened and a roadie came out to pee against the side of the wall. We watched him go back inside, and the door slammed shut. So Paul simply walked up to the door, and knocked on it. The door opened, and the roadie stuck out his head.
“Can we come in?” Paul asked, to which the roadie replied, “No. No, no.”
“Oh, come on!” said Paul. The roadie repeated, “No, no.”
Then Paul looked at the roadie with his big brown eyes and said…"Please?" And melted his cold roadie heart. “OK”, said the roadie, and we were in.
At first we were lost in the bowels of the stadium, but we followed the sound of the music, up a service stair, through a door, and suddenly we were in the pit, right at the front. David Bowie striding across the stage, the coolest man on earth. A giant glass spider hanging down from the ceiling. Fantastic! It was so much fun. And ten times more fun than it would have been, if we had paid. Paul made magic happen.
Paul was brilliant. He had a stellar career in advertising, winning 199 awards. (I counted them all on his web site, which, by the way, is still up and running). He made ads that were funny, and beautiful, and creative, and touching. Paul loved the creative side of advertising. But the advertising business did not return his love, or his loyalty. It is a nasty business, and no place for a kind soul.
Paul was kind, as well as generous. A few years ago, Paul and Sarah hatched a plan to take my dad back to his home town of Manchester, England, to see United play at Old Trafford. They went for a weekend - such an extravagance! Something my dad would never have done of his own accord. Paul bought them VIP passes, and they had breakfast in the grounds before the match, and supper afterwards. They hired a cab driver for an afternoon, to drive around Manchester visiting all my dad’s old stamping grounds. I have never seen my dad so happy as when he returned from that trip.
Paul was fun. He was a fun uncle to my kids Malcolm & June, and to his adoptive nieces and nephew Maia, Melina, and Adrian. A few years ago we rented a cabin in the Rideau Lake for a week for a family holiday. One day, Paul disappeared with Malcolm and June, and drove into town. They came back with a huge box of fireworks. Paul comes running down the driveway to the cabin with the box, shouting “WE GOT THE MOST EXPENSIVE ONE!!!! We set them up at the end of the dock, and started shooting them off at dusk. It seemed to go on forever, like Canada Day on Parliament Hill. We laughed at all the silly names of the fireworks, like ‘Brazilian Bombshell’, which was extra funny because Sarah’s Brazilian boyfriend Pedro was there. When it finished, it was dark, and the sound of a big cheer was carried to us from across the lake, where another group of people had been watching. Pure magic.
Paul was so, so funny. Christmas was always an opportunity for him to showcase his elaborate sense of humour. I’m always doing house renovations, so one year Paul thought he would buy me a tool, but he didn’t know what I needed. So he went to Canadian Tire, went up to the service counter, and asked to buy $200 worth of Canadian Tire money. The clerk didn’t know how to deal with that request, so the store manager was called over. “Can’t we just sell you a gift card?” he asked. “NO!", replied Paul, "I want a big bag of money!!” Now remember Canadian Tire money didn’t come in $20, or $50 or $100 dollar bills. It came in denominations of 5 cents. Or 10 cents. Or if you were lucky, 25 or 50 cent bills. On Christmas morning, Paul handed me a crumpled brown paper bag, with a big dollar sign drawn on it in black ink, like a cartoon. There were about 500 loose Canadian Tire bills inside. Later, I bought a cordless drill, counting out the 500 bills one at a time.
So that was Paul; fearless, charming, smart, funny - the perfect human being. Actually, he had his faults, but we won’t talk about those today. (That was my attempt at a Paul-style joke, and nobody laughed. I know. A pale shadow of the real thing. I knew that going in, but this funeral would be a complete travesty if someone didn’t try to make a big joke of it, in Paul’s honour.)
I will remember Paul for his qualities, not his faults, and for these stories, and a thousand more.
In the last few years Paul hit a rough patch. He tried so hard, but couldn’t find his way back. So many people tried to help him: my parents, Jeanna and I, Riri & David, Ken, Seema & Charles, Lisa, Vanessa, and my sister Sarah. Sarah tried with all her heart. There are probably others that I don’t know about, or that I am forgetting. I’m sorry if I have missed you, but you know who you are. These people are all part of Paul’s family - our family - and we are all mourning his loss.
Paul was loved, and always will be.
I don’t remember the world before Paul was a part of it. And from now on, I am going to hold him in my memory, so that he is always a part of this world.
Paul was fearless. I learned this when I was about eight years old, and Paul would have been six or seven. One day, two kids from down the street stole my bike from me. I ran home to try and get my mum to solve my problem, but when Paul heard the story, he took off outside and went steaming down the street, with me following behind. The two kids were still on their front lawn. Paul pushed one of them off the bike, hit the other one in the face, and returned home in triumph with my bicycle. Of course, this was completely embarrassing - to have been rescued by my little brother. But I was, in spite of myself, full of admiration for his courage. Paul was like that for the rest of his life; always ready to help anyone who needed it, often without regard for his own interests or safety.
