Thursday, December 3, 2015
Peter Smith was one of the most engaging, intelligent and fascinating persons I am thankful to have known. He was also one of the most challenging--and sometimes irritating--because he did not put up with platitudes, generalizations, or wishy-washy comments. He encouraged me to seek a deeper understanding of an issue we discussed, often expecting evidence to support my positions…but he did so in a caring way, as a mentor and friend during the past 5 years.
We met, in of all places, the Post Office for Dennisville, New Jersey. I don’t remember what specific occasion led to our friendship, but I suspect it was his wild silvery hair half-hidden beneath a well-worn Australian hat, something out of place and yet interesting enough for me to comment on it. Within a matter of minutes, I realized I had met a most remarkable man. Our conversations often extended beyond the closing time of the Post Office, which merely led to our continuing them outside. The subjects were politics, religion, the arts and literature, human nature, and science fiction, among others. Peter was open to any and all topics and loved to share his opinions of them, and challenge mine.
We never fought; indeed, we tended to keep the conversations between us. I suspect others were too intent on collecting their mail or sending some off to wherever. Time was seldom important to us, except when I had to finally leave for some other engagement. Until then, we also talked about places of mutual interest, such as Pittsburgh and the University of Pittsburgh from where I was graduated and where I had taught for some years. Peter also had personal connections with Pitt; so we could share our memories and discuss the current state of higher education, using our related backgrounds as starting points. We also spoke about towns surrounding Pittsburgh, places which we both knew and from which we shared personal memories.
Now, of course, those days are gone, with the loss of this exceptional man. Peter had shared his illness with me, early in its diagnosis; so I was aware of what he had to endure each day. He was open and honest about what he was dealing with, yet we also tried not focus on the negative parts. Gradually, our meetings at the Post Office ended; soon, I learned that he was living in an assisted care center, then of his subsequent loss. Those who knew and loved Peter will understand that his passing has left a deep hole in our hearts.
As the writer, John O'Hara remarked upon the death of George Gershwin: “George Gershwin died…but I don't have to believe it if I don't want to." For now, I don’t think I will believe it of Peter. Instead, I will imagine him off on a trip through Austria, the Australian hat secure on his silvery locks and an enigmatic smile on his face as he enjoys another wonderful adventure in his full, rich life.
Peter was someone special, an unselfish, caring soul. As long as we remember him, he will remain that way.
