Seven Days now reporting that Peter Freyne has died. It is the death of an institution, of course, a raucous one-man muck-raking institution. Freyne did what he did better than anyone, a rare perfect meshing of man and vocation.

Peter Freyne observes Michael Wood-Lewis during the Blogger’s Bistro. Freyne was recovering from chemo-therapy at the time.

There’s been no reason to say so until now, but this blog began with a kind note from Freyne, about a VPR commentary I wrote on Vermont’s role in opposing the Bush Administration. He ended that note with the word “Bravo!” And that one word of praise, coming as it did from that one very particular guy, was enough to make me think I had it in me to write about politics on a daily basis.

But as much as I respected Peter’s writing, I respected him more when he put the pen down. He decided, a while back, that he wanted to enjoy life, to leave the mud to be raked by others. And I had the sense that he was tired of taking sides. He wanted and needed, it seemed, to be on everyone’s side in the end.

And he was. Rest in peace, Peter. Bravo.

Late Update, Thursday, 8:13 am:

Much mail on Freyne, all of it full of unique remembrances and heartfelt appreciation. I’ll post updates for the next few days, as they roll in. The first, from Laura down south:

“A heartfelt nod, Philip, on a very sad day. Peter was tremendously generous, uncompromising and a talented guy. He guest-spoke in my classes when I taught at Woodbury and always violated my urges to keep it clean — with a wink and a smile.”

Freyne on the job, at the now-infamous Club Obama event, September 2007

And this, a literary memory laced with the sights and sounds of Chicago, from Don:

“Peter was a Chicago boy, I believe, and — like me — he absolutely adored Nelson Algren. I once told him I had an autographed copy of CHICAGO: CITY ON THE MAKE, and his envy glowed.

“This is from Algren’s THE NEON WILDERNESS: “Then I remembered the trusting sort I was when I met him, ‘n if it hadn’t been for him I never would of knew the life I’ve had at all ‘n I didn’t feel sorry no more. I felt glad. I thought of the rookie ‘n poured myself a stiff one. He sat lookin’ down at my shot glass till I got all tight inside. Then the juke began Ella Fitzgerald singin’ ‘Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone.’”