Paul was charming. In 1986, David Bowie came to Ottawa to play at Landsdowne Park, on the Glass Spider Tour. Paul and I really wanted to go, but we had no money. So he and I, along with Ken Shen and Rob Crouch, decided to try and sneak in. Lansdowne Park is now renovated and nice, but in those days the stadium was surrounded by a scruffy gravel parking lot. We walked around the building until we found a spot where the security fence was lower, and we scaled it and jumped down on the other side. But several security guards spied us, and we were hauled out by the scruff of our necks. Dejected, we walked around the stadium until we came to the back where the loading docks and service entrances were. As we walked by, a blank steel door opened and a roadie came out to pee against the side of the wall. We watched him go back inside, and the door slammed shut. So Paul simply walked up to the door, and knocked on it. The door opened, and the roadie stuck out his head.
“Can we come in?” Paul asked, to which the roadie replied, “No. No, no.”
“Oh, come on!” said Paul. The roadie repeated, “No, no.”
Then Paul looked at the roadie with his big brown eyes and said…"Please?" And melted his cold roadie heart. “OK”, said the roadie, and we were in.
At first we were lost in the bowels of the stadium, but we followed the sound of the music, up a service stair, through a door, and suddenly we were in the pit, right at the front. David Bowie striding across the stage, the coolest man on earth. A giant glass spider hanging down from the ceiling. Fantastic! It was so much fun. And ten times more fun than it would have been, if we had paid. Paul made magic happen.
Paul was brilliant. He had a stellar career in advertising, winning 199 awards. (I counted them all on his web site, which, by the way, is still up and running). He made ads that were funny, and beautiful, and creative, and touching. Paul loved the creative side of advertising. But the advertising business did not return his love, or his loyalty. It is a nasty business, and no place for a kind soul.
Paul was kind, as well as generous. A few years ago, Paul and Sarah hatched a plan to take my dad back to his home town of Manchester, England, to see United play at Old Trafford. They went for a weekend - such an extravagance! Something my dad would never have done of his own accord. Paul bought them VIP passes, and they had breakfast in the grounds before the match, and supper afterwards. They hired a cab driver for an afternoon, to drive around Manchester visiting all my dad’s old stamping grounds. I have never seen my dad so happy as when he returned from that trip.
Paul was fun. He was a fun uncle to my kids Malcolm & June, and to his adoptive nieces and nephew Maia, Melina, and Adrian. A few years ago we rented a cabin in the Rideau Lake for a week for a family holiday. One day, Paul disappeared with Malcolm and June, and drove into town. They came back with a huge box of fireworks. Paul comes running down the driveway to the cabin with the box, shouting “WE GOT THE MOST EXPENSIVE ONE!!!! We set them up at the end of the dock, and started shooting them off at dusk. It seemed to go on forever, like Canada Day on Parliament Hill. We laughed at all the silly names of the fireworks, like ‘Brazilian Bombshell’, which was extra funny because Sarah’s Brazilian boyfriend Pedro was there. When it finished, it was dark, and the sound of a big cheer was carried to us from across the lake, where another group of people had been watching. Pure magic.
Paul was so, so funny. Christmas was always an opportunity for him to showcase his elaborate sense of humour. I’m always doing house renovations, so one year Paul thought he would buy me a tool, but he didn’t know what I needed. So he went to Canadian Tire, went up to the service counter, and asked to buy $200 worth of Canadian Tire money. The clerk didn’t know how to deal with that request, so the store manager was called over. “Can’t we just sell you a gift card?” he asked. “NO!", replied Paul, "I want a big bag of money!!” Now remember Canadian Tire money didn’t come in $20, or $50 or $100 dollar bills. It came in denominations of 5 cents. Or 10 cents. Or if you were lucky, 25 or 50 cent bills. On Christmas morning, Paul handed me a crumpled brown paper bag, with a big dollar sign drawn on it in black ink, like a cartoon. There were about 500 loose Canadian Tire bills inside. Later, I bought a cordless drill, counting out the 500 bills one at a time.
So that was Paul; fearless, charming, smart, funny - the perfect human being. Actually, he had his faults, but we won’t talk about those today. (That was my attempt at a Paul-style joke, and nobody laughed. I know. A pale shadow of the real thing. I knew that going in, but this funeral would be a complete travesty if someone didn’t try to make a big joke of it, in Paul’s honour.)
I will remember Paul for his qualities, not his faults, and for these stories, and a thousand more.
