The Legend of Peter Thonis

Peter Thonis was my boss for 12 years, retiring 10 years ago. Late last week, a family friend called with the news that Peter had died.

As his son Chris posted on Facebook, Peter’s doctors told him he had 3 months to live, given his Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

 

Peter’s reaction? “You can’t base this stuff off of years-old data. And, as you know, I’m not the norm.”

 

That was 17 months ago. Peter was not the norm; he was transcendent.

 

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Here are 3 scenes of what it was like to work with Peter Thonis:

 

Scene 1

I try to call Peter on an important matter, and he answers with a whisper. “I can’t talk now,” he says. “I'm in a doctor's office.”

 

I say, “OK, I understand…”

 

He doesn’t seem to hear me, though, because he goes on to explain that he was about to undergo walk-in surgery to repair a stomach scar covering stitches that had never healed properly.

 

“But it's something I'd rather not talk about,” he says.

 

“OK,” I repeat. “I get it. We’ll talk some other time.”

 

Instead of silence, I hear Peter’s dramatic whisper on the other end of the line.

 

“It was a knife wound,” he says conspiratorially. “It was from a fight when I was young.”

 

Scene 2

I walk into Peter’s office and say, “I need to leave work early today. My mother-in-law is coming for dinner.”

 

Peter: “I know what that’s like. Go! GO NOW!”

 

I head toward the door.

 

“Wait!” he calls out, “Unless you want me to think of something for you to do right now, so you have to work late tonight.”

 

Scene 3

Peter arrives at my office door at 8 a.m. to say good morning. We were working in an office tower at 1095 Ave. of the Americas, the same building where my Dad used to work. He’s completely out of breath.

 

“I’m going hiking with my brother this week in the White Mountains. I’m walking up the 32 flights in the morning to get used to climbing again.”

 

Peter spies an unopened bottle on my desk. “Could I trouble you for some soda?” he asks.

 

“Of course,” I quickly untwist the top and hand it to him.

 

“I really hate to do this,” he says, taking a swig and immediately regaining his wind.

 

“Wait!” He waves the plastic bottle in front of him. “Is this diet Coke?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good!” he exclaims, hurrying off.

 

30 minutes later, I get a phone call from Peter.

 

“Was there an 8:30 meeting?” he asks.

 

“No, you canceled that last week.”

 

“Good, because I was on the 8:30 call, and no one was there.”

 

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These scenes do not portray Peter’s excellence in actually doing his job.

 

This is a photo of him with our friend and co-worker Valerie Vedda. The occasion was when Peter received the Communicator of the Year Award from IABC-NJ (International Association of Business Communicators) in 2006. Peter’s formal obituary outlines his many other career accomplishments, but here’s one real-life example of his work ethic:

 

On Veterans’ Day weekend 22 years ago, I was mildly annoyed during a day off to interrupt my leaf raking at my suburban home to return a message from Christine Nuzum of Dow Jones. It was about possible phone service problems. I logged in to work and discovered it was in light of the crash of American Airlines Flight 587 in Queens. In the short time it took me to get back to Christine, I also discovered that she had reached out to Peter simultaneously, and he had already responded.

 

Peter had been hiking on a mountaintop in southern New Hampshire. The wind-chill factor approached minus 20 degrees, but he had stripped away three layers of protective clothing to get to his pager, find his cell phone, and dial her back without his gloves on.

 

When it came to Public Relations, he single-handedly prevented multiple media disasters over the years.

 

Here are 5 representative, if unorthodox, PR lessons I learned from Peter Thonis:

• Regarding crisis communications, the most effective operating philosophy can be summarized in one phrase: “Go ugly early.”
• Regarding leaks to the media, the advice is this: “A leak isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If it isn’t material, it may be just interesting.”
• “There’s a thin line between being a ‘thought leader’ and becoming a ‘poster boy.’”
• “You can’t say the word ‘jerk’ to the Daily News and not expect to be quoted.”
• Regarding a fallback PR position on just about anything… When in doubt, your standby sound bite should always be, “Bring it on.”

