Dear Mimi,

    Lynn and I are both terribly sad to hear the news about Peter’s passing. I can hardly express just how pained I really feel. When we received the message from Sukey last night, we fell into a long conversation of memories: the rich experiences that we had with Peter. He was a complicated person--as we all are--and yet his brand of living brought such richness and intensity to those who traveled with him.

    We can’t come up to Vermont tomorrow. But we would love to come to an island gathering in Maine.

    Still, I can’t resist even a few memories now.

    I met Peter in Fall 1970. He and I had been hired to teach at the Warehouse Cooperative School, a progressive school that was housed in the Armenian Cultural Center in Watertown, MA. You could hardly picture two so different—and yet perhaps similar—people. I was 24 years old, a recent graduate of Amherst College, a young man wearing a pony tail who had withdrawn from the climb up the status ladder. I was quiet and still fairly scared of the world. Peter was in his mid-50’s. He had already spent a lifetime battling with the world. He knew how to get things done. He was cantankerous, loud, and gruff. But he, too, had withdrawn from the commercial world of status, money, and power...and his belief in the ideals of the school were very evident.

    My first real interaction with him, at the beginning of that year, was to ask him to build something for me. I needed a large platform to be built, in the room where I would teach the young children, so that they could stand at eye level to me when they had something they wanted to say. Initially, Peter thought this was the stupidest idea that he had ever heard. But then, as we batted it around, he saw the point. He built one of the niftiest platforms you could imagine. It became the central focus of the young children’s room; and he and I developed a sense of partnership that then took many directions.

    My anger at society—and the expectations that it placed on men—continued to grow. I left the Warehouse School, and soon moved to Montville, Maine. I was not wealthy and I bought a small parcel of land where I began to build a cabin with my girlfriend. About 1 year after I moved north, I got a call from Peter. He was still at Warehouse (though soon to leave) and he was starting an "island school" where he could teach teenagers to develop a more self-sufficient, self-confident way of life. But he needed some help. The teens were always getting on his nerves. He needed a "shrink" who understood him and his ideas and his needs.....and he seemed to think that I was that person.

    So our colleagueship, and friendship, was renewed. He began commuting to Montville to give me advice on how to build my house. I began to commute to the island (first Marsh and then Loud’s) to run “shrink” sessions with him and the teens. That’s where I met Sukey...and eventually Emmanuel and Dora...and renewed connections with Gus and Jeff...and then other teens who became part of Peter’s (DYS-connected) School. During that time, he and I sailed together several times: sometimes with the kids, sometimes by ourselves. They were rich and wonderful experiences...in which I began to forge an identity for myself that was both adult and counter-cultural, and in which he stretched even further beyond his old selves to become a mentor to people of many ages.

    Eventually, our paths began to diverge. As my adult identity took shape, I moved back to Boston. I became a university professor. Lynn and I—who had first met at Warehouse when still in relationships with other folks—reconnected and eventually got married.

    Peter, bless his heart, offered to have our wedding at his home in Lincoln. Though other folks were now living there, he commandeered the house for a week...cleaned out the barn (where our pot-luck wedding food was served)...allowed us to have a tent constructed in front of the house...and rented a fry-olater to cook onion rings for 150 folks. Our families arrived dressed for a wedding. Peter was in his dickies with his grip-wrench hanging from his pocket. We were married in the field in front of his house under a Jewish Tallit serving as the traditional Jewish canopy. This was a moment in our lives that we will always cherish.

    We stayed in touch, of course. Peter visited us periodically when he came south from Maine or north from Puerto Rico. Lynn and I sailed with him once from Fort Lauderdale to Chub Cay in the Bahamas. It was a memorable trip that tested our sea-legs! But when our son, Jesse, was born--and we inherited all the complexities of parenthood....we saw less and less of each other.

    After Peter lost the Little Chance, we saw him even less....although when he docked his next "schooner" in Boston, we went out with young Jesse for a harbor sail. We have some wonderful pictures of Jesse aboard....which led our little guy to great interest in sailing and old ships. Perhaps you know the educational film, “Voyage of the Mimi.” It’s a wonderful portrayal of a Peter-like character, “Captain Granny Granville.” Jesse loved it as a child, and it was a way that we stayed related to Peter vicariously. I had always hoped that Jesse would have the chance for a longer sail with Peter...but that didn’t shape up. It was a blow when Peter lost his next vessel. By then, I was one of the folks who had been giving him grief about sailing alone...and at such risk...and he didn’t appreciate my critical stance. I understood that this self-sufficient identity was central to his character...but I felt that I needed to push him to accommodate to the aging process. This was hard for Peter. I think that he felt a bit betrayed.

    Eventually, Peter moved to Vermont...and you know more of that story than I. Obviously, I did not have much contact with him during these last years. I hope that they were rich and good for you. I’m sure they were. I missed the times that I had with him. But I knew that it was his style to move on. And I needed to keep moving on in my own ways.

    Somehow, though, I always had the fantasy that I would discover a time machine and return to those joyous days of sailing and hanging out with him. Now that fantasy comes to an end...just as his have...although my religious beliefs (something he never thought much of!) tell me that he is simply off on another adventure...and that perhaps we will meet again.

    Where ever he is, I miss him. I loved him--and still do. And I am very very sad that he is gone.

    Lynn, Jesse, and I would love to participate in a memorial for him in Maine. It would be good to re-connect with old friends...and to meet some of his friends whom we never knew. A Peter-community-of-friends would be a good thing!

    Warmly,

    Jared Kass