Delivered at his memorial celebration at George Washington University
Thank you all for coming today to remember Peter Caws. I’m his oldest daughter, Hilary Caws-Elwitt.
If my father were writing this, he would start with the etymology of the word “memorial.” Or, if I teased him about that, as I used to when I was a youngster, he might bring up today’s date and note that it contains three powers of two. Math, words: he was equally comfortable in many languages and many disciplines. He taught me a line from the Roman playwright Terence, “nothing human is alien to me” and lived its example. Others today will surely talk about the breadth of his scholarship, but the scope of his interests beyond academia was equally broad.
He had a tremendous appetite for life and he shared it with those around him. He loved poetry and memorized his favorites, which he would recite on demand – one of his many superpowers that delighted us as children. He wrote poetry as well. My most cherished birthday gift, for most of my life, was the annual poem he would create for me. Most of them are delightfully silly and funny, often excellent parodies of specific genres, but many are touching reflections on our life together.
He was one of the most well-read people I’ve ever met. We loved talking about books – he introduced me to many now-obscure writers I still enjoy, and we both had a taste for science fiction. Last year I had the opportunity to share his wonderful article, “Moral Certainty in Tolstoy,” with a book group reading Anna Karenina. His appreciation for film led to several fascinating-sounding courses – I wish I’d had the opportunity to sit in on his lectures.
From him I learned joy in physical activity. Some of my earliest toddler memories are of rides around Central Park in a little metal seat on the back of his bicycle, and riding on his shoulders on long walks. He loved rowing and for many years kept a kayak in the boathouse just down the street from here so he could paddle around the Potomac. I have that boat now and think of him every time I use it.
Peter was very handy and taught me how to use many tools. He built everything from shelves to furniture to an addition to our little stone cabin in France. But he wasn’t an expert and was always willing to try and fail, or be satisfied with something good enough. One of my fondest teenage memories is the recorder group we joined together. As an ensemble we muddled through various baroque pieces – we weren’t very good, but we had fun.
He loved gadgets and technology of all sorts. My career in IT traces back to the early personal computer he got for all of us from Radio Shack in 1980. He wrote a program to randomly display Mallarmé’s poem “a throw of the dice will never abolish chance” – a classic example of the ways he would think to fuse science and the arts. Another was his project “The Map of Knowledge.” It began as a course at Hunter in the 70s, introducing first-generation college students to the whole range of the humanities and the natural and social sciences. His ability to be a jack-of-all-trades inspired me, and he emphasized that knowing where to look something up was much more important than memorizing it. Undoubtedly one of the reasons I became a reference librarian as my first career!
Peter had endless faith in the capacity of humans to learn and understand, sometimes to a touchingly-idealistic extent. But he really could explain almost anything to almost anybody. I understand how airplanes fly because of the diagram of an airfoil he drew on a paper napkin in a restaurant when I was a child.
He was an excellent cook and I still make several of the unfussy, delicious recipes he taught me. He enjoyed wine, but I especially remember his fondness for sherry and liqueurs; a tradition I loved was staying up late on the first night of a visit, talking and talking over Benedictine and brandy. The never-flagging conversation was punctuated by jokes, old stories retold, and always ideas. It was so lovely to be able to visit frequently and enjoy the welcoming and happy home he and Nancy made together – she was the love of his life.
And above all he was the most wonderful father – nurturing, patient, kind, funny, affectionate, and supportive. I am so lucky to have been shaped and influenced by him. His life had a tremendous impact on me and so many others. If our individual lives are more wave than particle, the ripples he started will outlive us all.