Pete, sweet Pete.
Pete’s Fruits and Vegetables is not the same without you.
Your sons Ted and John are not the same without you.
Their children — your grandchildren — are not the same without you.
The Greek community of Denver is not the same without you.
The Jewish community on the East Side of Denver is not the same without you.
Denver’s East Side itself is not the same without you.
Denver is not the same without you.
The world is not the same without you.
And our six children are not the same without you.
Each one of them had his or her own relationship with you when they were growing up.
When they grew up and most moved away, it was a given that when they visited they would drop into the store to say hello. You were part of the family.
Pete, sweet Pete.
You sold us fruits and vegetables, but so much more always came along with them, always for free, and I’m not talking about the free treats you so often threw in. I’m talking about your spirit, your smile, the atmosphere you created, your genuine interest in us — in our family and each of its members.
I am leaving the store one day and suddenly you grab a plant and say, “This is for Mama.” He meant my mother, Miriam Goldberg.
I am in the store one day and Pete is marveling at how packed it is a few days before Jewish holidays, and then — two days dead. The store is virtually empty. He actually knew about Jewish holidays and their various observances and restrictions, and how everything is prepared in advance. Still, he marveled.
He enjoyed wishing “Shabbat Shalom” on Fridays. He enjoyed wishing “Happy Pesach” a few days before Passover. He collected the packages delivered for the shul across the street, EDOS. In fact, he played a major role in the growth of kosher facilities in Denver.
When was the last time you heard of a non-Jew starting a kosher pizzeria for a Jewish community that didn’t have one?
What is now Brooklyn Pizza began in Pete’s. It was this Greek Orthodox Christian’s idea to open a kosher pizzeria, and he did, complete with reliable kosher certification. Our son Chaim was one of the early mashgichim (kosher supervisors). Chaim liked dealing with Pete’s sons, and they liked dealing with him.
What is now the East Side Kosher Deli began in Pete’s.
As all this is going on, customers come into the store speaking Greek, Pete’s native tongue. On occasion, the Metropolitan (the head clergy of the Greek diocese) was in the back of the store speaking to Pete. As we, many of his Jewish customers, were active in the Jewish community, Pete was active in the Greek community (very regularly active, as I found out only at the time of his funeral).
A home with good neighbors is radically different from a home without them. Move this up a notch. A neighborhood becomes a special place because of people who create friendly meeting spots. Pete — and Pete’s — did that.
One of the reasons why my wife Elaine and I were pleased for our children to have a relationship with Pete went beyond his friendliness and concern. Pete modeled a character trait that is not seen often enough. Pete took pride in his work. At his passing it was much commented on how Pete worked hard and realized the American dream. It was more than hard work. He enjoyed his work. He relished it. He learned English well in order to be able to do his work well. He lit a candle in the back of the store each morning, praying for success in his business. Over time he expanded his store and its offerings. Pride, prayer, growth, smiles — children could learn a lot from how Pete earned his living and created a space for himself, his family, his community — and other people’s communities.
Pete, sweet Pete. I miss him. I miss our little exchanges. I miss the twinkle in his eyes. I miss the friendship. I miss his “Shabbat Shaloms.” I miss his folk wisdom and stories.
And I miss trading in $2 bills for larger denominations . . . As Pete was always trying to figure out what he could do for us, what special fruit or vegetable or flowers we would like, somehow I figured out something I could do for Pete. Somehow I learned that he liked $2 bills. I would stock up on them at the bank — always the brand new, crisp bills (mostly available in December). Then I would bring him a bunch of $2’s and exchange them for a $10 or $20 bill. No matter how many $2’s I brought, he always wanted more.
The day after his funeral, there was nothing I could do any longer, nothing anyone could do. Pete, sweet Pete, was gone.
I gave Ted and John a brand new, crisp $2 bill. A symbol of friendship, a symbol of remembrance.
They hung it up in the store.
It hangs there now.
© IJN 2026
