I remember the day as freezing, and despite Peter's best efforts, I remained clueless as to why Americans would prefer this slow-motion game to a quick and dirty soccer match. Soon I was whining, but he made me sit through the whole ordeal. Predictably, next morning I woke up with a cold. Went to work. Sure did, just as he would have done.
Which brings us to journalism: Man, but was this guy demanding. Impatient. Could be ruthless, at times. Yet for someone like me, who had arrived at the Washington office of Agence France-Presse with near boundless ambition, he was perfect. I liked the fact that he cut to the chase, that he was no diplomat. I wasn't French, either.
Peter did everything at great speed, the quintessential wire service man. He valued his time, and he didn't suffer to be bored. I took him to dinner at a restaurant in Berlin, once, and this gang of street musicians came in, playing the same old tunes he'd heard a million times, in Paris, New York, London. They very nearly ruined his evening.
And then, amid all his impatience, he could be immeasurably patient. With the kids he taught, at Project Plato. With the Pentagon, which he had to cajole into treating AFP reporters as equals. I ended up learning a lot from him about how to succeed as a foreigner, in a company full of French traditions (read: interminable lunches).
Whenever he was truly passionate about something, Peter had all the time in the world to make it happen. He became a man of infinite love and patience. This was obvious when he spoke of his family. I suspect that it was also true for baseball.
Peter understood the news as few of us did. He was an excellent, if not the most patient of editors. As a reporter, he was up there with the best of the best. None I knew had his passion for journalism.
Oh how much we will miss his passion!
- -- Henriette Lowisch
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