#peter jacobs

Princess Grace's handwritten signed postcard written during a sailing voyage in Norway, to her friend, Father Peter Jacobs (aka Father Jake) from New York in 1982, less than two months before her death after a fatal car accident on September 12. She writes: "The ship is very comfortable & the weather fine with calm seas - Thank Heaven! It is really a delightful & relaxing trip. Sorry you are not with us. Warmest regards, G." 

Accompanied by another postcard featuring the greens of the Monte-Carlo golf club, addressed in Princess Grace's hand in black ink marker pen to Father Jacobs' New York City address. Also includes another postcard (unsigned) featuring glacial views of the Bragger Peninsula, Norway. Together with a colour brochure of the July and August 1981 concert performances of the Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte-Carlo.

About Father Peter Jacobs:

Father Peter a high-profile and controversial Catholic priest. Fr. "Jake" Jacobs was born on February 10, 1926, to a Jewish father and an Irish Catholic mother. Father Jacobs developed a lifelong affinity for Jewish religious thought and advocated for better relations between Catholics and Jews. His 53 years as a priest were marked by limitless generosity and dedication toward the youth, firefighters, prisoners, politicians and royalty.

In 1960, he moved to NYC, where he continued his true service of a much more unorthodox nature. He dedicated his life to serving prisoners, the sick, and the indigent, often taking confessions in bars and other non-traditional locations.

In 1982 Fr. Jacobs opened a restaurant in NYC called The Palatine, which became an instant hit. In the early 1990's he resided in Italy, maintaining close ties with the Vatican in Rome, and living in Venice near close friend Arrigo Cipriani. In March 1996 he received the D'Oro Award from the Boy's Town of Italy. In 2005, a party was held at Da Silvano to honour his 50th anniversary as a priest. His 80th birthday was attended by many of his longtime associates, including Dr Alan Kessler, Mr Walter Cronkite, Mr Edgar Bronfman Jr. and Yoko Ono.

Father Jacobs passed away on September 7th, 2008 in Rome. The cause of death was a heart attack. He is sorely missed by those whose lives he touched so deeply and unconditionally

The Vocal Fries is a new linguistics podcast all about linguistic discrimination, by linguists Carrie Gillon and Megan Figueroa. 

Here’s their latest episode:  

Megan and Carrie interview Dr. Peter Jacobs, Assistant Professor of Linguistics at Simon Fraser University, where he works on language revitalization. They talk about Rez English(es) (the varieties of English spoken on reserves/reservations), indigenous languages of the United States and Canada, and language revitalization.

For more information about the topics in the episode, including links about Rez English, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and indigenous languages in North America, see this post on @vocalfriespod. 

Other previous episodes include prescriptivism, Southern American English, swearing, and of course, vocal fry itself. 

Harold Truscott - Piano Sonata No. 9 in E Minor, RC 80: 1. Allegro ·

CI boss Peter Jacobs faces internal investigation over Charl Kinnear murder

Besieged police Crime Intelligence (CI) boss Peter Jacobs is the second high-ranking officer to face an internal investigation centred on the murder of Anti-Gang Unit (AGU) detective Charl Kinnear. The probe relates to what Jacobs did, or failed to do, when police received warning of a threat on Kinnear’s life. The intelligence chief is now seized with a war on many fronts and is ostensibly on…

I miss you. I miss hearing about your motorcycle. I miss sharing music with you and listening to your new remixes, even the one with the sounds from Windows. I miss hearing about your wild sister and your parents. I hope they are well. We met when I was young and naive, but now I'm a cultured woman and I won't flake out on you. I've gotten help. I know the last time we talked, you were feeling insecure about your body, but what I wanted to say was, "You're still you. You're still funny, charming Peter... And I love you." Truthfully, I've always loved you. It started with a school girl crush, evolving into lust once my sexuality developed, and now... I want to be there for you. You live on the other side of the world, but I would gladly stay up until 3am and talk to you and go to work in the morning. I miss you. It's been 5 or 6 years and I still miss you. I miss watching you pass out mid conversation on Skype and then telling me that you feel safe when I watch you sleep. I want to hold you in my arms and curl up with a big fuzzy blanket and forget that the world exists. I've been through heartbreak and change and some truly awful situations, but this also means I can handle my shit. I'm fully aware of what I'm capable of and I refuse to hurt you. This time I will be responsible. I am an adult now, not some teenage fangirl. I miss you Peter Jacobs. I know I hurt you and I'm sorry. Please allow me to start over.

