PETER SCHULTZ, IV

May 19, 2008
By RB Scott
Boston

Over the years we schooled together, I became rather familiar with the back of Pete Schultz’s head, a fate born of arranging over-crowed classrooms alphabetically: Schultz precedes Scott. You get the picture.  

Pete’s hair was dark and wavy then; soaking wet he could not have weighed more than a couple of Turkey Red sacks of flour; his head was easy to see over because he stood only 5’6 or 5’7 on tippy-toes, much less slouching low in a student desk. Like so many other talented people in our class, he was easy to overlook in other ways because he was quiet, self-effacing and painfully shy, hauntingly shy (if your memory fails, revisit page 72 of our junior yearbook).

In short or long, then he was a mere wraith of a fellow compared to the large man, in every way, we re-encountered for the first and last time at our 40th reunion.

As our 45th was adawning, Pete was putting the final changes on his dream home in Arizona while he waited for a replacement heart that would be as big as the one life’s hard knocks had worn out. Ron Butler helped Pete sort out some of the technical complexities associated with the process of getting in line for a new heart. And, of course, we all prayed that things would turn out well, knowing that life rarely ends well for any of us.

Meantime, Pete was doing his damnedest to live large. When we went looking for help to underwrite some extraordinary costs for our 40th reunion, Pete wrote a huge check and sent me a private note: "If you need more, just let me know." We did and he sent more.

Separated by a couple thousand miles, we carried on a lively conversation on line thereafter. Ross Stark, until he passed on, Mark Theodore, Bill Cordray, Chris Blakesley, Doug Bailey, Marsha Horiuchi, Bill Bacon, Mike Snyder and others were part of private conversations that turned lurid whenever Pete passed along a particularly stunning work of "art" (he had a knack for finding such things).

As Chris noted, Pete seemed to delight in sticking pins in our bleeding heart liberal pipe dreams even though in reality, if in the closet, Brother Schultz was the biggest bleeder of us all.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that he had led a pretty tough life – the low point had to be pulling his children from his burning home only to have them die in his arms, literally. It is a miracle he survived that shock. But he did. Aching inside and conquering some ferocious personal demons along the way, he moved on and thrived, joyfully. For instance, I learned his sartorial preferences were limited to colorful Hawaiian shirts and high UV-rated sunscreens.

I had hoped to see him at our 45th later this year (2008). Actually, I planned to hit him up for a little more money if we got in a jam again. Alas, it is not to be.

This Sunday while the memorial to Pete Schultz, IV winds on in Arizona, I plan to stage my own private tribute in our yard, overlooking a sylvan meadow just west of Boston. If you are in the neighborhood, please do drop in. In honor of Pete, I wearing only some high UV sunscreen.