I am a “pre-Van” friend and former boss of Catherine’s. My husband, Evan, and I moved from Baltimore to Austin in 2004, and we flew back for the wedding. Van, I met you just that once, on your wedding day.
Wonderful memories flooded back as I streamed the celebration of her life last Saturday.
From 1997-2004, I was director of marketing and communications at the Walters Art Museum. I had gotten to know Catherine in her role as arts editor of Baltimore Magazine.
In 1999, the public relations spot at the Walters came open. As I started recruiting, I heard that Catherine might be thinking of leaving the magazine. One of my greatest skills as a manager has always been poaching the best people. In a burst of inspiration, I gave Catherine a call. Would she be interested in coming to the Walters?
Not unlike Van’s, my reputation skyrocketed the happy day I was able to report to my arts marketing colleagues from the symphony, ballet, opera and other museums that I had just hired Catherine Pierre to be the new manager of public relations for the Walters. They sounded excited for me: “Wow…that is a real coup.” “What a great hire!” But I know that secretly they were thinking “Damn! Why didn’t I think of that?”
There’s more to running PR for an art museum than promoting the latest Monet exhibition. During the years Catherine and I worked together, we executed a re-branding to reflect the institution’s name change from Walters Art Gallery to Walters Art Museum. (Changing a museum's name is slightly less complicated than passing a constitutional amendment, but not much.) Along with this came a new web site and a new Walters Magazine. In these all projects Catherine’s famous attention to detail was invaluable.
Catherine had a chance to manage a substantial national story in 2003, when our distinguished boss, Gary Vikan, resigned from the White House Cultural Property Advisory Committee. He and other members were protesting the U.S. government’s failure to protect the priceless treasures looted from Baghdad's National Museum of Antiquities during the chaos of the invasion of Iraq. Suddenly Catherine was fielding calls from the likes of Anderson Cooper, running over to Gary’s office daily to consult on managing the story. The West Wing was at its peak then, and I started saying “Heading over to the Oval again, C.J.?” every time she received another call from the national media.
Her eye for great talent was evident as she staffed up her department with colleagues who embraced our shared values of being smart, creative, and funny. Her academic background came in handy with curators, who tend to be suspicious of marketing and communications people. Some curators accuse you (well, accused me, anyway) of trying to “dumb down” the museum by suggesting more accessible language in a piece they’ve written. With her serious academic creds, Catherine knew how to speak curator-ese. She would say things like “Well, I think we need to unpack this concept for the lay reader.” The curator, flattered that his concept was a trifle too brilliant for the poor lay reader, would happily acquiesce to being “unpacked.”
I was so sad the day of the Catherine's memorial celebration. Hearing the many stories about “post-Van” Catherine, I realize the incredible friend I knew and loved became an even more remarkable woman, and I was sorry I had not done a better job of staying in touch.
Driving after dark that evening, I was still musing about the Catherine stories I’d heard when I had to slam on my car brakes to avoid hitting one of the urban deer that wander around northwest Austin. It was a really close call; the deer was standing right on the lane divider and if she had moved at all, I would have hit her. But she stood still. I remembered that Catherine loved finding hearts in nature, and here was a great big hart standing next to my car. This made me laugh – “Thanks, Catherine!” – and I felt better.
She touched our hearts, for sure.