My special memory of Peter has nothing directly to do with his extraordinary gifts as a journalist, leader and teacher, all of which have been justifiably acclaimed.
My story is set in the late 1990s in the Washington AFP bureau where at one point the resident journalists (as opposed to those of us posted from Paris headquarters) were threatening to strike over pay and other issues. It was informally assumed that if the local journalists downed tools those of us from Paris would step in and try to carry on. As a dues-paying member of the CGT I had no intention of breaking a strike.
But I nonetheless trembled a bit when Peter, who was management, stopped by my desk one day and asked me into his office. I feared the worst, sensing I would be asked about my strike plans. Would I have the guts, I wondered, to jeopardize my livelihood to support the strike? I needn't have worried.
"Nat," he said, "you're an American citizen and you have rights here. I just want you to know that you should do whatever your conscience dictates."
I could have kissed the guy. I left his office light of step, and a little ashamed for having thought Peter's position would be any different from what it was.
He and I are roughly of the same vintage. We came of age on the political left in the late 1960s in America, when "to be young was very heaven."
Some of the younger readers of this blog might not get the references here.
But Peter knew, and still knows, what I'm talking about.
-- Nathaniel Harrison
AFP, Paris
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Jay Root: My mentor, the newsroom tornado
Everything I ever learned about fast-paced, wire-service journalism flowed from the newsroom tornado known as Peter Mackler. I can see him now, standing over my shoulder, dictating an entire story from lede to final graph, quotes included. He was a mentor and a friend. He was an anchor in ever turbulent sea of 21st century journalism. I’ve never known anybody more cut out for a career in daily journalism than Peter Mackler. Nobody did it better.
When I left AFP Washington in 1996 to become Austin bureau chief of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, Peter could see the gleam in my eyes when I mouthed the words of my new job title.
“Bureau chief,’’ I said, as if the magic would be obvious to him or anyone else.
Peter cracked that infectious smile.
“You’ll enjoy the bureau chief title for about three days,’’ he said. “Then you’ll realize it means you’re the one who has to reload the fax machine when it runs out of paper.’’
That, and everything else he ever predicted, came true in short order.
He was always a great inspiration to me and I will miss him dearly. I hope that one day I can muster up half the talent Peter had.
My thoughts and prayers are with his family.
-- Jay Root
Austin Bureau Chief, Fort Worth Star-Telegram
When I left AFP Washington in 1996 to become Austin bureau chief of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, Peter could see the gleam in my eyes when I mouthed the words of my new job title.
“Bureau chief,’’ I said, as if the magic would be obvious to him or anyone else.
Peter cracked that infectious smile.
“You’ll enjoy the bureau chief title for about three days,’’ he said. “Then you’ll realize it means you’re the one who has to reload the fax machine when it runs out of paper.’’
That, and everything else he ever predicted, came true in short order.
He was always a great inspiration to me and I will miss him dearly. I hope that one day I can muster up half the talent Peter had.
My thoughts and prayers are with his family.
-- Jay Root
Austin Bureau Chief, Fort Worth Star-Telegram
Luke Hunt: Tough love and cans of beer
The glint in Peter Mackler's eye when he had his hands on a story destined for the front pages of the world's newspapers was as marvelous as it was memorable.
His bearded smile had all the cheek and gusto of a man in his prime, as he struggled to contain himself, for just a few minutes, long enough to hammer out the words faster than the competition.
In Iraq during the 2003 invasion, he was in his element pretty much every day.
For an outsider the race to cover firefights, massacres and the everyday bloodshed of Iraq might sound macabre.
But what stood out amid the mayhem, absurdities and the sheer nastiness of conflict was Peter's moral fibre. It was refreshing.
Nobody had to get hurt for us to have a story. That included the Iraqi civilians, the insurgents, invading soldiers and no more importantly, AFP staff. Not every journalist who works in war zone is like that and Peter was tireless at ensuring our security was as good as it could be and that the senstivities of locals was always respected.
He even gave me an afternoon off once, after a 12-year-old opened fire with an AK-47 as our car stopped at a T-intersection. The kid's inability to handle the recoil meant bullets were landing everywhere except on target; us.
