Peter

I can't count how many stories I wrote about that ship.

Peter Weiss was the political editor and a columnist for The Jersey Journal, in Jersey City, New Jersey. More than just his titles, though, Peter had a reputation as being one of those guys in journalism that did it better than almost anyone. He was a dear friend, and died of cancer in 2003. I rarely talk about it because maybe that is me putting my mind off of it and thinking he is still alive. But, he was very influential about how I wrote and covered news, which was my life for many years.

Peter was the best writer I ever read, which is why, in 1999, I had the ridiculous amount of brass I did to call him directly and inform him of that. I then told him I was editing a local newspaper and doing a lot of correspondent work with other newspapers on the side, but I want to write stories for him, or do his research or even get his coffee if he wanted.

Because writers getting better is about life learning, and if someone isn't getting better at their craft all the time, then they are getting worse: I said that, I preached that, I lived that. Well, Peter was amused, but he figured he would see what there was to see with me, thank goodness.

The first time we had a meeting, I was supposed to, in the middle of the morning, drive to Jersey City and meet in his office. I was coming up from Middletown, New Jersey, so it was a bit to travel. Alright, then -- no problem. Not going to dicker about the time when I got a shot to make a pitch to Peter Weiss. Well, I get up there and he leaves me hanging in the smallish lobby of the Journal Building for hours. Finally, the receptionist or whatever he was comes over and tells me "Mr. Weiss will not be able to make your meeting."

Fine. Oh, and it was raining.

No problem. I went back to my paper, caught up on my work and then put in another call to Peter, getting a reschedule for our meeting. Well, this time he says we should meet at the V.I.P. Diner on Kennedy Boulevard. Perfect. At least there was coffee there while waiting.

So, in comes Peter 20 minutes late. He looks tired, haggard, pale. He seemed to know who I was, though, because he comes over to me and offered me his hand. I stood up and shook it and then proceed to tell him about my paper, my prior experience with Dorf Features, Greater Media, Rockfleet Media and my stint of writing news in Europe with the Forward Edge, at Lucius D. Clay Kaserne, in Garlstedt, FRG, and for the Stars & Stripes for a piece about one of the REFORGERs.

"Okay, okay...enough about places you don't write anymore at," he said with a little smile.

I told him about how I had been reading his column, literally, for years. Anytime I could pick up a Jersey Journal. Pete was good with a certain amount of flattery and then he was plain: "So, you want to write things?"

I said 'yes,' of course. He assigned me to all kinds of things. He even assigned me to cover the Battleship NJ Project that my full-time boss, Assemblyman Joe Azzolina, Sr., R-Monmouth/Middlesex, was working on. Big Joe wanted to bring the battleship to Bayonne, where he thought it could be better appreciated than in Camden. However, then-state Sen. John Mattheusen, R-Camden (but who was actually from Jersey City as a boy), wanted the battleship down in Camden to complement the NJ State Aquarium down there.

I told Pete I wasn't sure if I could stay 100 percent objective about that story. But, Pete surmised, "Well, Azzolina wants the battleship here in Bayonne. So, if you have a bias, it is to the battleship coming there and not down there (in Camden). So, in this case, I don't mind a little advocated journalism: Just don't go overboard (nice nautical pun)." I briefed up Big Joe about what Peter requested and he agreed. "For once I will be able to get some decent ink about this then," Big Joe joked. "It would be a hell of a lot easier if I just hired all the reporters that cover the news."

I wrote a series of articles about the battleship  I was very pleased with, actually. I was even told by Sen. Mattheusen he thought I was basically very true about everyone's point of view. I have to admit, I found John an incredibly likable fellow. I suppose the battleship going to Camden was something of a 'pyramid' for him. Anyhow, he got the ship, finally. And, it was sent to Camden, where it remains as of this writing.

I cannot count how many times my work was on the front-page of the Jersey Journal, though. I was having the best time as a writer. I was managing The Courier's reporters pretty well; giving them blocks of instruction on 'Reporter Basics,' and then I was off to Jersey City to cover this nasty, glorious, horrible and wonderful city for an editor I would put right there with Ben Bradley.

