Friends
Glenn Siegel
I took annual camping trips with Pete and our friend Jim O’Hara, mostly in the White Mountains and elsewhere in New England. One year, some 30 years ago, we ventured west to the Four Corners, the area where New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah meet up. When we got back, I remember being asked about highlights of the trip. “I hit a sneaker with a rock,” I replied without hesitation.
Pete loved games. He played sports like golf and baseball that have been around for a long time, but he also loved to invent games: making ground rules, constructing playing fields, giving names to his new creation. With the score tied and one rock left, I nailed that Chuck Taylor logo and won the game! We yelped, then got back to staring slack-jawed at the Rocky Mountains.
Game-making was one manifestation of Pete’s creative life. The drawing and ceramics that Pete gifted me over the years are powerful reminders of his talent and his thirst to create. Like many artists, his relationship to his art was complicated, fraught with ambivalence and doubt. But when he’d make up a game, or adapt one to the circumstances in which we found ourselves, he had a child-like enthusiasm that was infectious. Pete was an inventor and a problem solver in service of fun and friendship.
Jim Supanek
Pete and I met in grad school back in 1986—our studios were next to one another and, well, with him in such close proximity, how could we NOT become friends? The two years at Rutgers weren’t always so cheery, but Pete made being there immeasurably better. In our second year he moved into the floor above me in an old run-down house alongside a railroad bridge, a crazy time marked by a neighborhood arsonist repeatedly setting fire to the house next door.
All the while, Pete was making an amazing piece for his thesis show, transforming his entire studio into a linked set of spaces dominated by a large semicircular chamber lined with lattice. It was fascinating to watch him work through its creation, always full of doubt and self-questioning, trying to understand what these intuitions he had were all about. When I think of it now it seems—though how could we know so at the time?— a rehearsal of sorts for the restoration of the house that he and Andy bought together and, with the help of his dad, poured in years of loving toil to make their home. That place made the whole art/life distinction irrelevant.
After Rutgers we stayed in touch and visited from time to time, the one friend from those years I felt truly close to. With Pete in Cambridge and me in Brooklyn, there were gaps when we didn’t talk for awhile and, while our paths diverged in certain ways, I was thrilled to discover after a period out of touch that we had both gotten involved at our jobs as union activists. Learning this felt like a real affirmation, and we talked a lot about the satisfaction we drew from it—more so than from the jobs themselves. We fantasized about trips together, if only the bills could be put on hold.
A dozen years later we finally made a trip we’d long talked about—a drive through the southwest to destinations we’d never been. As it turned out, it was just a few weeks after 9/11 and a lot of people were afraid to fly. There was no way we were going to skip this trip though, and we put aside our skittishness and embarked from our different towns. We met up in Vegas and rented a huge 4-wheel drive SUV—overkill, I thought, but anything less, Pete insisted, would be a problem where we were going. That first day out we headed to Death Valley, stopping at a mom-and-pop filling station that billed itself as “last chance,” feeding our fantasies of being stranded with an empty tank as the buzzards sized us up from above. Inside the station they sold a variety of homemade jerky, an exotic find for us easterners—no way could we pass this up. Pulling back out onto the highway, we both took a big bite of our road snack, looked at each other and and burst out laughing: here we were 96 degrees in the blazing sun, headed into the desert with three bags of dried, salty meat. From there on, we’d think again before following those primitive impulses.
We covered a lot of ground on that trip, camping two nights in Joshua Tree Park with a plan to traverse the park and exit out the south end. We drove for miles over the most treacherous roads I’ve ever been on—had I been driving I’d have turned around, certain as I was that we were about to break an axle. Several times I had to get out and guide him around and over boulders—Pete, though, was simply enjoying the challenge. We hiked down from the North Rim into the Grand Canyon together, taxing on the calves but truly unforgettable. We also rode through the Imperial Valley, through the pungent smells of the Salton Sea and over to Niland, CA, to a folk art environment named Salvation Mountain, created single-handedly by a charming man named Leonard Knight. We chatted with him a bit, and as we explored the place I could see Pete’s eyes aglow. I love you deeply, my friend…
Paul Kiefer
Not long ago, right after I had left a job of 10 years contemplating next steps, while Pete was thinking of ramping down at work and possibly heading toward retirement, we got into a conversation that for me so captured his funny way of thinking. It made me laugh at the time, and even he got a kick out of it, though he was probably at least half-serious.