Peter was also able to make tough decisions with ridiculous ease. He once described this side of his management style. He said, “You know, Bob, you only have to shoot one person, and it will never happen again.”

 

By far, his best quote about PR came in the middle of an otherwise meandering, boring meeting. Out of nowhere, he suddenly said this:

 

“Our goal shouldn't be to find a better way to tell the same story. Our goal should be to find a better story to tell.”

 

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As for the person, here are 10 facts about Peter (never call him “Pete”) Thonis:

• He couldn’t say the word “surreptitious”
• His favorite finger food at a reception was pigs in a blanket
• At one time in his life, he was recruited by the CIA
• He allegedly had the ability to stuff an entire orange in his mouth
• He once sat at the bar at Kennedy’s (now closed) on West 57th Street and watched an entire baseball game (Peter was a huge sports fan) with Bill Murray -- but only because he was clever enough not to acknowledge who Bill Murray was
• He had a pathological hatred for the New England clam chowder as served in the Verizon Center cafeteria, fondly recalling how his Mom made chowder from fresh ingredients
• He once made a map for my family to follow that highlighted a week’s worth of activities on Cape Cod, adding the warning: “Avoid Hyannis”
• He could, and would, show you how to use a wristwatch as a compass
• He was an expert limerick writer
• Peter and I both, unbeknownst to each other at the time, took violin lessons in late middle age

In truth, that last point is one of the only things we had in common.

 

I could never match Peter’s strength or confidence… or empathy. I recall his big heart. I recall his comforting embrace of a tearful co-worker as we all stood in stunned silence from our panoramic 32nd-floor view of the burning World Trade Center towers on 9/11.

 

I recall his support at the funeral home in Totowa, NJ, and his patience and kindness to my family after my Dad died. Peter revealed that he was filled with anger that his own father had passed away in his 50s.

 

I also recall only one day in our 12 years together that he did not show up where I expected him. When I asked Valerie about it that day, thinking he was perhaps unreachable because he had lost his 7th… or 8th… or 9th Blackberry device, she confided that Peter had taken off in his car for New Hampshire in the pre-dawn hours to attend to a health emergency involving his best friend.

 

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By coincidence, I had lunch with Valerie and her husband earlier this month in New York City. She spoke fondly of visiting post-retirement Peter at his mountainside home (that, when described, seemed akin to the setting of “The Shining”).

 

Excuse all the movie references, but Peter was a bit of a film buff. I’ve had other bosses who loved movies… notably, earlier in my career, Tony Pappas.

 

I began writing this on November 10th, the 5th anniversary of Tony’s death. He was another larger-than-life boss who led media relations for New York Telephone (later NYNEX). I’ve likened Tony to Peter O’Toole’s swashbuckling character in the 1982 movie “My Favorite Year.”

 

I never thought I’d work for anyone like Tony again. Until I met Peter Thonis.

 

Both, foremost, shared a love of exquisite writing.

 

Both had great, though differing, tastes in movies. Tony liked foreign films and “The Godfather” franchise. Peter was more of a fan of “Igby Goes Down”-type films and had an irrational love of Godzilla movies.

 

One of Peter’s favorite movie scenes was from 1997’s “As Good As It Gets.” It’s when Jack Nicholson compliments Helen Hunt by saying, “You make me want to be a better man.”

 

That statement, that scene, resonated with Peter, who always strove to be better.

 

I’ve thought of this often these past few days. It’s inspiring.

 

I’ve also thought of a post-credit scene to give these words a fitting ending:

 

In 2012, Peter sent everyone on his Christmas list, including his Mom, packages from Wine Country with a note, “Enjoy every moment of the holidays.” But someone hacked into the order and changed the message to “Enjoy every f**k’n moment!”

 

Such simple, profound advice, no matter how it’s phrased. Who knows what the future holds for any of us?

 

I only know what Peter Thonis, the legend, would have to say about that:

 

Bring it on.