I first started writing news in the U.S. Army

Peter assigned me to the Union City Board of Education meeting as a steady diet. So, I show up in Union City after racing there from my newspaper down in the Jersey Shore. I get into the meeting and I am one of maybe five people in the audience. I was the rookie so I go over to a few of the board members milling around in the break room there. One of the annoyed board members looked at me and made a big deal about me not being allowed to talk, or "...even look..." at them while they were in the break room. I got an attitude.

'How am I going to cover the meeting without getting some additional comment about projects and initiatives I have not been around for?' I asked.

The response from the same board member was that it "wasn't his f-ing problem, and if you want a comment, go see our press liaison over there!" The now-hostile board member pointed to a neatly dressed man going over his papers at the dais. So, I went over. This was going to be a tough room.

It turns out that particular school board member did not speak English at all, or was not speaking it to me, at least. Alright, they want to play it like this -- fine by me. So, I go to the tape recorder I carry, just in case, and I start getting yelling comments from them about how the Spanish-speaking board member is the only one who can answer press questions. Otherwise, I have to put my questions in a letter and they will be answered when time permits.

This went on 10 minutes into the meeting. So, as they went up on the dais I started out the door. The mean board member said, "After all that, you're not stay?" I responded, 'Nope. Got my story.'

The next day, on the front page of Hudson County's largest newspaper, there was a story, by me, about how the Union City School Board had appointed a non-English speaker as their public spokesman.  I even got some "man on the street" opinions about the practice. It turned out being a good story.

If a reporter is going to cover a story and a tree falls in front of their car, preventing them from getting where they are supposed to be, then they should cover the fallen tree. There are no bad stories, just bad writers.

Well, I was getting all kinds of calls back from the Union City School Board, in particular that jerk. I deferred them all to Peter. By the way, Peter liked what I did. He thought it demonstrated intelligence, guts and creativity -- it was also "extremely well crafted and written." I never got a bigger compliment from anyone, about anything in my entire career.

Nevertheless, Pete sends me back to the Union City School Board the next session, a few weeks later. I come in and the same jerk from before was in the break room. Only, this time he comes out to greet me like I was the King of Siam or something. He was literally falling over himself wanting to help me, along with all the board members. In between my questions they were asking me if I could write another story, noting the board does not have a non-English speaking spokesperson.

'Yeah, bet that got you a few calls,' I smiled.

"I'm sorry," the jerk said.

'You could have been a lot sorrier,' I said. 'Glad you had an catharsis about this.'

The Union City School Board was Hudson County politics at its grittiest. But, they still lived and died by what the Journal said, like everyone else in Hudson County back then. We got along fine after that.

I met Peter a dozen times outside of work, and we used to go across to the newspaper place on the other side of the street from the V.I.P. Diner and we talked writing, news, compared what we were doing to what other papers were doing. It was like learning sculpture from Michelangelo.

I was reforming a lot about the way The Courier was doing things, making a little more money and working even later than I usually did. So, by the end of 2000 I really curtailed a lot of my stringing up North. I still called Peter sometimes to talk. I liked him. He was the brightest writer I ever met, and darn well one of the brightest people, at large, I ever knew.

I asked him once if he thought I was a good editor, over breakfast. He said, "No. You are a good reporter -- maybe even better than good. But, as an editor...no. That's my opinion."

Well, to be told I was a good writer by Pete was a big deal for me. At the same time, though, my actual profession now was editing and he didn't think I was very good at it. He saw my face and said, "Now, go prove me wrong. Come back here with two or three big issues and knock my socks off and make me see I am wrong. And, study. Study English more. Never stop."

I never spoke to Peter again. He died before I could.

I called his wife, Margaret, to express my condolences but didn't want to go to the funeral. Not for him and, later on, not for Big Joe. I got it, they were dead. I didn't need a production about it. I said prayers for both of them. And, still miss them both.