In the last few years Paul hit a rough patch. He tried so hard, but couldn’t find his way back. So many people tried to help him: my parents, Jeanna and I, Riri & David, Ken, Seema & Charles, Lisa, Vanessa, and my sister Sarah. Sarah tried with all her heart. There are probably others that I don’t know about, or that I am forgetting. I’m sorry if I have missed you, but you know who you are. These people are all part of Paul’s family - our family - and we are all mourning his loss.
Paul was loved, and always will be.
Andrew Wallace
Seema Akhtar
Paul.
I lost my brother two years ago. Like Paul, he died unexpectedly and completely out of the blue - tragically and far too young. I could never have imagined the grief, the loss, the pain. The feeling that parts of my heart, my history, my wholeness have been wrenched away. The feeling that nothing is right in the world. The raging against the unfairness of it all. The regret. I had never imagined a life without my brother in it. He was meant to be here with me until we were old and grey(er)... Same with Paul. Our friendship was meant to last a lifetime. It doesn't seem possible that I've lost two brothers in two years.
From the moment I met Paul, I knew I'd made a friend for life. I had arrived from Singapore halfway through grade 9, which is really not the best time to arrive at a new high school. And, to make matters worse, my mom had looked into Canadian fashions for teens (to try to make sure I'd fit in) by perusing the Zellers catalogue. So, there I was, dressed in some dodgy Jordache jeans and leg warmers, which I somehow wore on top of the jeans! Needless to say, I did not fit in. Nobody was clamouring to befriend the awkward teenager in the very odd outfit, mid-year. All the friend groups were well established, so I found myself eating lunch alone in the Colonel By library every day. And then Paul came along. He saw past the legwarmers and the awkwardness and wanted to be my friend for some reason. He saved me not only from years of lonely high school lunches but also from my fashion faux-pas, because I'm pretty sure he very quickly strongly advised me to ditch the legwarmers. I mean, he was such a style icon, even in high school, so legwarmers would simply not cut it. And just like that, I felt at home in my new school, my new environment, and my new life because I felt at home with Paul.
Paul was the kind of friend I could go trick or treating with when we were far too old to trick or treat. He was the friend I could sit in a room with and say nothing at all, but still feel comfortable and connected. He was also the friend I could chat with for hours over cup after cup of tea. He was the friend who had the guts to tell me when he didn't think that my boyfriends were right for me because he wanted to protect me from a broken heart. And he was also the friend who, when I met Charles, told me very quickly that he was a good one and I should keep him around. He was the friend I could always count on, who always had my back, who always looked out for me, who always took my side no questions asked, who could always make me laugh. He was there for me when things got tough with my parents halfway through grade 13. I think he even asked Monica and Bill if I could stay with his family if I needed to. He was the friend I went off to university with. I spent hours in his apartment on Sewell Street, drinking tea, hanging out, and typing out my essays late into the night because his household had a typewriter that remembered three lines of text so you could make a correction more easily. He'd come and sleep over at my place on Chomedey too because my first-year roommate drove me crazy, so Paul graciously came and acted as a buffer and laughed at her annoying habits with me. He made life more fun. He always made it better.
Paul was also the friend who could tease and rile me up like nobody else. Sometimes when his apartment had a sinkful of dirty dishes, Paul would ask me to come over and then do something to annoy me on purpose because he knew that, if I got mad enough, I'd get super emotional and start washing the dirty dishes in his sink to calm myself down. He was nothing if not very clever... And I guess I was kind of dumb, because it took me a shockingly long time to figure out what he was up to!
When I moved to Italy with Charles, Paul came to visit us in the farmhouse we lived in outside of Milan. We went on a little road trip together through Tuscany. We stopped for an impromptu olive oil tasting, which somehow managed to make us all feel a bit woozy. Paul and I got over it pretty quickly, but Charles, our driver until then, got hit hard and lay down in the back seat of the car, groaning. Paul would have to drive because I couldn't (still can't!) drive standard. Well, Paul drove like a formula one race car driver on the windy Italian roads until our car, borrowed from Charles' work, broke down. At first we thought maybe it had somehow broken because of Paul's exuberant driving, but it turns out that when Italian gas station attendants along the highway ask you if you want your oil topped up, you're always meant to say no. Who knew? We'd said yes, of course, and they'd put too much oil in, which apparently makes cars unhappy. (Hmm, we had several oil problems on this trip.) Anyway, I had researched and found what I thought was a very charming, beautiful, off-the-beaten-track farmhouse B & B for us to stay at. And once we'd gotten the car going again, we drove along countless country roads, up and down so many hills, trying to follow the instructions on our 17-page Mapquest printout. It was taking ages, it was getting dark, and Paul and Charles were complaining about how far this place was. I kept telling them it'd all be worth it when they saw the place. It would be gorgeous and they'd serve us alfresco fresh breakfasts and we'd get to eat some real Tuscan farm to table food. It would be perfect, they'd love it and the drive would have been worth it... When we finally got there, yes, the place was beautiful, as promised. But pictures, unfortunately for us, do not capture smells. The place may have been stunning, but it was also unbelievably stinky. It was located downwind from some kind of factory and the stench was unfathomable. Well, as you can imagine, this was excellent material for Paul - pure gold. He couldn't stop laughing about it all and he teased me relentlessly of course. But that was Paul. A thing that could have ruined anyone else's trip just became fodder for one joke after another and something that made our trip even better.