Moonlight in Chatham during a family visit inspired by Peter

Middletown NJ Photography Exhibit: My Reflections

Below are my four contributions to the photography exhibit hosted by the mighty Black Glass Gallery on the theme of "reflections." The opening reception (which is always fun) is Friday, Nov. 3, from 6-9 p.m. at the Middletown Arts Center, and the exhibit will be on display until after Thanksgiving. Hope to see you there! (I'll be arriving a little later, because "traffic to the shore on Friday night" is always traffic to the shore on Friday night... even in November.)

Captions in haiku.

One Vanderbilt

Mirrors in the sky.

Crowds multiplied, divided,

rarified, alone.

Trump World Tower

Vanishing fortress,

haunted by neighboring clouds,

surrounded by ghosts.

Museum of Modern Art

Visiting MOMA,

two lovers reimagine

Rene Magritte’s kiss.

Jersey City

I’m head over heels.

You turn my world upside down.

I never forget.

Here are four others on the same theme, not on display in Middletown but (of course) on my Instagram accounts: @bvarphotos and @foundinnj 🙂

Rain Won't Stop Saturday's Paterson Poetry Festival; See You There?

Rain won't dampen the conclusion of the annual Paterson Poetry Festival, scheduled for Saturday, Oct. 21.

I just heard that due to the inclement weather, the venue has been moved from the steps of Court House Plaza to International High School, at 200 Grand St. in Paterson... where there will still be vendors and food trucks and poetry from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.

It's a resilient bunch, and Allen Ginsberg would be proud.

You can read more about the festival by following Word Seed Inc. on social media. It's a great organization, led by Talena Lachelle Queen, Paterson's Poet Laureate since 2018.

At last year's event, I met some wonderful people, including poet Dimitri Reyes, representing CavanKerry Press. Since January, I've been trying -- "trying" being the operative word -- to write poems following weekly prompts from him.

Dimitri is encouraging and supportive. I love the music in his poetry and his readings, and I look forward to hearing and meeting more poets on Saturday.

The past two prompts from Dimitri this October have been:

1. "Spend some time thinking about 2 poems and 1 song that you really enjoy. Read the three of them together and see what conversation they're creating. Try your hand and putting these different lines together into one poem."

2. "Read this wonderful essay by Franchesca Melendez about Sami Miranda. Listen to his poem as well. Write a poem about any of the faces illustrated by Miranda."

See my attempts below. Anyone can be a poet!

Kinda. 🙂

See you in Paterson on Saturday?

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Annabel Brightside Alone

From childhood’s hour,

I have never been as others were.

I never, I never

understood the destiny

calling me.

This mystery that binds me still.

The sick lullabies

I intoned, reciting the poetry of Poe

to our children.

As if I were a child too.

My all-consuming jealousy,

this demon in my view,

has taken control.

Even now, as I approach my tomb.

Eyes open, seeing the price I paid,

I covet the angels.

They remind me of you.

My darling, my life, my bride.

It started out as a kiss.

How did it end up like this?

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Illustration by Sami Miranda

Greetings From Budd Lake

It’s Taco Tuesday at Buccaboo’s Burritos,

where poetry isn’t for sale.

It must be prompted,

summoned from the ordinary.

It must be earned.

So I consider your face:

Your eyes closed,

allowing me to see your pain.

The fluorescent highlights in your golden hair

mocking this red October.

Your exasperated expression

trivializing my attempt at transcendence.

Forgive me, Senora.

Forgive these lunatic scribblings,

freezing time on the margins of this receipt,

conjuring your apotheosis. 

Things to Do When You're Invisible

Coney Island boardwalk; I was one of the NPCs

I have reached the age where I am invisible to most people.

I recently roamed the Coney Island boardwalk, after struggling to wash up in a Maimonides Park restroom because my hands could not activate any of its motion-sensitive faucets, happily taking cell phone photos without anyone seeming to notice, or care.

I felt like an NPC, a non-player character in a video game. Everyone else was a participant; I was an observer.

The funny thing is, when I was a boy, I thought invisibility was the world's greatest superpower. It would allow me complete freedom. I could do whatever I wished without consequence.

I realize now, after all these years, how mistaken that is. Invisibility can be fun sometimes, but on the whole, it is the curse of the marginalized.

