by Remarks on Paul “Pableaux” Johnson in Austin • April 12, 2025
Good afternoon.
A reading from Paul:
“Brick House” by The Commodores ought to be our new National Anthem.
What a thing it would be to crash your own memorial. To hear what’s said. Maybe say a few words yourself.
Paul would have loved alot of this — while making that BIG EYES, GET ME OUT OF HERE face — at all the fuss.
Paul ‘Pableaux’ Johnson was as good a man as you will ever find.
A man who knew just about everybody — definitely had a kind word for Everybody — and just was a wonderful guy who commanded attention without commandeering it. A real skill.
On the night Christi and I first met him in ’96…
…Everybody has the following feeling when they meet Paul — and on that night I didn’t know it yet, but said to him, “It feels like we were destined to meet.”
I told him: “Maybe there’s only 11 types of people and you and I are Sevens — and Us Sevens just find each other.”
And he thought that was great (or at least pretended to) and from that time on, occasionally he would remind me: Us Sevens gotta stick together!
I picked 11 out of thin air that night and never even told him what a 7 was.
Well, in the case of Paul, this is a 7… SEVEN attributes he lived — and that we can all carry forward:
FIRST — TAKE AN INTEREST IN OTHERS
One week before he passed, I asked, “What’s on your plate now that excites you?”
He answered briefly, “The Red Beans Roadshow,” then instantly pivoted to:
“What are YOU excited about?” My answer, I’ve already forgotten.
This was classic Paul — always more interested in you, than in discussing his own, far more compelling adventures.
SECOND — BE AUTHENTICALLY YOU
In a time of Imagination Deprivation, Paul was a fountain of original thought.
Spontaneous and also deliberate… in writing, he had a distinctive voice — that rare gift where his ideas in print matched his speaking voice precisely – every word on paper sounded exactly like Paul talking.
A reading from Pableaux:
From his first email to me about a project: “This whole thing feels like one of those Doc Savage gigs, with a team made of a ninja fluent in 12 languages, a demolitions expert who trains attack dolphins, a renegade nuclear physicist with Olympic gold medals in archery, and a leggy ex-Navy SEAL who builds bombs from bat shit and Froot Loops.”
The guy possessed a compact way of getting to the point that was lyrical.
…from a travel piece he wrote, on Siena, Italy:
“If Paris is the city of light, Siena is the city of stone, blasted over centuries into a hundred shades of beige, gray and faded ocher.
“The city’s muted rainbow of earth tones is broken by the occasional splash of brilliant color. Rich blue bedsheets flutter from second-story clotheslines above ancient Romanesque arches. Shocking clusters of red petunias push out of a balcony window box.”
Paul’s authentic style wasn’t just memorable — it was influential. He showed us that expertise could be delivered with personality and warmth.
NUMBER THREE — “BOLDLY GO”
In his work, Paul strived to bring detail — and elevate the quality of anything he was doing. (Sometimes, to a fault).
He always followed his muse. He never had a boss.
He cultivated his talents over time, which led to his getting amazing assignments.
He did so many interesting things — in 2023, aboard ship off the UK isles, and this past Fall in India — and he wanted to share those experiences with you.
During his Austin years we knew him as a web guy, food writer, an author, pop culture savant, and accomplished cook — all because he was willing to try to be those things with little to no prior experience.
As he would say, all it takes is, “Show up and ask.”
Leave your comfort zone. Get on the plane. Boldly go.
THE FOURTH PABLEAUX THING WE CAN ALL CARRY FORWARD IS — HUMILITY
When he mentioned he’d soon be receiving the Louisiana Endowment for the Humanities’ Documentary Photographer of the Year award, I said:
“That’s badass, dude!”
True to form he replies: “Thank you. But I don’t know how to process it…”
Humility—and classic impostor syndrome from someone who deserved every accolade.
FIVE — CONNECT EARLY AND OFTEN
After leaving Texas in 2001, he fell in love with New Orleans culture.
Through his camera lens, he wasn’t just capturing moments—he was connecting.
Though he had moved away years ago he visited so often it was as if he never left.
Whenever you went out with Paul here, you could count on running into someone he knew.
When we last spoke, he was looking forward to bringing his pop-up kitchen thing, the Red Beans Roadshow, back to Texas.
He told me he’d completed overall 79 “shows” across 44 different cities.
Back in 1996 those “FOO-YAYS,” the redbeans gatherings at the Landon Lane house, helped Christi and me meet many friends after we relocated here from Chicago.
And you never knew who’d be there. Once, after one of them I asked him, “Hey, who was that James McMurtry-lookin’ mofo?”
“James McMurtry.”
He was genuinely enthusiastic about who you should know, too.
For the last 20 years Paul was always saying, you’ve got to meet my friend, SO AND SO.
And then, we’d never meet…
Classic example of me not following Paul’s connecting genius.
We can all do this better (GRANTED NOT in Paul’s on-steroids version)
And I promise I’ll do better — starting now.
ITEM SIX — BE GENEROUS
Paul’s hospitality travels onward, past the immediate, past the proximal… and on into the future.
When I told a close Indiana friend who had never met Paul — but had heard many stories — about Paul’s passing, he said,
“I’m listening right now to music Paul shared.”
Raise your hand if you’re in possession of music that Paul shared? Or photography?
AND FINALLY, NUMBER SEVEN — MAKE TIME FOR WHAT MATTERS
Whether photographing a second line or hosting supper, Paul deliberately made others welcome. We already know this.
He checked in. He was really good at that. We just had no idea, how good.
His energy — his carpe diem spirit — reminds us that life is finite… But one’s influence on others does not have to be.
Adversity is part of the deal, and we never know when the ride ends.
Although Todd and I saw him for lunch last October, I will forever treasure my last one-on-one with Paul.
It was vintage Pableaux — a call out of the blue, no prior warning:
“Brotherman! I’m a block from your house! Wanna get a drink?”
So, on a quiet Monday night last June at Hank’s, Paul and I drank Manhattans and split a pizza.
We sat at the bar and talked about family stuff. Work stuff.
When I got home later, I told Christi how lovely all it was.
A reading from the book of Paul:
“Ain’t we lucky?”
US LUCKY SEVENS… Paul’s sudden passing jolts us, reminds us of our own mortality.
But we can find comfort in remembering somebody at his best.
He was fully himself. Never diminished.
Mostly, I feel gratitude.
If Paul were able to crash his own memorial, if he were to address this celebration today, first he’d mock the proceedings.
He might tell you — Get that CT scan you’ve been putting off.
And he would definitely say — Check in with your people. Tell them how you feel.
Until we meet again… Love ya, brother!
Stuart Wade 
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