Paul came to Italy another time with Anna when Ameena was just a little baby. That’s when he showed us his “friend-uncle” capacity for the first time. He made silly faces at baby Ameena and took countless pictures of her. To this day, the baby or toddler pictures we have of Ameena on display in our house were taken by Paul. And I have no doubt that if we’d lived closer together, he’d have done the same with Luca and Safia.
Like any friendship, ours had many moments of intense day-to-day closeness and times when we were further apart. Sometimes we lived on different continents or in different cities and, in those times, we often wrote to each other or had long phone calls into the night. And sometimes the paths our lives took just naturally forked in different directions, so we were not in touch as much. But we could always find our way back to each other and back to our friendship. And even during the times when I spoke with Paul less regularly, he always had a firm place in my heart. I knew that if I picked up the phone, we would chat and laugh together effortlessly and easily, as though we'd just spoken to each other the day before--no awkwardness, no weirdness, we'd just fall right back into our friendship and love for each other. That's the kind of friend he was. He'd be there when it mattered, no matter what. I really hope he knew he could count on me for that too. Sadly, some of Paul's harder times in life came at the same time as some of mine - right after my brother's death. I really turned inward at that time, and even though I know it's what I had to do to begin healing, I also have deep regrets about it because I was not as present for Paul as I would like to have been at a time when I know he could have used every friend he had. We wrote to each other with so much love, but we did not connect in person. I believed I had all the time in the world to find my way back to a more regular presence in Paul's life.
When my brother died, Paul wrote to me: "I hope you’re surrounded by only love. You have mine forever."
When I read that now, at first I think, bitterly, that forever didn't last anywhere near long enough.
But then, I take a breath, and I know, deep in my bones, that even though Paul is no longer with us on this earth, he was right, after all... I really do have his love forever. I feel it in every part of my being. He's in my heart. In my breath. In my laughter. In my tears. In my history. His spirit, his humour, his joy, his sensitivity, his generosity is in the very person that I am.
We all have Paul's love written on our hearts forever. And like Andrew said, "We will love Paul forever, just as we always have."
Seema Akhtar
Anonymous
I will always carry you in my heart.
Anonymous
Anonymous
My heart aches with you.
Anonymous
Matt Antonello
I went to school with and ended up working with Paul for the majority of my career. He was a true original. Genuine. Decent. And kind. Needless to say, it was a pleasure being around him for all of those years. I am very sorry for your loss. He will be dearly missed by many. May he rest in peace.
Matt Antonello
Melissa Ashton
I joined one of Paul's epic Costa Rica trips: many laughs and fun-filled adventures. During his time in Vancouver, I enjoyed his great home-cooked meals. His kindness, humour and intelligence always shone through. I hope the family finds strength in the love and support surrounding you now and always. Paul's willingness to help, creativity and humour made a lasting impression. In Vancouver, I saw the loving bond between Sarah, Tonka and him.
With deepest sympathy,
Melissa Ashton
Stephanie Berthelet
I'm so saddened to hear the news of Paul's passing. He was a highschool friend of mine and dated my cousin, Anoush in highschool. We had lost touch but reconnected at the Colonel By reunion several years ago and attended all the events together. He was the kindest, most gentle soul. He touched a lot of hearts and will not be forgotten. My deepest sympathies to his family. ❤️ I wish you strength in this most difficult time.
Stephanie Berthelet
Daniel Bonder
Paul was a true character through and through. I'll never forget when he convinced me to join him on one of his famous Costa Rica adventures - a week that was spent laughing, writing and trying to surf. He was that rare kind soul, larger than life and left a lasting impact on me. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Daniel Bonder
Paige Calvert
My heartfelt condolences to Paul’s family. I had the pleasure of working with him for many years at DDB. I could always count on Paul to pick up the phone to help troubleshoot a problem, share a laugh, or provide travel tips for Costa Rica. We left the agency around the same time, and I am truly sorry for not staying better in touch.
