Peter Ortale '87 of New York City worked for Euro Brokers. At Duke, he lettered in lacrosse and was a member of the residential group B.O.G. He was a member of the Duke University Metropolitan Alumni Association. He is survived by his wife, Mary Duff-Ortale.

From Peter’s friend Tom Gannon ’86: Peter’s sister Mary Ortale and my sister Deanna were high-school classmates at Nazareth Academy in northeast Philadelphia and very close friends. Mary and Deanna were a year behind me in school. I got to know Mary really well during those years. Mary, Deanna, and their circle of friends were over our house many times. I remember going to dances and hanging out socially with that crew. I just have this recollection of Mary Ortale as always laughing, smiling, and having fun. I always enjoyed her company growing up. Her personality lit up a room, which was truly a reflection of her upbringing.

I do remember being somewhat bewildered when my sister told me during her senior year in high school that Peter Ortale was going to be coming to Duke on a lacrosse scholarship. I didn’t even know she had an older brother, let alone a brother in the same grade. Nevertheless, since I got along with Mary so well, I figured I’d probably click with Peter once I finally met him.

From the first time I met Pete, there was a strong bond of mutual respect. Peter and I shared a similar background growing up. He recognized that and, like me, he was very proud whence he came. In our day, northeast Philadelphia was a series of different neighborhoods of working-class families with strong parental influences. Good families, good values, good kids. Each neighborhood had its own playground and sports teams. The neighborhoods weren't fancy but they were full of character and people who valued hard work. Gritty people, tough people. Neighborhoods that lived and died with the fortunes of their hardnosed blue-collar Philadelphia sports teams of the mid-Seventies and early Eighties. It was at the end of one of my drives home with Peter that showed what an influence a certain Philadelphia sports figure not only had had on him, but also on his parents. It’s something that I never forgot.

As kids, sports was our lives. Pete played for Frankford Boys Club, which was feared leaguewide for its fearless and hardnosed players (we called them dirty). This gritty style would serve Peter well later in life. I played for Somerton Youth Organization, which was in the country as far as Frankford was concerned. As we got to talking, the arguments began whose teams were better, whose were tougher, the typical city rivalry stuff. We could only confirm that we had played one game against each other, a battle of football titans in the fall of 1977. The result: Frankford 6, Somerton 0. However, I think we may have been the team to hold them to the fewest points all year! I always insisted that if I’d had some help and didn’t have to run the ball on every play, we would’ve beat them. He’d just laugh and shake his head.

Although our backgrounds were similar, it was apparent that he was different. Different in a good way—he had something special going on. He wasn’t some cookie-cutter kid. He had his own style, he cut his own hair (or his roommate did it), and his entire wardrobe (including sneakers) was from a thrift store for less than $10. But you know what? It worked for him. Blessed with striking good looks, incredible athletic ability, and an inner confidence that was unflappable, he always commanded respect from both guys and girls. His underground look made him cooler and gave him an edge. He wasn’t trying to focus attention on himself. He was just being himself.

I have to admit I was initially shocked that he was so different from Mary, his sister. However, after getting to know him, he really wasn’t different on the inside. He just had a different style and a calmer exterior. I always attributed some of it to going to high school at a Quaker school (William Penn Charter) where free thinking and individualism are encouraged. I think it was a positive influence. Without question, he influenced me to question what was “normal” and acceptable. I always was thankful for that.

My dad let me take a car to Duke my sophomore year (so he didn't have to drive me anymore). It was the beginning of the Tom Gannon /Peter Ortale/Maurice Glavin roadshow up and down I-95 from Durham to Philly. I had a Chrysler Laser straight out of Knight Rider. It talked to you (“your door is ajar”). It was as roomy as a matchbox. I’d start driving and Pete and Maurice would fight for the passenger seat as the back had NO leg room. It was from these trips that I have many of my fondest memories of Peter. Fall Break, Thanksgiving, Christmas—six-and-a-half, seven hours each way between October and Christmas—you learn a lot about someone. I learned of his philosphy, his music, his person. I always felt lucky to be hanging out with him. He had that effect on you.

From Maurice Glavin:I surely remember my first thoughts as the second plane crashed in to the WTC. If anyone could walk out of that horror it would be Peter Ortale. He was the proverbial cat with nine lives. I saw him do things on the lacrosse field that others of us could only dream about accomplishing. He was small yet tough. It seemed like everything was a challenge for Peter.

Dr. Berlin, the DUAA physician, used to say to Peter that he was only the second kid he met that was actually from Philadelphia, "the city." Peter was everything one expected from a city kid. He worked hard at everything, his schooling, his lacrosse skills, his appearance and his love life-not necessarily in that order!

Over three years as roommates we laughed, we cried and we ran what seemed like a million miles together. He taught me how to shop at thrift stores, which my mother never really appreciated. He majored in political science and loved philosophy, especially Mr. Gillespie's classes. He was convinced if we took classes together we would get better grades because we both liked to win. He took Russian because he wanted to experience something different. I chose to skip that one.

We endured endless hours in car rides back to Philadelphia with Tom Gannon and Mark Gillin. Our time was mostly spent arguing about who was the best American author, the best philosopher, or the greatest athlete ever. These conversations were interspersed with "who will pay for the speeding ticket for going 75 in a 55 mph zone" discussions. Our conversations spilled over to our room at BOG or into late nights at our Central Campus apartments. We talked about our dreams and aspirations. We had a thousand get-rich-quick schemes, which turned out to be the banter of 20-year-old boys pretending to be men. It did pass the time.

We ate over a hundred hamburgers in the RAT (Ratskellar) after practice because the Blue/White dining room was closed. Peter tried to teach me that salads at the CI (Cambridge Inn) were good for me. I did not waver on that point. He reassured me that as we walked from the lacrosse locker rooms to our dorm room at Wannamaker, that I wouldn't get cut my freshman year. He used to say, "We've come to far not to succeed now." "How true, how true," I would say to my new friend.

Peter was a young man filled with the need to experience as much life as possible in the shortest period of time. I think now, how ironic. He was a goal-setter from the first day I met him and was relentless in his drive to achieve. History tells me that my heartache will heal; this time I am not so sure. I was once told that the joy of our lacrosse victory over the Tarheels in 1987 would fade, and that still brings a smile to my face. I'll bet Peter still smiles too-after all, it is one of his "goals achieved."