Thursday, June 26, 2008

James Rosen: Peter left mark with passion, humor

Peter Mackler was a beautiful human being.

He exuded -- at all times, even under the stress of world travel and tight deadlines -- wisdom, patience, tolerance, supreme understanding of the frailties and failings of his fellow human beings, a passion for teaching, and, above all, humor. We shared the unique perspective on the world that comes with having been born in Brooklyn and together enjoyed many exciting stories and hearty chuckles in our travels with Secretary of State Rice.

I can remember showing Peter the transcript of my first interview with Secretary Rice, on a bus departing Paris in February 2005, and his alerting this newcomer to the State Department beat to the newsworthiness of a particular exchange in the transcript about nuclear diplomacy with Iran; soon, all three wire services were carrying the story and Secretary Rice, pressed about the exchange by NBC News' Andrea Mitchell during out next stop, in Brussels, hastily retreated from her remarks.

Glenn Kessler also reported on this in his excellent biography of Secretary Rice. It was, perhaps, the secretary's first rookie mistake as the United States' top diplomat, and notice of it might never have been taken had it not been for Peter's kindly and discreet counsel.

I can remember another occasion where he privately commended me for standing up to a bully during a heated conversation in a hotel bar; that was when I learned for the first time about Peter's background in psychology.

And then there is my favorite Peter Mackler story. We were talking about our shared passion for the music of the Sixties, and eventually got around to Crosby Stills & Nash. "Oh, my God," he said, rolling his eyes. "They are the reason I left the West Coast!" "What are you talking about?" I asked. He recounted a long-ago experience -- during what was, we might say with some delicacy, both for Peter and many others an age of experimentation -- when he found himself in a Bay-area crash pad with a bunch of hippies and ardent Grateful Dead fans. At the time, he told me, he didn't know all that much about the Dead; and when the assembled turned to him and asked, in a way that kind of put him on the spot, which rock group was his favorite, he replied innocently: "Well, I like Crosby Stills & Nash." In unison, the hippies all groaned, with the same contempt that a later generation of rock snobs reserved for the likes of Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond. "What?" he asked, crestfallen and unable to understand the negative reaction his answer had engendered. But the damage had been done. The vibe in the room was bad and irreversible. It was such a shattering experience, Peter told me, heightened by the effects of certain ingredients in the mix at the moment, that he came to the realization that the West Coast hippie scene was not for him and he shortly thereafter made arrangements to return to New York. "Why didn't you just tell them, I replied, "that Jerry Garcia contributed the guitar licks on 'Teach Your Children'?" "Where were you when I needed you?" he shot back.

Thereafter, we seldom saw each other without working Crosby Stills & Nash into the conversation. I am so sorry for Peter's wife and daughters, whom I never met, but I know in time the joy they took in knowing and loving their husband and father will exceed the pain and grief visited upon them by losing him far too soon.

-- James Rosen
Fox News Washington Correspondent