Saying goodbye to a mentor and friend

Remembering writer Patrick Peckham

Last summer I reached out to my friend, former City Pages coworker and journalism mentor Patrick Peckham.

I had a quick question about wood. There were no quick questions when it came to wood with Pat, a long-time woodworker and woodturner. Eventually we spent an afternoon in his basement sawing a new wood piece for my front porch to replace the spot where birds had pecked through their way through.

On the way out he lent me the wood glue to attach one of the decorative pieces we made. Not wanting to let down his tutelage, I quickly assembled and installed the rest. I sent him a photo, and he was impressed that I'd gotten it done so quickly.

I remember thinking while we were building in his basement that it would be fun to do more of that kind of thing. It was a joy watching his process, the precision with which he operated the machines, and the patience with which he approached his work. He was sort of slow, thoughtful and methodical. I think that was his approach to journalism too. I said to myself I should find more projects we should work on together.

Looks like that day won't come. Sometimes it doesn't. We think we have more time, until we don't. I was shocked to get a message Tuesday that he wouldn't be around after Wednesday.

Peckham died Wednesday. I found out from his wife, who messaged me through his Facebook account. Pat spent a long time in journalism. He used to tell stories of the days when pages were literally laid out — as in, cut and pasted together. When prose was written on typewriters.

Pat had a lot of stories. He told them to us often. Sometimes when I had a lot of work to do. But I would stop and listen. Pat always had something useful to say.

He had a trickster side too. He loved those little mini radio-controlled helicopters and drones. He’d bring them to the City Pages offices, and when Tammy was away he’d pull them out so we could fly them around the office and around the greater Washington Square confines (we thought the jig was up one time when we landed one of them on the grass roof overhang of Jalapenos, but we managed to dislodge it and retrieve before Tammy could bust us).

Pat and I didn’t always see eye to eye. No two people do. But I always valued his insight and experience. He tempered my excitement in my younger years. And when he wrote for me as a freelancer, it was very clean copy that required few if any edits.

His last story was on my friend Sandra Hoogland and her impressive post-retirement athletic feats. She made quite an impact on him… I think he said something along the lines of her being one impressive lady. But he made an impact on her too.

It’s not my intention to start an obituary department here. But I felt Pat needed mention, for a couple of reasons. He’s a big part of The Wausonian. Pat was one of my first subscribers and was very supportive of the project overall. And he remained a mentor to the end. My last message to him in fact was asking him advice on something related to journalism. I had no idea that he was in no position to answer it, and that it would the last time we would ever communicate.

Besides that, my Facebook page was filled with memories of Pat on Wednesday. Word of his passing had apparently gotten out. I haven’t seen that kind of outpouring for someone who passed in quite a while. I nearly added my own, but decided to give it more space here instead.

But interestingly, despite all our shared experience in journalism, I keep going back to our project to repair my bird-stricken porch. Every time I look at it I will think of his assistance, our time spent building it together, and his approach to building. It’s one of life’s ironies that by the time we’re wise enough to appreciate the wisdom of our elders, our time with them has already passed.

The best we can hope for is to remember what they’ve said, and remember them.