RIP Peter Yarrow

Backstage reunion after a concert in Milwaukee in 2015, with me, Peter, Elizabeth, Noah, and Dave. My sister, Amy, took the pic.

I met Peter Yarrow in early January 1990, when my cousin, Debbie, sang with him at a conference at Columbia University. He, Bella Abzug and Ben Cohen, co-founder of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, were being honored that night. He sang, Ben passed out Peace Pops (so good!), and Bella wore a big hat.

After the event, my mom, aunt, cousin, and I climbed into a cab, and instead of heading back across the river to our hotel in New Jersey, which is what I was expecting, we were driven to Peter’s apartment.

I was 29, on winter break during the second year of my MFA program in creative writing at Cornell. I’d driven to Short Hills, New Jersey for the weekend because my mom was going to be there with Debbie and Aunt Freda, who lived in California and whom I rarely saw. I was mostly expecting a family reunion and a couple of chances to see Debbie perform. I certainly didn’t expect to meet the man who wrote Puff the Magic Dragon and who had sung some of my favorite songs growing up, nor did I expect him to serve me cranberry juice, or to listen while he reminisced about the heyday of the group that made him famous.

I was so awestruck I don’t recall saying anything to him beyond “Yes please,” when he offered me the juice, and “Thank you,” when I accepted it and also before we left the apartment to finally return to New Jersey.

It was only when I got back to Cornell that I realized, Peter Yarrow studied here! Why didn’t I tell him I’m studying at his alma mater? We could have bonded over that! But I’d been too awestruck. I got his address from Debbie and wrote him a thank-you note, in which I noted our Cornell connection. I can’t remember if he wrote back.

A year and a half later, my then-boyfriend, now husband, David, was getting ready to turn in his doorstop of a PhD thesis at Yale. The two of us had been up until the wee hours of the night, making corrections so he could print it off (in two volumes—that’s how long it was) and turn it in. The next day I left him at a photocopy machine and went to visit friends in New Haven, arranging to meet him and his friend Dwight for lunch at York Pizza at the edge of the campus.

I arrived early and got a table, and waited. And waited. And waited. I was getting bored and frustrated and started glancing around the restaurant and there, a couple of tables away, was Peter Yarrow. I couldn’t believe it. What were the odds? I never expected to see him in person again, and there he was. At York Pizza. Eating lunch.

I worked up my nerve and went to introduce myself.

“I’m Debby Waldman,” I said. “Debbie Friedman’s cousin. I met you a year and—”

“I remember you,” he said in his lovely, warm voice. “How are you? What brings you here?”

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” I explained. “He’s turning in his PhD thesis. How about you?”

He introduced me to his daughter, Bethany, who was studying at Yale, and explained that they’d been visiting his mom at a hospice in Branford. I said goodbye, shaking because I was so excited, and then I headed back to my table.

“You’ll never believe who’s here!” I said to Dave and Dwight when they finally showed up. “Peter Yarrow! He’s right over there!” They didn’t seem nearly as excited as I was. Even when Peter stopped by the table with Bethany and I introduced them all, and Peter became the first person to congratulate Dave on turning in his thesis, the two guys were friendly and polite but they weren’t nearly as starstruck as I was. I was impressed with their cool.

Then, when Peter and Bethany were out of earshot, nearly out the door, Dwight said to me, “Who was that again?” and I said, “Peter Yarrow.”

No recognition, whatsoever.

“From Peter, Paul and Mary,” I added.

That’s when he and Dave nearly fell off their chairs. “That was Peter?”

So much for their cool.

Important lesson: context is everything. Peter Yarrow meant nothing to them. Peter, Paul, and Mary—that was a different story altogether.

All these years later, Dave still tells people that Peter from Peter, Paul and Mary was the first person to congratulate him after he turned in his PhD thesis. (It’s true!)

In 2015, our family—which by then included our 19-year-old daughter and 17-year-old son—went to Milwaukee to see my mom, my sister, and her family. Peter and Paul were giving a concert in town that week. We saw the show, and then went backstage where we had a lovely reunion and Peter got to meet our kids. All memories to treasure.

RIP, Peter. You will live on through your music.