Pete's response was what he called "Tough Love" which meant take the rest of the day off, have a few cold beers and don't miss the morning editorial meeting. That was good enough most of us.
War stories were a dime a dozen and this was where Tough Love was not without foresight.
After the invasion was complete Peter took the lead and shifted the focus of coverage from shoot 'em up war stories to economics, he knew America's future in Iraq -- success or failure -- would largely hinge on rebuilding the country's infrastructure.
At the time many people wanted more flashy bang bang yarns. Others like Peter wanted to tell the sobre truth and that included stories about education, health and transport. How people lived mattered.
Peter Mackler was a brave, stubborn and proud man who preferred to rate his peers by the what they did in the field. I liked that. And he died where he had passionately lived, on the job.
He will always be remembered as a reporter's reporter, an honorable man and to many of us, a friend.
-- Luke Hunt
Hong Kong
His bearded smile had all the cheek and gusto of a man in his prime, as he struggled to contain himself, for just a few minutes, long enough to hammer out the words faster than the competition.
In Iraq during the 2003 invasion, he was in his element pretty much every day.
For an outsider the race to cover firefights, massacres and the everyday bloodshed of Iraq might sound macabre.
But what stood out amid the mayhem, absurdities and the sheer nastiness of conflict was Peter's moral fibre. It was refreshing.
Nobody had to get hurt for us to have a story. That included the Iraqi civilians, the insurgents, invading soldiers and no more importantly, AFP staff. Not every journalist who works in war zone is like that and Peter was tireless at ensuring our security was as good as it could be and that the senstivities of locals was always respected.
He even gave me an afternoon off once, after a 12-year-old opened fire with an AK-47 as our car stopped at a T-intersection. The kid's inability to handle the recoil meant bullets were landing everywhere except on target; us.
Pete's response was what he called "Tough Love" which meant take the rest of the day off, have a few cold beers and don't miss the morning editorial meeting. That was good enough most of us.
War stories were a dime a dozen and this was where Tough Love was not without foresight.
After the invasion was complete Peter took the lead and shifted the focus of coverage from shoot 'em up war stories to economics, he knew America's future in Iraq -- success or failure -- would largely hinge on rebuilding the country's infrastructure.
At the time many people wanted more flashy bang bang yarns. Others like Peter wanted to tell the sobre truth and that included stories about education, health and transport. How people lived mattered.
Peter Mackler was a brave, stubborn and proud man who preferred to rate his peers by the what they did in the field. I liked that. And he died where he had passionately lived, on the job.
He will always be remembered as a reporter's reporter, an honorable man and to many of us, a friend.
-- Luke Hunt
Hong Kong
Monday, June 30, 2008
Dolores Brown: Becoming a part of "la famille"
The first time I met Peter was on Graham's and my honeymoon, in December, in Paris. He met us at a brasserie with those lovely big mirrors not far from AFP during a quick break at work.
The day was cold and gray, and we drew together around our coffees. I could see the personal interest he took in Graham, and by extension, his choice of a bride. There was a little bit of grilling... It was like becoming a part of "la famille" of AFP, although I didn't realize it fully back then. Peter and Catherine were remarkable friends during Graham's illness, and after.
They were constant presences in our home; Catherine holding Graham's hand while he watched old movies during the afternoon, Peter launching a support group from AFP to help Graham through his illness. Richard will speak for himself about his relationship with Peter, but it's a testament to Peter's loyalty and love that he played the kind of role he did in Rich's life.
Peter's the one person I knew who walked the walk. I'll always remember him, driving those long distances around DC, from work to home and sometimes to Rich's Little League practices. He was a force, always encouraging us, always believing in us, always seeing the best in us.
-- Dolores Brown
The day was cold and gray, and we drew together around our coffees. I could see the personal interest he took in Graham, and by extension, his choice of a bride. There was a little bit of grilling... It was like becoming a part of "la famille" of AFP, although I didn't realize it fully back then. Peter and Catherine were remarkable friends during Graham's illness, and after.
