People will remember how you made them feel…A legacy.
Joe's Training Mask
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
― Maya Angelou
This past week I mourned the death of a favorite coach and mentor, Joe Pechinsky. He was 92. A retired Peabody firefighter, fencing coach and noted artist, died peacefully Thursday morning, Sept. 22, 2011 at the Radius Health Care Center in Danvers after a long illness. He was first employed in the leather industry working in the tanneries of Peabody and got his inspiration to do his paintings of the Peabody tanneries that are now in the Essex Museum in Salem and the Peabody Historical Society in Peabody. In 1940, he enlisted in the U.S. Army serving five years and was a survivor of the Pearl Harbor Attack on Dec. 7, 1941. He later served in the Pacific theatre campaign prior to his discharge in 1945. More about his life and accomplishments are available in the links below.
I had the good fortune to meet him in 1994. I was at a fencing clinic, many of the New England coaches were there. Kids went in rotation to each one, received lessons and were generally drilled into the ground on tennis courts in the hot sun, wearing heavy, sweaty gear–it was the perfect outlet for me. After working with him a while we concluded our lesson and he said “she does not rotate, I will keep her for the week.” And it was done. I drove from Amherst to Peabody for lessons whenever my classes or fencing schedule would allow. We would work in hallways of municipal buildings when they were likely to be vacant or (my favorite) under the apple trees in his back yard, there was a dirt path (worn by me and probably others). I’d sit there soaking wet on a towel and he’d give me orange juice (with no pulp) and salted cashews. He often played George and Gracie comedy albums and we’d talk about the craziness of current politics and how something was lost when people didn’t find George and Gracie funny anymore.
The Gear. No one will wear it quite the way he did.
For me Joe represented a sort of John Wooden-type who never really was recognized (nor did he seek it). He valued and wanted to work with people with strong work ethics, could give correction without causing resentment and above all, treated kids as people. John Wooden said once: “Adversity is the state in which man most easily becomes acquainted with himself, being especially free of admirers then.” Joe amplified qualities in me I didn’t know I had and some I wasn’t able to tap into until much later in life.
Joe focused on character rather than reputation, because it was our character that got us through our losses, gave us energy to drill on a doorknob or a hanging ball for hours as at time…and taught us that reputation is merely what others think you are–and that doesn’t really matter much at the end of the day.
He never coached from the strip, letting his fencers perform on their own, while other coaches took every time out. He had a great gift for holding his fencers accountable to their practice. He guided aggression into assertiveness with fine tuning and turning simple drills into some kind of insight into my soul: why was I hesitating when I had it in my hands?, why was I over-committing to a touch? why wasn’t I looking at multiple solutions? why did I hang on to my losses? Joe taught me that failure wasn’t fatal. At the time I struggled with adaptation in the context of fencing (and elsewhere). There were times I could only see one way out of a given situation; my problem here was the most of the time, my directness worked. Joe provided a safe place to become vulnerable to such insights. I learned that perfection in lessons would only take me so far; that if I wasn’t making mistakes, I wasn’t really making much movement.
He also helped me celebrate my wins and learn my strengths. That I was a fast thinker was good, he helped slow me down a bit enough to “play” more with my opponent. That I had strength and hunger worked in my favor; I never gave up. I didn’t learn to actually “have fun” until much later. He would give commemorative coins to those students he wanted to encourage, I received several of these over the time I worked with him. At his wake, I put a few coins in his pocket–to reciprocate a gesture that had meant so much to me.
In the end though, Joe’s legacy to me was that success came from knowing that I did my best to become the best that I was capable of becoming…for him, and for myself. He encouraged me in the rest of my life too, sending thoughtful cards on my birthday and Christmas for several years until he fell ill…recognizing educational and career accomplishments. For him, it wasn’t just about the sport but about the whole person.
Joe…I love you, I’m so very grateful to have crossed paths with you if only for a brief period of time…and if I have half the impact on someone else’s life, I will have lived well.
Last Bells, the 555, at Joe's Firehouse in Peabody.
Obituary Links:
Hi Christine,
I was one of the others that helped wear that strip in Joe’s backyard in Peabody. I was just telling a friend about the orange juice- he used to keep giving it to me until I thought I would burst.
I knew that many others had that same experience from Joe, but it still amazes me that one man could be so much to so many people, and I am so happy to have been one of them.
Thanks for sharing the story.
John Anderson