Paul Hartung

Paul James Hartung

(1973-2021)

Carol Ann was re-telling moments of their funny and off-the-wall first dates when Paul passed away in her arms in their loving home on April 2nd. He was a man who valued family above all else and some comfort is found in knowing that he rubbed a lifetime of goodness into their two teenage boys, Alexander and Oliver, as a deeply committed father, mentor and community builder. Paul and Carol Ann were soul mates; their inside joke was that CA “planned” and Paul “drove and carried things” but to those who knew them, it was so much more than that. It was a real life true love story of two individuals who complemented each other in so many ways. They held court with their stories laced with humour that were seamless in the telling, which bounced back and forth between them. Paul often spoke, humbly, about his boys but to the listener his bursting pride always shined through his words.

He is predeceased by his mother, Joyce. He will be deeply missed by his father Helmut, his sister Sharon, his brother Vince (Christiane) and nieces Samantha, Kim, Sophie and Georgia. He will also be greatly missed by his mother-in-law, Sharon Leach and his extended family.

Paul grew up in a few areas of Ottawa, but as an adult, dug fully into family, community and church life in his Westboro neighbourhood and with the Ski Patrol at Mont Cascades. Once you were in Paul’s orbit, you were there for life. He will be missed by the loyal posse of friends he gathered in his almost half-century journey.
Besides home, Paul was happiest at the cottage where he grew up and subsequently passed on all of his Mr. Fixit skills to his boys, spent time lying in the hammock reading or tending to a fire and keeping good company with the LPL Crew. He loved being a part of the Ski Patrol, helping others, instructing new recruits on snow and was always up for one more run - “the hill’s not going to ski itself!”, he’d quip.  If there was no snow on a vertical slope, then Paul was itching to hurtle down it on his “tank” - his ancient downhill bike. Downhill mountain biking was a sport he enjoyed doing with his wife, his close friends, and more recently, Oliver, whom he was teaching to eat up Mount Washington out west and Bromont, closer to home (and with better poutine to dig into at the end of the day!).

Paul was a huge music fan with an extensive and eclectic collection of tunes. He and Carol Ann enjoyed going to see live music and alternatively, playing “musical Youtube roulette” while kicking back with friends over a beer and good conversation (often related to skiing or downhill biking, technology or home renovations...).

Always one to share his gifts and to lend a hand, Paul could be found running the AV or sweeping up popcorn at a movie night at the boys’ school or for Sunday School events. As a member of St. Stephen’s Presbyterian Church for many years, Paul served on the Finance and Maintenance Committee, where he found friendship and laughter, often while on a ladder, changing light bulbs in the sanctuary, or setting up wifi access points. Little was it known that he would often happily cycle to the church office on his lunch hour or after work to provide IT support.
Paul loved traveling and held a special spot for Scarborough Beach, Maine, but he especially loved trips to BC to visit his family, often being put right to work on a home repair project with his father or to talk tech with his sister, for whom he held great admiration. He enjoyed going to Istanbouli shawarma, up the street from his office, for lunch, often with his brother, where he enjoyed comparing work stories and catching up on his nieces’ activities and accomplishments.

A long-time employee of Statistics Canada, Paul made many friends out of co-workers and was a dedicated employee who loved his work. He was a leader who enjoyed mentoring, problem-solving and supporting others in his low-key but enthusiastic manner.

Saying “good-bye for now” is the hardest thing. But finding stories to recount about Paul in the days and years to come will be “easy peasy lemon squeezy”. There are so many.

Paul always found a way to connect with people. He didn’t give a lick about sports stats, but every weekday morning, exactly ten minutes before eight, he’d shush his family so that he could listen to Scott Regehr on CBC Network Sports so he would arrive at work ready with fodder for conversation with his workmates. He would dig into his quiver to pull out something to say because conversation was how he made others feel at ease. When his quiver was empty he would simply talk about snow tires.

Paul had a rotating collection of life lessons for Alex and Ollie, and they could guess which one he was readying before he delivered it. There is the “two monks and a raft” parable, “show up, it’s half the battle”, “buy the best tools you can afford”, and “give”, among others. Paul walked the talk in the way he lived his life, yet afforded great latitude to those who were finding their way. He always chose the option of lifting others up and seeing the good within.

Never one to follow the latest buzzwords, Paul likely never knew that he was an “active listener”. But he listened like no other, especially to what his boys had to say. Alex and Ollie will be Paul's legacy; polite, inquisitive and always with a smile.

With unshakable patience, he was constantly teaching his boys new skills, such as how to drive the boat, to light a fire, to rock climb, and to use different tools safely.

Paul delighted in helping anyone who needed him. He’d re-configure your laptop, re-program your security system or demolish your old chimney. Paul never kept count and never wanted anything in return. Paul was an “early adopter” and figured out how to use the latest tech before anyone else had even heard about it. For Paul it wasn’t about bragging rights, it was about being of service to others.

Waiting for Paul to come home after a day of ski patrol Carol Ann would watch the red geolocation dot on her iPhone. When it marked the top of the ski hill she knew he was waiting for the one last person to get to the bottom safely. When the red dot hovered at the bottom she knew he was staying to help tend to an injured skier who’d just come off the hill.

Paul’s quirky and often subtle humour kept everything light and comfortable. Laughing was part of Paul’s daily regime; in the morning over breakfast, at work to lighten the mood and at the end of the day even when listening to his boys recount a foible at school. His easy-going nature and sense of humour made him a magnet. It felt good to be near Paul. We will all remember his signature smile; unbridled joy with a dose of mischievousness combined.

The silver lining to COVID is that Paul could convalesce with greater ease knowing that he couldn’t be out helping people anyway. Living with his end stage cancer diagnosis, Paul was thankful for every day, happy to be at home, supported by Carol Ann, who advocated fiercely for the best care possible and managed all logistics so that he didn't have to focus on anything but his time with her and the boys.

He drew strength from, and was extremely grateful for, everyone who supported Team Hartung through his illness. He took comfort in knowing that Carol Ann and the boys would continue to feel the love of this community of friends and family. He took solace in knowing that many people have committed to help his boys navigate their way, to raise them up, to catch them when they stumble and to recount stories of their Dad and what he stood for and believed.

The family is immensely grateful for the very compassionate care provided by Paul’s palliative doctor, Dr. Lisa Cross and his upbeat, go-to nurse, Christian Pontalba.

A Celebration of Life will be held when it’s safe to come together to honour and remember Paul. A virtual option will also be available. Please send your expression of interest to Carol Ann at team@hartung.ca.

In keeping with Paul’s spirit of families helping families, simple acts of kindness for someone in need or a donation to the Parkdale Food Centre (https://parkdalefoodcentre.ca/) would be a fitting tribute.


Death can take away from us what we have,
But it cannot rob us of who we are.