They were constant presences in our home; Catherine holding Graham's hand while he watched old movies during the afternoon, Peter launching a support group from AFP to help Graham through his illness. Richard will speak for himself about his relationship with Peter, but it's a testament to Peter's loyalty and love that he played the kind of role he did in Rich's life.
Peter's the one person I knew who walked the walk. I'll always remember him, driving those long distances around DC, from work to home and sometimes to Rich's Little League practices. He was a force, always encouraging us, always believing in us, always seeing the best in us.
-- Dolores Brown
Prashanth Parameswaran: A great story-teller
I only met Peter twice – both times my dad had him and his wife Catherine over at our residence for dinner. But vivid thoughts of the man are still etched in the attic of my memory.
Peter had an extraordinary knack for bringing quotidian events and workaday people to life. Whenever I forage through books on Mao's China, I can't help but chuckle at the comical anecdote he related about how a Singapore Foreign Minister visited a sickly Mao in the early 1970s. Mao could barely utter a word, but his translator would transform his incoherent babbling into flowery pronouncements about the glorious People's Republic.
When my biodiversity-conscious friends harp on about bloody squirrel carcasses on the road, I bring up the most important lesson Peter says he learnt at driver's education class: when you see a squirrel, its better to run over it than to risk a screeching brake and a possible collision. Why? – its lifespan was 2 to 4 years! And the colorful stories about his voyages with Secretary Rice and Colin Powell added a crucial human dimension to these oft-quoted high ranking bureaucrats.
To me, Peter was a man who had a memorable story for every moment. To a potential journalist and college opinion columnist sickened by routine deadlines, old keyboards and countless hecklers, Peter redefined for me what being a good journalist meant. Yes, crisp intros and exemplary leadership did have something to do with it. But at the end of the day, the difference between an academic whose apartment smelt of rich, mahogany books and a journalist was the latter's enviable ability to bring things to life. It was a welcome relief and much-needed complement to a college hell-bent on preaching theories about the world that at times seemed far from realities on the ground.
I had always cherished those dinner conversations as brief escapes from the dim world of academia. So what I will miss is neither Peter's impeccable copy skills nor his mythologized leadership abilities. I will miss most his verve, flair and infectious sense of humor, ingredients that injected life into the moribund for an aspiring journalist.
-- Prashanth Parameswaran
Foreign Affairs (East Asia)/Peace&Conflict Studies (Southeast Asia)
University of Virginia
Peter had an extraordinary knack for bringing quotidian events and workaday people to life. Whenever I forage through books on Mao's China, I can't help but chuckle at the comical anecdote he related about how a Singapore Foreign Minister visited a sickly Mao in the early 1970s. Mao could barely utter a word, but his translator would transform his incoherent babbling into flowery pronouncements about the glorious People's Republic.
When my biodiversity-conscious friends harp on about bloody squirrel carcasses on the road, I bring up the most important lesson Peter says he learnt at driver's education class: when you see a squirrel, its better to run over it than to risk a screeching brake and a possible collision. Why? – its lifespan was 2 to 4 years! And the colorful stories about his voyages with Secretary Rice and Colin Powell added a crucial human dimension to these oft-quoted high ranking bureaucrats.
To me, Peter was a man who had a memorable story for every moment. To a potential journalist and college opinion columnist sickened by routine deadlines, old keyboards and countless hecklers, Peter redefined for me what being a good journalist meant. Yes, crisp intros and exemplary leadership did have something to do with it. But at the end of the day, the difference between an academic whose apartment smelt of rich, mahogany books and a journalist was the latter's enviable ability to bring things to life. It was a welcome relief and much-needed complement to a college hell-bent on preaching theories about the world that at times seemed far from realities on the ground.
I had always cherished those dinner conversations as brief escapes from the dim world of academia. So what I will miss is neither Peter's impeccable copy skills nor his mythologized leadership abilities. I will miss most his verve, flair and infectious sense of humor, ingredients that injected life into the moribund for an aspiring journalist.
-- Prashanth Parameswaran
Foreign Affairs (East Asia)/Peace&Conflict Studies (Southeast Asia)
University of Virginia
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