Paige Calvert
James Coburn
Funny that this is a box to write in. Paul would always laugh and say everyone thinks they need to think ‘outside the box’ But on his desktop he would always open up a txt box to create within. He would bring his humour and thinking and contain in that square box. And work with those words and images within the box. He used to say I would like to teach a full course on how to think, write, and be creative. Then he would pause, sly smile, and say, ‘But hey, why bother, I could teach it all in 45 minutes’
To know Paul, was to Love Paul. And to his dear mom and dad and sister, he spoke so warmly about you all. You were a constant source of love. I thank Paul for his inspiration and his heart of integrity. He cared so much for all.
To know Paul, was to Love Paul. And to his dear mom and dad and sister, he spoke so warmly about you all. You were a constant source of love. I thank Paul for his inspiration and his heart of integrity. He cared so much for all.
James Coburn, July 22, 2023
Kate Cornick
Mon & Bill,
I'm so sorry you're going through this. It is a kind of heartbreak neither of you should have to feel. Paul was an incredible man - so funny, smart, creative and kind. When I was young, I remember how patient he was when teaching me games. When I moved to Toronto and was laid off six months later, he was interested in hearing what I wanted to do next and how he could help. I'll be thinking of you, Andrew and Sarah over the weeks to come. Sending all my love.
Kate
Sally & Ben Cornick
Dear Mon, Bill, Andrew & Sarah,
Words cannot express hoe deeply sorry we are that you are going through such a deep and tragic loss. Paul was such a sweet and lovely man. We will remember his wit, sense of humour and story-telling. I know Matthew and Kate have such fond memories playing 'Hockey Night in Canada' on his table-top hockey game, with commentary and the theme song provided by Paul. We, the Cornicks and the Bradshaws, would like to make a donation in Paul's name to a cause that he would appreciate...perhaps a dog rescue organization. In the meantime, you are all in our thoughts & prayers.
Lots of love,
Sally & Ben Cornick
Caryl Davies
Paul was magic. He was a shining star. I'm lucky to have been his friend. I worked with him @ DDB. I had the best time with him. Thank you Paul. ♥️
I'm so sorry for your loss.
Sincerely,
Caryl Davies
Chris Duffett
It’s funny, at Paul’s memorial, his brother Andrew said that he considered himself Paul’s best friend. His sister felt the same way, and, in fact, many people probably considered him to be their best friend too. For me, though, Paul was like the older brother I never had, someone I looked up to and wanted to be like.
I met Wallace, as I usually called him, shortly after I started working at DDB in the late ’90s. He joined the company about a month after I did. Instantly, I knew this guy was different from anyone I had met before.
He may have been the real “most interesting man in the world.”
Sure, nobody rocked suspenders, fluorescent t-shirts and surf shop hats like Paul, but his uniqueness went far beyond his fashion sense. He wrote hilarious music. He renovated homes and built a yurt. He worked as some type of chemist in Poland. He designed clothes. He cooked like a Michelin-star chef. He’d talk sports, or science, or books, or ads, or anything else, because he seemed to know everything, somehow.
He had a dry sense of humor, mixed with a skeptical eye and a thing he did with his mouth that never failed to make me laugh. I always loved seeing what he was up to at work because, usually, it was amazing, and incredibly funny to boot.
He was selfless. Sometimes I’d tell him that he needed to just stop taking care of everyone and just enjoy taking care of himself. But that wasn’t Paul; he really did put others ahead of himself, always willing to drop anything to help anyone. I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.
If you knew Paul, you were lucky. He always made you feel like the best version of yourself. I wish I had more time with him, of course, but as sad as I am, I’m also eternally grateful to have actually known such a truly amazing human.
RIP Wally.
Chris Duffett, August 3, 2023
Arlene Evidente
Back in 2000, I landed an ad agency internship working with a copywriter named Paul Wallace, who was seven years my senior. A McGill history degree grad with a mix of intellect, street savvy, charm, seriousness and wit. He was unique, unlike anyone I had met before.
Paul’s arrival in the advertising world came with an impressive list of accomplishments. He’d built a cottage with his childhood friend Ken, worked as an engineer in Warsaw for MDF and fiberboard production, and had traveled the world. Playing Trivial Pursuit with him was a losing battle, and when watching Jeopardy together, I’d wonder why he wasn’t a contestant.
During our partnership, Paul was the copywriter, but his art directional skills exceeded my own. In fact, he seamlessly transitioned into an award-winning art director. I witnessed his rise within the industry, ascending to ECD position at a top agency. Around that time, Daniel [Vendramin] and I convinced Paul to buy a condo in our building. We’d always visit each other, have dinners and watch the World Cup. We had the distinct honour of tending to his Instagram-famous dog when he was away. Paul had this boundless love for both the quirky pup and people in general. He possessed a heart of gold, forever extending his support to those who needed it.