The one true superpower is the ability to stop time.

Tiny statues in a prayer garden near home

Last week in my hometown in suburban New Jersey, I nursed a serving of shaved ice at a new shop in one of the borough's strip malls. Of course, none of the young attendants or patrons were paying attention to me.

So I watched, unnoticed, as one of the employees adjusted the satellite radio providing the background music. She stopped at a station playing the opening bars of "Your Song."

I do not believe, from her reaction, that she had ever heard this song before. Not the original, anyway. It's more than 50 years old, from another generation and culture. Even the seemingly inimitable voice of Elton John, who just this weekend concluded his farewell tour in real life, was almost unrecognizable in its clarity and immediacy.

The young woman was mesmerized. After another minute, she said aloud to no one: "Wow! This is really good!"

And just like that, Elton John's song had suspended time.

That's what excellence does. The creators who conjure these moments possess Superman's power to pause and even reverse the earth's spin on its axis, keeping us all a little further from death.

That's the superpower I long to possess.

Walking home that evening, I wandered through the church grounds where our family has its name inscribed on a brick in the pavement by its front entrance -- as if that were permanent. The pastor was walking his dog. I waved to him, but he evidently didn't see me... or he ignored me, assuming I was (as I am in the confessional) just a random trespasser.

I continued through the neighborhood, wondering how it stays so light out so late these days, when I was startled by rustling branches in the tall, landscaped bushes at my back. Something hit the ground with a thud that was substantial enough to feel under my feet.

I turned and saw a deer. It stopped and stared at me. Or through me. It didn't run away.

I took its photo and turned for home. I knew that at least I could write about it all.

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How to Write the Great New Milford Poem

 

Before you start,

You must accept you are invisible.

 

You live in the suburbs.

People walk dogs past your house,

In front of your white picket fence.

Sometimes they stop and peer

Into your dining room window,

Pointing in your direction,

As if they’ve seen a ghost.

 

They don’t know you can see them.

You do not participate in Little League baseball,

Or Junior League football.

Your children left home long ago.

 

The town pool has closed without warning.

Its parking lot, empty; its grounds, overgrown.

Your family used to swim there.

The Burger King is still open.

Decades ago, the borough attorney

Protested the “Home of the Whopper” sign

Because he said it insulted Italian Americans.

Your children used to eat there.

 

Begin now by offering a prayer to Bertha Reetz

At her abandoned stone in the French Burial Ground.

Remain calm when you hear gunshots

From the range behind the Recycling Center.

The police are shooting blanks, scattering the deer

In your town’s only remaining sliver of woods

Along the Hackensack River.

 

Gather the scraps of your neighbors’ families:

Sticky, dirt-crusted Dairy Queen napkins and cups

Littering the curbside along River Road.

Cross the street to the garbage can

At the bus stop outside Canterbury Village.

Use extreme caution. You are invisible to traffic.

 

You return home alone.

You start to write a poem.

Reviews of My Past 10 Books, With Thanks to Mother Cabrini

This is me with Ana Almanzar, founder of the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation Book Club. Ana recently left our foundation to become Deputy Mayor of New York City. Lately, my colleague Clare Meehan has led the club, and I bet she will one day become U.S. President.

In 2023, I haven't been as active reading books or posting Goodreads reviews. Since the pandemic, my reading has taken a back seat to doom-scrolling the news, streaming videos (highly recommended: "Only Murders in the Building"), and getting my heart broken by the New York Mets.

I wouldn't even have read the books I'm posting about here, save for the intervention of Mother Cabrini -- or, I should say, my colleagues at the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation who have been participating in a book club for the past year.

It's been a lot of fun... mostly because my younger, extremely smart, and very well-read colleagues are always choosing books that I would never have picked on my own. This has led to some exciting discoveries. Such as Exhibit 1:

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

We have a book club at work, so I needed to read it and thought I wouldn't like it... not being a gamer, or even having an interest in gaming, and having never read anything by this author. I only knew it as "Bill Gates' favorite recent book." It turns out it's now my favorite recent book too. I was surprised and delighted. It was well-written, lyrical, and profoundly moving. I was underlining passages and often reacting out loud as I read. This is a wonderful book, in real life. Thank you, Ana, and thank you, Clare. Best book club pick. Ever. 