Because I do small carpentry work on the side (though it's not really what I want to be doing full time), and because he and I were of very similar temperaments when it comes to detail, he suggested we go into business together. When I reminded him of the fact that I don't really want to spend 5 days a week doing something I'm not very interested in, and he admitted that he wouldn't either, he suggested we still go into business and call the business "2 Guys 1 Day a Week."
Linda Siska and Waino Tuominen
There is a lifetime’s worth of memories we shared with Pete. We’re reminded of him daily in our home. We eat from his bowls. We store our Tahini upside down until it’s opened, Pete’s suggestion (it makes it easier to mix once it is opened). Much of the kindling that starts our wood stove on many winter days came from Pete, and that’s where I’m choosing to focus.
We live in Western MA. Our wood stove is our only source of heat. My partner, Waino, is a man I have referred to as a fanatic recycler. His reputation preceded him as people learned that he removed the staple from the tag on a tea bag to recycle them separately as metal and paper. Pete and Waino lived on the same recycling planet and they bonded over it.
Over the years that Pete and Andy visited us, we could be guaranteed that they would arrive with a trunk load of wood. Usually it was boxed, sometimes bundled. The bundles were comprised of lath that came from the former walls of their house. We have used these laths for years as kindling, for marking the rows of our garden, as paint stirrers. There are still a number of them in our basement waiting to be used for the next wood stove burning. The boxes of wood were filled with pieces that were precisely cut by Pete so that space was utilized to the max. At the bottom of one box, after going through the larger pieces, I found two popsicle sticks. I laughed.
Pete and Waino also traded back and forth plastic which at one time could be recycled in Cambridge but not in Huntington and vice versa. The category of ‘soft plastic, non crinkley’ was one of those that Waino stuffed in bags and saved for Pete to deposit at his end of the state. In fact, the last time we saw Pete, Waino mentioned those plastic bags wondering what he would do with them now. That puzzle has been solved by the advent of the recent pandemic. Waino is using the sleeve bags that newspapers are delivered in, sliding one over his hand as protection each time he pumps gas at the gas station. I’m thinking that Pete would be nodding his head in approval at this creative reuse.
I think that the passion, care and creativity Pete displayed in the world of recycling could also be felt in the world of his friendships. He saved and savored countless memories and carried us with him over time. We loved that he was our friend.
Waino’s fondest memories of Pete circle around an annual winter snowshoe trip that Waino, our brother in law, Bill, and Pete took to our camp in Lakeville, ME, a remote spot at any time but especially in the winter. Some years they snowshoed miles in bitter cold with wind chills well below zero. The more adventurous and wild the experience, the better Pete liked it. One year it was pouring rain as they trudged their way in. A truck coming through offered them a lift, as they were soaking wet. Waino and Bill jumped right on. Pete, it seems, felt that it was too easy a way in.
One winter there was no snow. They still had fun. Ice fishing was undertaken. Then Pete invented a game where rocks had to be tossed across the ice and land in a designated spot. He called it ice bocce or ice bowling. Bill remembers that same year sitting in front of the wood stove and playing hours of stratomatic baseball. Pete loved announcing the games like they would be announced on the radio.
Remembering these times brings smiles and sadness.
Cynthia Peters
The memory I want to share of Pete is how he called you "And." It's a short word, but it had a lot of love embedded in it somehow. Often, he said it when you were goofy or said something uniquely you or made him laugh. He would smile and shake his head gently and say, "Oh, And." Why did this get my attention? I don't know. It's a funny nickname. You have to make an effort to get the "d" sound in there. It's much easier to say "Ann" or "Andy," but he took the trouble to enunciate the full roundness of the single syllable. And when he said it, I felt like I got brought into a certain intimacy. I got to see his love for you. I liked witnessing that. It's understated. It's short. But you have to actually say it all the way through—with care. It's very Pete, and I just loved him for that.
Anne Katzeff
I love Andy's expression "celebrate all the goodness that is Pete." There was enormous goodness in Pete. He was one of the most wonderful men I’ve known. Whenever I think of Pete, I hear his laugh and see his eyes squint slightly in giggle mode. I still take pride in our recycling efforts at dnh (our old workplace), always think of him during March Madness, and enjoyed talking with him about art and life.