Paul, Daniel and I embarked on numerous journeys together, with a memorable trip to Costa Rica etched in my heart. While swimming in the ocean, a forceful current overwhelmed me. Panic set in, but Paul risked his life without hesitation, rescuing me from the waves. The debt of gratitude I owe him remains eternal. Love you lots Wally.
Arlene Evidente, August 3, 2023
Anna-Lena Grabhorn
I’m incredibly sorry to hear about Paul’s passing. I met Paul on my first day at the DDB office and we quickly became friends. He made a huge impact on my life in Toronto and I knew I could always count on him. I will treasure all these hours philosophizing about the most random topics, laughing, playing pingpong and being creative together. He was one of the kindest, funniest and thoughtful people I know and he always put the needs of others first. The last thing I told Paul in October last year was that I was pregnant with my daughter - he said the sweetest things and let me know that he was perfecting his schnitzel!! I will miss you Paul and you will always have a place in my heart ♥️. My sympathies to his family and friends!
Anna-Lena Grabhorn, July 15, 2023
Jorn Haagen
Paul. I will miss you. Why is it always the good ones who depart first... If kindness matters most, you won. Every time. I am grateful I got a chance to work with you but more so, receive your friendship. You are loved.
Jorn Haagen
Anne Kavanagh
I'm so very sorry to hear of Paul's passing. I remember him from the Wallaces' days on Eastvale Drive — he and Andrew were my constant playmates in the neighbourhood, and we were in and out of each other's houses all the time. The photos of him from those early years are exactly as I remember him.
To learn that he grew up to be such a brilliant creative and wonderful human being makes the memories more special. My deepest condolences to Monica, Bill, Andrew, and Sarah.
To learn that he grew up to be such a brilliant creative and wonderful human being makes the memories more special. My deepest condolences to Monica, Bill, Andrew, and Sarah.
Anne Kavanagh
Geoffrey McKay
Very sorry to hear about Paul. I have many good memories of growing up in the neighborhood with Paul, playing soccer and just hanging out. My sympathies to his family and friends.
Geoffrey McKay
Rob McLean
I'm very sad and surprised to hear of Paul's passing. I had the good fortune to work with Paul at DDB for many years in Toronto. In the fast-paced world of the agency, he was kind and fun, reliable, and a brilliant creative star. I enjoyed his wit and humour tremendously. My condolences to his family and friends, I know Paul will be greatly missed by everyone.
Rob MacLean
Rob MacLean
Madison
Paul was my partner briefly, but we hit it off almost instantly so we stayed in touch and remained close. A lot of our time working was spent laughing and roasting each other. When we actually were working, he'd always humour my wacky ideas and send me a mock within minutes. He was absolutely brilliant--the realest person I've met in the ad industry. He left a big impact in our short time knowing each other and I'll really miss him. Wish I could've met Tonka and tried his cooking.
Madison
Julia Morris
It took me some time to write this, I was deeply saddened to learn of Paul's passing. Wallace had a tremendous impact on my life. I worked with him at DDB for a little under a decade, and I don't think he ever realized how dramatically and wonderfully he changed my life for the better when he looked at me one day, and with his sly Paul smile he said, "you know you're in a thankless job". I was a 24yr old Account Supervisor at the time. He went on to say "you shine on set, you have good ideas in edit sessions, and do you really want to end up like Noodles?" (A loving nickname for my boss and VP at the time). "You should be a Producer", he said. After some conversation, and me finally confiding in Paul that I LOVED the idea of being a Producer, but at age 24 I didn't feel empowered to ask to change my career path... after all I only had the job because they needed me in that role... right? You know what Wallace said to me? "Watch this". And in true Wallace fashion, he got up, grabbed his "whacking stick" and marched right into the Head of Production's office and told her I wanted to be a Producer. That seemingly small act completely changed the trajectory of my career. Within 4 days I was sitting downstairs with the Producer Team and my title had changed, and thus began what has since turned out to be the great joy of my career. I absolutely love being a Producer, and I truly have Wallace to thank for starting me out. I'm sure it would have taken me a lot longer to realize my dreams without him. I am forever grateful to him. The world has lost a really wonderful human and mentor to many. My deepest condolences to his family and friends. He will be missed.
