WWII vet Pete Peri passes away after 102nd birthday

My family gathered in Baltimore, Md., earlier this month to lay to rest Pete Peri, Maryland contractor, WWII veteran, and my great uncle. He was 102.

I wrote about Uncle Pete here, including his military service, two years ago, on the occasion of his centennial birthday. My wife, daughter, and I joined family in Baltimore to celebrate his 102nd birthday in February 2026. He was alert and coherent, recognized everyone, and enjoyed himself so much that he asked to see the pictures the next day. 

He died peacefully the following week.

At the April memorial service, my cousin Tom Peri, Pete's son, read the 1945 government memorandum in support of Pete's Silver Star:

PETER L. PERI, Sergeant (then Private First Class), ... 47th Infantry, who distinguished himself by gallantry in action against the enemy on 26 November 1944 in the vicinity of Weisweiller, Germany. Advancing against strongly fortified enemy positions, the forward elements of the Infantry were subjected to heavy enemy artillery and small arms fire. Sgt. Peri observed two supporting tanks hit and set afire by the intense enemy antitank gun fire. He immediately left his position of comparative safety and exposed himself to the enemy barrage to go to the aid of the wounded tank crews. With complete disregard for personal safety, he evacuated the casualties from the vicinity of the blazing vehicles and assisted in removing them to a position where emergency medical treatment might be administered. As the last man was being evacuated, one of the volunteers fell seriously wounded. Sgt. Peri returned through the enemy barrage and assisted in carrying him to safety. Sgt. Peri's aggressive initiative and courageous actions were a credit to himself and to the Armed Forces of the United States. Entered military service from Maryland.

Pete was born at the very end of the G.I., or Greatest, Generation, and at the start of the Silent Generation. Fittingly, he was both hero and relatively silent. As Tom observed at the memorial service, and not uncharacteristically of war vets, Pete never talked about his military service until his last years of life, when stories suddenly flooded forth. Still, I had never heard about the occasion of the Silver Star.

When I pulled together my own thoughts about Pete for the memorial service, I was flummoxed at first. I had many memories of his comforting company, but I could recall precious few words exchanged. I craved a wise aphorism he had shared, or an anecdote that resulted in a teachable moment. I could remember none. 

Rather, my memories were mostly of being silent with him. I remember us listening to the radio in the car when he picked me up at school; watching our TV-favorite M*A*S*H; eating at holidays, and drinking wine; and driving country roads in Italy to visit family. 

2026

I held forth to my wife on this life-spanning catalog of memories. I cherish them. Every memory with Uncle Pete is a memory of feeling safe and loved.

But, I complained, these memories bore a seeming dearth of verbal exchanges that might produce a useful takeaway to share at the memorial service.

My wife tilted her head and stared into the distance in that librarian way she does when she's processing a volume of information. It's the human equivalent of the spinning circle at Google Gemini.

"It sounds to me," she cautiously started a response. Then, looking back to me, after a pause: "Like he was always there."

She hit the nail on the head, as usual.

Pete Peri was always there. For his country, and for his family. And that was no small feat.

Thank you, Uncle Pete. We love you.

Rest in peace.