The years spent playing softball together on the Harvard University Union team rank high in my memory banks, too. It was the only co-ed team I ever played on, and I'm so glad I did. One favorite moment was when some guy on the opposing team hit the ball waaayyyy over Pete's head in center field. As he ran to retrieve it, Pete yelled to me: "GET READY FOR THE RELAY!" (I was the short-fielder). I could already see that the batter was rounding third-base while the ball was still traveling AWAY from Pete. By the time he got the ball, the batter was home eating a slice of pizza., LOL! What determination and focus (along with optimism) Pete had!
Peter was kind, steady, creative, intelligent, compassionate, funny, silly, strong, insightful, thoughtful, and much, much more! We had been friends for nearly 40 years. I am grateful.
David Hawley
Rachel Schurman
There aren't actually specific times that I recall when Peter made me laugh. Maybe that's because Peter always made me laugh. When I think of Pete, I can hear his voice and his laugh so clearly in my head; in fact, I don't actually see him in my mind's eye, but I hear him. Peter would invariably greet me with that warm smile every time I would walk into your house and up the stairs. I always felt so comfortable with him, as I did with you—like I was putting on a pair of old shoes that fit perfectly. Peter had that wonderful voice and would speak with an accent (Boston? Norwood?) that I came to love because of him. He was so quick-witted that you really had to pay attention to what he was saying to catch all of his one-liners.
My strongest memory right now is of the wonderful time we just had on the Cape with you two this summer, going to the windswept beach, looking for sharks, eating dinner together with16 year old Pau, who of course hit it off with Pete as soon as he met him. Who didn't? Watching Peter and Pau play a putting game inside your rented cottage is a moment that will be indelibly etched in my mind as one of my favorite memories. I miss Peter and will feel that way forever.
Lenore Balliro
One day, when my daughter Rosa was around two years old, we visited Andy and Pete for brunch on Worcester St. Things were in the preparatory stage, and I turned to Pete to ask him about when something should come off the stove—something about cooking. Andy asked, in a teasing way: How did you know to ask Pete about that and not me? We all laughed, because Pete was, in his quiet way, the kitchen leader. He put out some food (this was over 20 years ago, so I forget the main dish), but I do remember he offered bread spread with homemade za’tar. Or maybe the za’tar was on the eggs? Anyway, it was a delicious gesture, one that spoke to Pete’s attention to detail.
I recall that I brought some cantaloupe and my newly discovered favorite—mascarpone cheese. Well, it turned out cantaloupe was one of the few foods Pete didn't like—but in his quiet, gracious, and honest way, Pete said something like: Cantaloupe isn’t my favorite, but I like the cheese. Interesting combination… I borrowed that phrase to teach Rosa to be honest but considerate when giving her opinion about something she didn't really care for. She still says, Thank you, it’s not my favorite but I appreciate the thought when she doesn't want to hurt my feelings, but she doesn’t want to lie. We have a little laugh about it.
I remember Pete’s attention to detail in other areas of his life. When Andy and Pete were renovating the house they had newly bought, they organized an indoor painting party. My former spouse Rich and I were happy to attend and lend a hand. Pete had specific ideas on how to paint the walls, and he was gentle and clear showing us the process. I felt like I learned some skills that day in a way that did not embarrass me about my own slapdash methods. I also recall the time Andy and Pete were preparing to plant a garden by the side of the house. He took notes on the sun exposure throughout the day, so they could make plant selections and a garden design based on number of hours of sunlight. His brick pathway to the front door entailed meticulous preparation and setting of the bricks in a beautiful pattern. So I think of Pete’s calm ways as soothing—respectful of those around him, welcoming. I appreciated his willingness to go more slowly in his projects than I tend to go, and how they ended up with long lasting results.
Molly Flannery
Since I moved out to Littleton, MA I don't get into the city very often, but a few years ago I had a gig at a venue very near Pete and Andy's and I took the opportunity to pay them a surprise visit. Only problem, it had been so long since I had visited that I wasn't 100% sure which house was theirs. So I was standing there on the walkway to their house, trying to ascertain if I was at the right place, and feeling a little paralyzed cuz I didn't want to ring the bell of strangers!! So I just stood there and wished someone might appear to clarify the situation. And instantly, Pete came up behind me, and said "Can I help you?" in his most gentle way. Without startling me at all. And I felt like an angel had appeared to rescue me, and of course I was delighted to see him as it had been years, but the connection was instant. Somehow this little moment sums up the "goodness that is Pete" (as Andy said in one of her letters). So unassuming and gentle and so kind and warm. And happily, Andy was home and I came in and enjoyed a cup of tea and wonderful catching up with them both. Nothing like being in the bosom of old friends where you feel you can just blabber on, "knowing that a faithful hand will keep what's worth keeping and then with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away." (Dinah Craik) That's how it felt being with Pete.