Julia Morris
Domenique Raso
I was a lowly intern when I first met Paul at DDB, but during the five-plus years I was lucky enough to spend under his tutelage, I learned so much. Here are just a few of the lessons that stand out:
Never stop creating
When I started working with Paul, he’d rush home after work most nights, eager to finish up a book he was writing about his life. This happened for about six months straight. One day I finally asked him how his book was going, to which he casually replied: “Oh, I finished that a while ago.” “Will you publish it?” I asked. “Nah.” He had simply written a book just for the sake of writing a book, never speaking of it again before moving on to his next creative venture. Producing a satirical music album on a whim after teaching himself Garage Band. Taking up watercolour painting so he could create adorable portraits of his beloved brussels griffon, Crumpet. Photoshopping said dog into humourous and offbeat situations, like winning a race against Usain Bolt or dressed as the IKEA monkey, garnering an Instagram following of thousands and international BuzzFeed acclaim. And a personal favourite: “Porn: The Musical” about a washed-up porn star trying to make his comeback, complete with bangers like the opening act “Rock Hard” and the gentle piano ballad “I’ve Gone Soft.” The point is, Paul was always, always creating. His energy and passion towards every project was inspiring, if not concerning. Did he ever sleep? I honestly don’t think so.
Commit to the bit
More than anything, Paul loved a good bit. His vibrant blue Adidas tracksuit and headband. His collection of assorted Costa Rica trucker hats. His tendency to walk around the office menacingly wielding a golf club, which he would smack down on the desk of anyone who was oblivious enough to challenge him. While these small eccentricities may sound like the workings of a mad man, most of us looked forward to his next bit. They added colour to our day. They made working with him fun. Which brings me to:
Advertising should be fun
Paul understood better than anyone that we aren’t in the business of saving lives. He managed to strike that perfect balance between making every day hilarious, and somehow incredibly productive as well. Everyone loved working with Paul. Not only was he insanely talented and great with the clients, but he made every meeting, shoot and phone call infinitely more interesting. In fact, if Paul was attending his own funeral, I’d have no doubt that he’d be in the back row, cracking jokes about himself to whoever was unfortunate/lucky enough to sit beside him. He could never resist an offhand comment.
Lead by doing
But it wasn’t all fun and games: Paul was an extremely hard worker too. When learning of his passing, one former colleague recounted: “I remember we would have a presentation due in the morning and it would be a total mess, but Paul would have quietly stayed up until 3 a.m. polishing it up, then send it through by 10 a.m. and not say a word. After that he’d go back to his office and kick back in his matching warm up suit and headband.” Yup, that was Paul: quietly getting things done, while never wanting the credit. Unless he was blatantly yelling at you about how brilliant he was. Honestly, he was a bit of an oxymoron.
Don’t wait to tell people how much they mean to you
The morning before I found out about Paul’s passing, I thought of him for the first time in a very long time. I secretly hoped he would freelance at the agency where I worked. I had the exact thing I would say to him lined up for the next time we ran into each other. I could picture him giving his sheepish Paul grin when I said it, not missing a beat before firing back with his own witty quip. I, of course, took for granted that there would be a next time. Which leads me to the final lesson I’ve learned from Paul: If you’re lucky enough to still have a Paul in your life, don’t wait for fate to meet up with them again. Call them. Tell them you love them. Let them know how much of an impact they had on your life. Go for that drink, no matter how exhausted you are. I promise, you’ll never regret it.
Domenique Raso
Dave Ross
Paul and I were creative partners for almost 20 years. With advertising being what it is, we spent a lot of time together. We were practically a married couple. To this day, he’s still my longest committed relationship.
We were total opposites, but I think that’s what made us work. I learned a lot from him and I’m grateful for the partnership we had. I can still feel his presence and influence in the way I work, and how I am in meetings with clients and agencies.
There really was no one like him. He was direct, honest and masterful at cutting through the bullshit. Perhaps too smart for advertising, he had a mind that always wanted – or better yet, needed – to be challenged. His intelligence, humor, generosity and creativity were off the charts.
He was eccentric and a bit of a paradox: he had a huge presence, but was very humble. He went out of his way to nurture teams and help people, but didn’t help himself enough. He couldn’t stand long winded meetings, but would call you at 1 a.m. for a marathon chat about his latest creative endeavour.
If you didn’t know Paul, you’d be like “who is this weirdo.” But once you did, you understood his crazy brilliance, and appreciated his complex mind and cutting humour.
All this contrast and eccentricity are what made him so amazing and so unique. Needless to say, the Wallace years at DDB were memorable, successful and a lot of fun.
Despite his successes, the greatest thing he’s leaving behind aren’t the awards or accolades. It’s his legacy. So many people have reached out to me in the last few weeks to share how much Paul has impacted their lives – in advertising and on a personal level.
It’s rare to find that kind of influence from one individual in this business. We truly have lost a great guy. He’ll be missed by many, but his spirit lives on through so many of us.
Dave Ross
Denise Rossetto
I worked alongside Paul for ten years at DDB. He was my work next-door neighbour and friend.
Paul and his partner Dave were just so envy-inducingly talented. They were like the greatest hits. Paul was on stage more than almost anyone as winner of Agency of the Year, year after year. I don’t like to throw the word brilliant around very much, but if you knew him, you knew how much that was true.