Many of the book club's other selections were just about as good, worthwhile, and revelatory. Exhibit 2:

Take My Hand by Dolen Perkins-Valdez
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Nicely done. The story kept me interested, and the book inspired me to research the historical issues. This was a book club selection during Black History Month, and it has encouraged me to expand the range of what I read. This one reminded me somewhat of one of my all-time favorites, "To Kill a Mockingbird."

I could say just about the same for these four books:

All were rewarding and thought-provoking -- although, honestly, I only voted to read "The Happiest Man on Earth" because I thought it would be a short, happy book. SPOILER ALERT: Eddie may indeed be happy, but even after reading his relatively short book, I can't imagine why.

I'm leaving out "The Reluctant Fundamentalist" because I had already read and reviewed it more than five years earlier (on advice from another work colleague at a former job), and "The Givers" by David Callahan, which we at the Mother Cabrini Health Foundation all collectively gave up on during the past holiday season, probably because it reminded us all too much of work.

The only two books our club read that I didn't like were Exhibits 3 and 4:

The Sympathizer by Viet Thanh Nguyen
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I honestly couldn't finish this book. I found the writing pretentious and dense, and I kept thinking, "This writer needs an editor." Then I got to the scene with the squid, and I gave up.

And then, silly me, I read that this is the author's debut novel, and it won the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.

I put this in the category of the Oscar-winning movie, "Everything Everywhere All at Once," which I also disliked. It's obvious I just don't get it, but it's also just as obvious I'll never win a Pulitzer or an Oscar. So I can't give this less than three stars on the basis of subjectivity.

Still, I won't be finishing this book. Life is too short. On a related note, here's The Onion weighing in this week about people who don't read the books they review on Goodreads 🙂 --> https://www.theonion.com/goodreads-no... 

The Long Game: How to Be a Long-Term Thinker in a Short-Term World by Dorie Clark
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I really only learned one thing from this book: I had no idea there were that many consultants in the world. 

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On my own, I've found I tend to read books with practical applications or offering advice. I need all the help I can get. Here are two recent reads I found useful:

Conversations with People Who Hate Me: 12 Things I Learned from Talking to Internet Strangers by Dylan Marron
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I admire Dylan Marron and his approach to humanizing social interactions on the Internet. Hate should not be a game. The perspective offered in this book is more life-affirming, and I now constantly think of Dylan's mantra that "empathy is not endorsement." I can only hope it makes me a more empathetic person in this new, odd, gamified world. A good, fast, uplifting read.

 

How Magicians Think: Misdirection, Deception, and Why Magic Matters by Joshua Jay
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Trusting our inner child is a central lesson in this collection of anecdotes. The author adds insights that unveil the magician's mindset while encouraging self-reflection. After reading this book, I more deeply admire the dedication and professionalism of magicians, their tireless work behind the scenes, and their profound impact on our sense of wonder. Magic DOES matter. 

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I'm currently reading "The Creative Act" by Rick Rubin -- which I had suggested to our club in favor of "Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow." Silly me. I'm still searching for that elusive "short, happy book." I told Clare I may have to write one, and she told me she would read it. So now the pressure is on, and I'll be relying on Rick to guide me. I also look forward to Viet Thanh Nguyen's review of my writing.

Finally, I need to read "A Swim in a Pond in the Rain" by George Saunders, a copy of which my best friend gave me some time ago.

I really need to learn to be a better friend. I wonder if there's a book offering advice about that.

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PS- Let's turn this up to 11! Here's my review of "The Creative Act," which I finished in mid-July:

The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I found this book full of encouragement and insight... however, I do not recommend listening to the Audible version, as I tried to. I'd give the Audible version only 3 stars. I did not think Rick Ruben was an effective narrator, but what he has to say is genuinely worthwhile. As an audiobook, it's seemingly an endless parade of aphorisms (i.e., "even spontaneity can improve with practice") that fly by too quickly to consider the proper context. If you read this book -- and if you are interested in the creative process, I DO highly recommend it -- consider purchasing a physical copy... and a companion workbook.

