Grapes, pears, and a great loss.

Several years ago, while teaching in Myrtle Beach, I made the decision to write a book on music and memory. I had decided that despite being associated with a formal research institution, I would become an independent scholar. While writing the book, I began to download countless sociological articles about music. During these searches, I noticed the same name appearing over and over again- R.A. Peterson.

It would be several months later that I would apply to graduate school at Vanderbilt, and while I hate to admit it- I was ignorant to the relationship between R.A. Peterson and Vanderbilt.

During the first month of school, I remember sitting down with one of my new professors, Jennifer Lena, to discuss my research interests. As I stumbled through my vague ideas for research on music- she inquired if I knew about the work of Richard ("Pete") Peterson. It was at that moment that all the pieces came together and I realized that I was at the same university where this R.A. Peterson was located.

While I did not have the opportunity to converse with Pete during the first official gathering of the department, I was overwhelmed with joy when I received an invitation for dinner at his home. Apparently, Pete and his wife, Claire, always invited the new cohort of students over for a welcoming dinner. My excitement quickly gave way to nervousness, as I thought about the implications of having dinner with someone I considered to be one of the greatest scholars in the field.

I know that none of us will ever forget that dinner. Whether it was the awkward first moments with the block of cheese, the conversation about Riot Grrls, or the simple and clear advice that Pete gave us about being graduate students. I can't remember the exact line now, but I remember Pete reiterating to us that if this wasn't something we loved, we were in the wrong line of work. I also remember him telling us to take our summer to travel, to explore.

When the next year of incoming students arrived, I remember telling them with excitement about how they would have the opportunity to also visit with Pete and Claire. Unfortunately, due to Pete's health, they were unable to visit- which saddened me.

I would luckily have the opportunity to spend several opportunities with Pete in this last year.

Last semester, Pete offered to provide feedback on papers that a handful of us were writing for a course on cultural production. Again, the excitement- and then the nervousness. The afternoon that we (Becky, Carly and I) spent with Pete was fantastic. He gave us a tour of his office, showing us books and pictures he had collected. He told us about his most recent project, which involved hearing many personal stories that he was reflecting on in his life. And then, he proceeded to tear through our papers providing incredible insight and suggestions for the way we had approached the field. While I recognize that only a handful of you might realize the grandiosity of writing a paper for a course in cultural production and having Pete provide you with feedback on a draft, I know that there are those within the field that can understand exactly what this meant.

More recently, I had the chance to visit with Pete on less academic terms. As his health waned, I had offered to provide any kind of assistance to both Pete and Claire. On a Saturday, while reading through Swidler's "tool-kit" piece, I was asked if I might be able to help with some grocery shopping for Pete. As I glanced over at the articles that I had left to read, I realized that reading these articles was far eclipsed by not only helping Pete, but having the opportunity to sit and talk with him more.

Arriving at Pete's house, we sat and talked for almost an hour before the grocery list was introduced into the conversation. We talked about Swidler. We talked about his research on omnivorousness. We talked about cooking shows. At one moment, Pete asked if I was in a rush. When I replied that I wasn't, he remarked that it made him feel better just to see me. I recognize that it wasn't "me," but rather that Pete truly loved sitting and talking to someone that day.

And then there was the grocery list. We discussed each item on the list. What I remember the most was Pete asking for a certain type of pear, of which he had forgotten the name, and seedless red grapes. He said to me that I would need to taste the grapes. He told me not to buy them if they did not "explode in your mouth." They should be crunchy. Wait, I don't like grapes, I thought to myself.

As I left for the grocery store, Pete grabbed my hand to thank me. This is a moment I will never forget. Not that he was simply a person in need, but rather that he was the R.A. Peterson from all those years ago- and his work had become overwhelmingly important in my life in the last few years.

In the grocery store, I picked up the bag of grapes. And I knew, that I would have to test them. While searching for other items, I grabbed a grape and tested it. It exploded into sweetness, exactly what he asked for.

In the last few weeks, I've kept up with Pete's health through Jenn, getting updates on his status. On Wednesday, I went grocery shopping for myself. While walking through the produce section, I found myself buying the same pears Pete had asked for-and then I grabbed some grapes. I took one from the bag and tested it. A simple explosion. These were keepers.

While it may seem silly, when I received the news that Pete has passed away on Thursday, I thought of those pears and grapes.

The loss of Pete weighed heavy on me today, while I sat through class and walked the halls of Garland. While I led a class discussion on cultural production and social movements, I couldn't help but think of the incredible debt that we owe him- both as a person and as a scholar. He will be missed.

And here are a couple of other postings from folks that knew Pete better than me....

Jenn's post about Pete

and Omar Lizardo's posting.

And because for some reason when I experience loss, I often turn to this...


If I had one wish, I would have interviewed Pete about his memories of music.