Peter Yarrow Always Said Yes

Peter Yarrow died this week.

An unusual person, complex, beloved, he was one of the musicians who wrote the song track for so many of our lives.I’m not someone who knows many celebrities – unless you count my seventh grade interview, at Grossingers, of Jayne Mansfield for the Peck Observer (and even now, long after she’s been gone so she can’t dispute this, I would never claim Jayne Mansfield as a friend. What she did was answer my endless seventh grade questions with patience and grace, all the while wearing a leopardskin bikini. A picture I’ll never forget.) But I did know Peter Yarrow. Our circles overlapped.

We met at Clergy and Laity Concerned, one of my first jobs in New York. Peter was a good friend of Carl Rogers and Debra Wiley, two anti-war activists.They’d all become close in their fight against the Vietnam War.

Later, I saw Peter at the Upper Westside Seder of Paul and Rachel Cowan (celebrities in this neighborhood). Paul, a journalist for the Village Voice, was the son of Louis Cowan, a TV producer who became the head of CBS, His mother was an heir to the Spiegel catalogue fortune. Paul loved people, and had countless friends. His parents were Jewish, and very assimilated. After his parents died in a fire, he had a crisis of belief, and began to study Judaism with an Orthodox Rabbi on the Lower East Side. His beautiful book about the religious path he chose is still in print: An Orphan in History.

Paul and Rachel met in the Peace Corps. Rachel converted to Judaism in 1980, and later became a beloved Reform Rabbi. Together they worked to revitalize a synagogue on the Upper West Side, called Ansche Chesed. They wrote a book together: Mixed Blessings: Marriage between Jews and Christians.Their house became a center for Jewish activities, including an annual Seder. Their friend Peter Yarrow always sang at their annual Seder.

Peter himself was the son of well-educated Ukranian Jews. His parents divorced when he was young. Vera, Peter’s mother, married the executive director of Central Synagogue. His father converted to Christianity.

Peter began singing when he was at Cornell. There he met Lenny Lipton, another singer/songwriter who wrote, with Peter, Puff the Magic Dragon. Peter knew he wanted to sing early on. With the help of the agent Albert Grossman, who wanted an updated version of The Weavers, Peter recruited Mary Travers. He also asked Noel Stuckey to join them. Stuckey’s middle name was Paul. So Peter, Paul, and Mary was born. Lemon Tree was the first song they sang together. Then, the 1949 song Pete Seeger wrote with Lee Hays, If I Had a Hammer, about the wrongful imprisonment of Harlem City Councilman Benjamin J. Davis Jr.

Peter, Paul and Mary. Quickly they became wildly successful. And because I have always organized events, I would often ask Peter to sing.A lifetime activist, especially notable for his work against the war in Vietnam, but then later, for a slew of causes including unions and organizing, two of my own issues, Peter would always say yes.

I haven’t known many people who always say yes.

Even a year ago, when he was already sick with kidney cancer, I asked if he wanted to sing at the unveiling of the remarkable permanent memorial for the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, at the very spot where the fire took place.Even then, he didn’t say No, If he felt up to it, he’d come.

Last spring, when he was even weaker, he sang at a gorgeous tribute at B’nai Jeshurun Synagogue for his friend Bert Pogrebin. And although he was fragile, his voice quieter, he was beautiful too. Moving and present.

When he died I thought about Yes and No. Why some people are in the Yes category (They will always be happy to talk. Always be happy to meet for a good drink, a cup of coffee, a Negroni) and some people always say No. Paid professionals often ascribe yes and no proclivities to What Happened in Your Childhood. I wonder if that is true.

Like every single one of us, Peter had challenges. So many of us will miss him.

He wrote beautiful songs, and sang when songs were needed. We certainly need more music now.