It was either 2000 or 2001 and I was the in-booth producer for ‘Canes football broadcasts.
Typically I’d get to the Orange Bowl about four hours before kick off and the first thing I did, upon arrival, was head to our beyond-cramped broadcast booth. It hung off the bottom of the upper deck on the south side of the old stadium.
I’d get to the booth, check in with our engineer at the time – Jim “Fix It” Yelton – and would get situated for the day’s broadcast.
I can’t specifically remember which game it was – it may have even been Wide Right III (Florida State, 2000) – but I do remember that my dad was in town and when in Miami for a game, I’d bring him up to the press box before he found his seats.
On this particular day I got to the booth and there weren’t enough chairs for all of us. We’d squeeze five of us in there: myself, play-by-play man Marc Vandermeer, Joe Zagacki (who did color commentary at the time, stats guy Phil de Montmollin and “Fix It”.
The third floor of the Orange Bowl hosted the radio broadcast boosts for both teams, as well as the national TV booth. There were also a few VIP boxes, if you could call them that, and at the end of each floor, a tiny food-serving area, packed full of those great OB hot dogs (sarcasm).
Upon the realization there weren’t enough chairs in our booth, I took a walk down to one of the VIP boxes where there were always extra chairs and when decision which chairs to poach, my friend, UM Assistant Sports Information Director, Kiersten Coleman jokingly said, “Hey, what are you doing, this box belongs to Paul Dee“.
She knew there were always extra chairs in there, but was in the mood to bust some chops. With my back to the door and facing her, I then uttered one of my most famous lines.
“Oh, f–k Paul Dee,” I said, with a laugh.
The fun was short-lived.
As I turned around, Mr. Dee was exiting the men’s room and entering the box. He looked at me, but said nothing, leading me to believe I’d gotten away with one.
I dragged the chairs down the hall to our booth, but a few minutes later, as I was chatting up my dad, Dee, redder-in-the-face than I’d ever seen him, appeared in our booth, screaming something to the extent of, “If you ever act like that again, you’ll never work for me again.”
That certainly wasn’t the appropriate time to point out that I didn’t technically work for the athletic department, meaning he wasn’t my boss … but the point was still well-taken. I was hovering somewhere around twenty-four years old at the time and literally saw my career going right down the drain, in front of my eyes.
My dad shook his head and I was on the verge of tears. I don’t think I moved for the next hour, or so.
Word travels fast in that small circle and by the time we were gearing up for kickoff, even the elevator attendant looked at me like I’d just violated every rule in the book.
I ended up hand-writing Paul a letter of apology and over the years we’d actually laugh off the incident. If anything, that moment probably brought us closer. So close, as a matter of fact, that Paul and his then-girlfriend Cathy, honored my wife and I with their presence at our wedding back in 2006. Somewhere I have a video of them dancing and having a great time – to the point where anyone who’s seen the footage comments on their happiness in that moment.
Paul loved radio. He loved listening to The Hammer, The Maddog and especially Uncle Neil. Whenever I’d see him outside The Hecht, he’d always ask me what it was like to work with Neil.
He’d talk about the “Bridge Tender” bit or one of the Boca Brian songs and he thought Neil was radio genius. I think he literally used to drive around at times just to tune in for a few minutes – and remember this is the same Neil Rogers that used to refer to UM’s sports teams as the “Hurri-coons” or played the drop, “the Hurricanes f’ing blow,” but Paul didn’t mind. He got it and he loved being on radio, too.
He would always tell me that the segments he did on “Hurricane Hotline” were the best time of his week and when he retired as athletic director, there were several conversations at QAM regarding bringing Paul on staff as our legal analyst, though it never panned out.
I’ll let all the other writers tell you about the things he did for UM. The on-campus basketball arena. Guiding the university towards the Atlantic Coast Conference. Dealing with the ins, outs, ups and downs of a Pell Grant scandal, as well his many other accomplishments, but I can tell you this – I never would have been able to serve as a sideline reporter on UM’s football broadcasts for seven seasons if it weren’t for Paul Dee.
Think about how big his heart must’ve been to forgive me for what I said, which in turn, allowed me to serve in my dream job for that long.
Paul was always accessible. He’d go out of his way to really communicate with the media – but more importantly, he’d go out of his way to be your friend – a friend, I’ll dearly miss.