Frederick Peterson

Of the types of Centurions who spread widest enjoyment, whether at the long table or in the Graham Library or wherever, the many-sided Frederick Peterson was surely one. It would be hard to say where his greater interest lay, in his long study, teaching, and practice of neurology or in his collection of Chinese paintings, one of the really distinguished ones in existence. He began to assemble them thirty-five years ago when Chinese painting was relatively unknown in this country. The catalogue of the collection, published in 1929, listed two hundred and twenty-nine valuable works. He not only studied and collected them; he lived with them and contemplated their serene beauty till, as his friends liked to remark, he appeared to have absorbed their wisdom and their calm. No one can seem to remember ever having seen him angry or even ruffled. He could be loftily and sweepingly critical of professional shortcomings, as he saw them in a fellow neurologist, but it would be difficult to conceive a kindlier nature. Indeed he carried generosity to such a point that his friends at times protested when he surrendered to “the whims and bonnetted-bees” of his patients and friends.

It was, perhaps, a natural outgrowth of his leaning toward China and the Chinese that turned his mind to composing short poems in the Chinese manner. His volume of “Chinese Lyrics” was printed under the pen-name of Paita-Shun and, significantly, he dedicated the volume “To My Ancestors.” Several of the verses have found their way into the anthologies. In his youth he had written the words of a well known popular song, “The Sweetest Flower That Blows,” which, set to music, still holds its wide appeal. There were a half dozen other works that came between, ranging from “Poems and Swedish Translations” to “In the Shade of Ygdrasil.” Whether for range or for industry it would not be easy to match Peterson’s versatility.

All the time, he was becoming one of the country’s best known neurologists. He was in turn president of the New York Neurological Society, chairman of the New York Commission on Lunacy, and president of the American Neurological Association. From 1903 forward he was Clinical Professor of Psychiatry at the College of Physicians and Surgeons, Columbia University. On the way he wrote two widely used technical volumes, “Textbook of Nervous and Mental Diseases” and “Textbook on Legal Medicine and Toxicology.” More than two hundred articles by him appeared in medical journals and magazines for general circulation.

A fine and vital existence, beyond question. Probably because of it he kept not only a singularly well-balanced sanity in the midst of confusion, delusion, and plain madness, but remained to the end a delightful companion and perfect friend.

Geoffrey Parsons
1938 Century Memorials