If anyone knows Peter Jacobs from the Netherlands, about 6 foot 7, one sister, green/hazel eyes and dark blonde hair, please pass on a message for me: ik oui van jou. (And please point him in my direction.)

It's 2am now... I don't know how I will sleep knowing you're out there Peter. I wish to speak with you so badly... It hurts my heart.

We have mentioned the Upchurch Train Crash of August 1944 several times on this site. It is a part of local Upchurch history. For the 70th anniversary of the crash,  a feature was used here. 

As a follow up all these items, this is a personal account, received from Peter Jacobs recalling his father Bert Jacobs, travelling on the train.  We are grateful that, with permission from Peter Jacobs, the article is reprinted here, first.

The Sittingbourne Train Smash as remembered by Bert Jacobs of Greenhill, Herne Bay, Kent.

Written by his son Peter S. Jacobs

Bert Jacobs, was in an extraordinary train crash caused by a doodlebug (V 1) during the war in 1944. He relates his memory of the experience.

This is Bert Jacobs in 1954 and this is his story as told by his son Peter Jacobs.

“I was travelling from Chatham to Herne Bay. I boarded the train in the second carriage. It was one of those carriages with compartments. I found a seat, with my back to the engine. The service was running a few minutes late, so after leaving Chatham we were travelling at a fair speed to make up time, I suspect. Suddenly, we heard an explosion which sounded like a bomb. The other passengers around me dived for the floor, as was standard practice in those days of air raids to avoid flying shrapnel. I didn’t, and I don’t know why. At that moment there was a screeching of brakes and the sounds of the engine trying to bring the train to a halt. I sat upright, which I think was due to me being thrust back in the seat by the force of deceleration. There was then a horrendous noise with buffeting and a shuddering. The carriage shook and it was obvious we were being derailed. We kept moving. I just sat rigid. I could do nothing else. There was then a huge bumping and the carriage started sliding sideways and tilting. A loud tearing sound all around us was deafening. It was the result of the carriage being torn apart. The roof split above me, and the parcel rack collapsed causing something to fall, hitting me on the back of my head. We came to a halt. The carriage was on a lean. Many of the passengers around me were mangled, on the floor by the breaking up of the carriage. The upper structure had moved separating from the floor, pinning those who had taken cover. It was dreadful, with blood everywhere.  Can’t remember anything of the commotion other than there was noise.  I sat there for a moment, a little dazed; caused probably by the falling object from the rack above. Realising that I could get out by standing on my seat to a split in the roof, I hauled myself up and inched my way through the gap. When on the roof, I cautiously walked down the rounded carriage top to where I could slide off to the embankment. I sat on the ground feeling slightly disorientated. I surveyed the scene. The engine and first two carriages had jumped the chasm where a doodlebug had hit and blown up a road bridge. This had been only a few yards in front of the engine. All of the carriages behind the one I was in had remained on the lines and halted exactly to where the rails disappeared.

 I felt that I would be best to get out of the way of all those rushing to help, ambulance people and the suchlike. I knew where I was, so I walked to the A2 and caught a bus to Faversham, and then on to Herne Bay. Reaching home rather late to my distraught wife, I immediately took off my clothes, and had a bath. Then I had a meal and went to bed. The next morning I picked up my clothes which fell apart in my hands. They must have absorbed an acidic liquid. I could feel a definite bruise where I had been hit on the head. I concluded that the falling object that I had been hit with must have been something like an accumulator, and the acid had spilt over me. Do you know, the insurance paid for a new suit? As for my head, I have always had a tingling feeling at that spot ever since. And what is more, since then, I have never travelled in the first two carriages of a train. I was lucky. There were quite a number killed in that smash, and many more injured. 

It was reported in the Daily Mirror a few weeks later. The toll that was mentioned was nothing like the numbers I witnessed. Censored news media, I guess”.

 Bert Jacobs lived at that time at:-

           Inglewood,

           Poplar Drive,

           Greenhill,

           Herne Bay.

subject:

Peter Jacobs aka Tim Peters (model)

photo by:

1) [unknown] / Thomas-James Fisher

2) Born in Blood / Nick Hardy

3) [unknown] / Eduardo II

4) [unknown] / [TG Headshots]