View all my Goodreads reviews

The Evolution of a Saturday

Posting here about an ordinary Saturday, which began when I noticed a Rambler Rose blooming on a vine that my wife and I feared had died over the past winter.

Later, we traveled to Queens to see the New York Mets -- who lost. It was cold and windy where we sat. The day before, the temperature had reached 90. The scoreboard said the temperature was 63 at game time, and it never changed, but it seemed much colder in the wind.

At the end of our row of seats sat a couple with a baby. A man sitting next to me with his son returned from a food run in the early innings with a wool Mets hat he had purchased for the couple's baby. They were strangers when the game began; they left as friends.

At the end of the game, Mets relief pitcher Adam Ottavino (an excellent photographer who, like me, grew up a Yankees fan) talked to the New York Post about his time with the Mets and Yankees. He said the modern Yankees fan has "a little bit more of an expectation of perfect play and an All-Star at every position. Whereas I think the Mets fan, the expectation isn't quite as high. It's more of a level of hope."

Hope is a journey where great things are possible but not expected. I prefer this approach to life: the unexpected act of kindness, the unexpected rose.

While we were at the game, my daughter stopped by our house to feed the cats. She texted photos of post-prandial Batman, illustrating an essential lesson in portrait photography: the angles make all the difference. 🙂

Before returning home, we stopped for a Guinness and a Harp at a favorite Irish bar -- The Cottage in Teaneck, NJ. The bartender there reminded my wife of her late brother, who lived a kind, too-short life. We toasted him.

The place was filled with laughter. Small groups of friends were competing in a trivia contest, and one woman wore a black sweatshirt proclaiming, "Pigeons Are Liars." On one of the TV screens above the bar, I watched Aaron Judge -- my favorite baseball player even though he's a Yankee -- crash through the rightfield bullpen gate at Dodger Stadium to rob J.D. Martinez of at least a double.

On the journey home, I stopped to take a photo of St. Mark's Episcopal Church. Every Sunday, I post images of churches in New Jersey on one of my Instagram accounts.

It's an odd hobby, but it often fills me with hope.

Haiku at Sandy Hook

Emerald City.

I can see it from Jersey.

There is no wizard.

It's no secret: I love New York's skyline, and I often write haikus about the city: Exhibit 1 and Exhibit 2.

The view above is an edited version of what you'd see about 20 miles away from the northernmost point of Sandy Hook Reservation in New Jersey.

In un-filtered real life, you can even pan right to see the Parachute Jump, the iconic, now-dormant ride at Coney Island:

I visited Sandy Hook last weekend with photography friends from Black Glass Gallery.

These next few days are an ideal time to visit for yourself. Sandy Hook is part of Gateway National Recreation Area. If you get there before Memorial Day, there is no entrance fee and no charge for parking. It's a wonderful place to explore, with plenty of room to avoid crowds.

As Friend ChatGPT tells me, the park is named after the Sandy Hook Peninsula, which is a narrow strip of land that extends for several miles into the Atlantic Ocean. One of the main features of the park is the Sandy Hook Lighthouse, built in 1764 and one of the oldest lighthouses in the U.S. Visitors can climb to the top for panoramic views.

Another popular attraction at Sandy Hook is Fort Hancock, is a former military base that was active from the late 1800s until the mid-20th century. Visitors can tour the old barracks, gun batteries, and other historic structures at the fort.

Still, for me, it's the view from this platform, looking about 20 miles to the north, that's the biggest highlight:

I can't help myself. Just yesterday, Google Photos randomly sent me this video compilation of the New York City skyline photos from my photo cloud -- many taken from the back of a NJ Transit bus commuting to or from work. Google randomly chose a great Tears for Fears song as a soundtrack too (and assures me it is not a copyright violation :)

I love New York, even if there is no wizard there.