He was wicked funny and creative as hell, well beyond advertising. He was kind. He’d give you the shirt off his back – or, more Paul-like, the surf hat off his head. Paul was different and special; he proved that you could be a nice, good soul and still be the most interesting man in the world. But what I really admired about Paul was that he was truly present. A present. He made you feel like you mattered. Seen. When we worked together, Paul never made me feel like there was a better place to be than hanging out at that very moment, even though I knew he had way more exciting places to be. Time was different working with Paul: he created another universe that felt kinder, more eclectic and more magical. I always felt lucky to be in it.
This last week I learned what I deep down knew: Paul made everyone he knew feel exactly this way. His presence was felt by all. He had a gift for making people feel special. So many people have shared stories of spontaneous trips to Costa Rica with Paul, making sure to visit people on maternity leave, late night phone calls, quiet acts of kindness, wild humour and generosity. Maybe he lived by the words of Joe Strummer of The Clash, one of his favourite bands: “Without people you’re nothing.” How I wish I could capture him better for those who did not know him when I did. But for all of us who knew him at different times, we were lucky to get a chance to be in Paul’s world.
Denise Rossetto
Agnes Seaman
Dear Bill and Monica (and Wallace family), I’m so sad to hear about the passing of Paul. I will always remember him fondly as a funny, interesting and all around great guy. Sending you my deepest condolences.
Agnes (Zalewski) Seaman
Selam
It was our great pleasure to have known Paul. You are such a great person. We will never forget your kindness to us. We were looking forward to see you again. Our heart is very broken for losing you dear Paul.
May you rest in heaven!
May you rest in heaven!
Zeray, Selam and the whole family
Spencer Shiffman
I am saddened to learn of Paul's passing. I met Paul while working for a post-production house in Toronto. He had a great sense of humour and laughed at the ridiculous nature of it all. We also bonded over our love for McGill. He was deeply funny and one of the few people I've met who knew exactly who he was and presented himself to the world without fear. Before I moved to the States in 2020, I called him to chat and he wished me well and told me about a new venture he was working on. He was someone who inspired me to keep going with my creative journey.
Spencer Shiffman
Carter Sprigings
For the short period of time I’ve known Paul, he made a lasting impression as fun, witty, and caring. I met Paul through the Shen Bunner family. Plans would always be adjusted just for his timely appearance. It was clear the people around him deeply appreciated him, and soon enough, so did I. Everyone loved laughing with him, hearing his adventurous stories, and discussing his latest big idea.
He will be missed.
He will be missed.
Carter Sprigings
Kelly Uman
Paul's been my friend for the past ten years and I'm so very sad I've lost him from my life. I never got the chance to work with him professionally but always envied the lucky ones that had him as their creative director. I knew he was one of the rare few that lead with kindness and compassion - a stark contrast to so many abusive and exploitative creative directors in the industry. But I was lucky too, because I had the pleasure of being singularly great friends with Paul and he was such an amazing friend to have. He always made time to help me with my own creative pursuits, spending countless hours art directing music event posters for me - each one greater than the last. He was just so talented. He also always opened his home to me if I needed a place to stay once I moved back to Montreal. It's hard to say if I was special to Paul only because he showed the same level of kindness and hospitality to so many people in his life. But what matters is how special he was to me - he was and always will be one of my favourite people and I already miss him so much. My condolences to Paul's family - I'm so sorry for your loss.
Kelly Uman
Daniel Vendramin
Paul was more than a good friend: he was family. He was like a big brother to me and Arlene [Evidente], and “Uncle Wally” to our kids. It wasn’t because of our shared interests in soccer, biking or creativity, including our epic song-making sessions. Or our similar sense of humour. Or the fact that he was so much fun to hang out with. There was never a dull moment when he was around, but there was so much more to it than that.
Paul was an inspiration beyond his numerous career achievements. He selflessly gave his time whenever you needed it. Whether you faced danger, sought advice, guidance, or even help drywalling a ceiling, he was there without hesitation.
He’d likely dismiss this tribute as utter nonsense, yet that was also part of his charming character. Despite all his accomplishments, he remained remarkably humble, choosing to celebrate and uplift those around him. He made sure his friends always felt good about themselves and loved. I felt that love and loved him right back. I’ll miss you big bro. Love you always.
Daniel Vendramin
Nancy Vonk
Paul was a brilliant, inspiring, incredibly talented person. I have so many fond memories of working with him. He made an indelible mark at Ogilvy. I'm so very sorry for your loss.
Nancy Vonk
This web site will be maintained as a memorial to Paul. If you would like to contribute a memory, image or story, please contact Andrew Wallace using the contact form below:
Thank you!