Brenda Bell
On Pete’s Birthday
I don’t have the words to capture
the sparkle in his eyes
the intensity of his gaze
the welcome of his smile
That pulled me in
To friendship
First, and always, with Andy
When I traveled to Cambridge
from the hills of Tennessee
When I was welcomed, tired from radiation
to a respite on the Cape
When we floated the waterways of Kerala
loudspeakers booming prayers
When we reveled in dosas and
fish of the beach-front A#1
When, on my work treks to Boston,
We caught up over restaurant meals
Late night kitchen-table drinks
And early morning coffee
After sleep downstairs.
Only once, just with Pete, did
I visit his studio to see
The creation space of his
Vessels of memory and hope.
No funny stories, only
Remembrance and love.
Beth Bingman
In February, 2004, after taking part in a literacy forum in Patna, India, friends and colleagues Andy Nash, Brenda Bell, and I travelled on to Kerala on the southwest coast of India along with my partner Rich Kirby and Andy’s partner, Pete Berry. We spent most of a week together traveling from the city of Trivandrum to Varkala for three nights overlooking the Indian Ocean and then two nights on an excursion boat on the backwaters of Kerala, stopping to visit small communities along the way north.
We ended our time together in the city of Cochin. This journey together was an amazing opportunity to travel through a beautiful and peaceful place; it was also a time to be together as a group of new friends. It was the time Rich and I got to know and appreciate Pete as a traveling companion and friend. Here is a photo at our favorite Number 1 Beach Restaurant.
Billie Bliss
I admired Pete for the special care put in to anything he created—the house renovations, paintings he drew, pottery he made. On special occasions I liked the way he made salad dressing and a good pot of coffee, as well. Every time I look at that piece of pottery on my window sill it is a reminder that whatever he did, he did it with love, and that’s really what counts in the end.
Jim Kaufman
Pete was a mensch*. He relished quality, nuance, could quietly and carefully find and appreciate inner worth–in furniture, clay, golf, films . . . and people. Making beautiful ceramics for people to enjoy–not flashy, but with a deeper quality. His persistence, ‘good deeds’ and wisdom as an activist at work and in his community–ultimate menschiness. And the unexpected, ‘little,' good deed type of things: dropping by our house to say hello, he ended up fixing our lamp in a most elegant, simple way. Pete’s menschiness was understated–elevating it to an even higher order, in my opinion.
His sincere caring and appreciation for Anna, Klara and Sofia. His love for Andy.
Our family has a holiday tradition with Pete and Andy. We go to a Hollywood blockbuster-type movie on a big screen–think “Lord of the Rings.” Pete and I found opportunities to go to other, more obscure films that met other criteria–artsy, off-beat, maybe some violence or some bizarre ‘something’ to it. The key procedural rules we observed: purchase tickets early, arrive early, use toilet early, get seated early.
In Zhang Yimou’s, “Shadow,” there’s a Kingdom on the brink of rebellion. All is in shades of black, gray, white, red. Nothing is obvious. You need to figure out who the characters are and why they do what they do, a puzzle Pete likes to figure out. Subtle–like his sculpted vases. It’s not unusual that Pete falls asleep during the crucial middle section of the film–maybe 20 minutes. After the movie, he says [to paraphrase], ‘I took a short nap. Who was that character and why did he do that?’ Characteristic of Pete–a wonderful aspect of his general menschiness.
But he didn’t fall asleep for things that mattered. You could depend on Pete. He was exactly the kind of person I would really, really want to have around now, in times like these. Pete . . . we miss you.
*mensch: a person of integrity and honor
Mike Walsh
I will always remember my last round of golf with Pete, Bob and Mark at Green Hills Golf Course in Worcester. Pete and I were the last ones to leave that day, and the last thing Pete said to me was, "now let's get a few winter rounds in, if the weather permits." Pete told me that he really looked forward to the group of us getting together in retirement. We both had medical issues, but we never much spoke about it. I believe golf took our minds off the problems of the world. We had an awesome foursome, and he'll be an inspiration in my mind forever. Love.