TERRIBLE TOM

Under the Dragon's wings... it can be surprisingly warm

I can't even remember when I first met Tom. It seemed like he was part of my family since the start. I knew his brothers, his sisters, and his mom and dad. At one point I even made a move on his sister Molly, but it was too weird, we were like brother and sister and we both recognized it. My wife also knew the whole family, in fact, I think nearly everyone on the north end of Flint knew them in one way or another. They were great people. Every one of them seemed to have an inherent kindness about them. They were full of fun, laughter, and looking out for each other. To know them was to be part of their family, plain and simple.

But of all the kids that Marge and Will had, it was Tom that stood out. Tom was, simply put, crazy as a loon. Some people used to say he got that way over in Vietnam, where Tom was a Tunnel Rat, but my wife's brother knew Tom since he was a little kid and told me Tom was always crazy. He had stories about Vietnam that were right out of "Platoon". Stories of fragging (killing) superiors, raping villagers, watching people die and cutting ears off of North Vietnamese and trading them for pot. He stated everything like it was going to the store to buy a pop. He once told me, "There were two kinds of people in 'Nam, those that hated it and went crazy, and those that loved it and already were." There was no question in my mind which one Tom was.

Tom looked almost exactly like Charles Manson. His black hair was always in need of a comb, his clothes always looked like he slept in them, and his eyes displayed a sort of vacant, wild-eyed emptiness that shouted, "Don't ever, even think, about fucking with me." He stood all of about 5' 7", but I saw him back down people twice his size. To mess with Tom was to enter a duel to the death, and not many people wanted to go there. Once, in a fight, I saw Tom bite a man's finger off and then spit it at him. Tom was as far out there a person as I have ever known.

To know Tom though, was to know both sides of him. He could be extremely protective. No one messed with his friends or his family. He was a great singer, and he could be close to hysterical in his antics. Once, I was sitting with a couple of friends over "Spikehorn's" house drinking beer and watching football when Tom came walking through the door. He walked straight through without saying a word and went right out the back door. We couldn't figure out what the hell was going on until 5 or 6 minutes later when a pounding started on the front door. A Middle-Eastern Cab Driver started swearing at us in broken English demanding his fare for driving Tom across town. That's what life was like around Tom, you never knew what was going on, you just hung on for the ride.

For some strange reason, Tom liked me a lot. He was a lot older than me, so I think he saw me as a little brother. He would come over and pick me up and after lying to my mom or even my brothers about where we were going, he would head to the local liquor store for some Wild Turkey and then out to get whatever drugs we were doing for the night. I've often questioned myself as to why I would go out with Tom. The closest I can get to an answer is that I viewed Tom and myself as similar. Tom was an outcast who had a lot of drama in his life and so was I. I have never been able to think like other people and for a while I thought that maybe I was just crazy too. (I've since discovered that it's the rest of the world that's crazy.) Also, being Tom's friend was empowering. Even my oldest brother (who generally picked on me constantly) had to treat me a little different when I was with Tom. Having Tom for a friend was like having a real protective pet Dragon.

A night on the town with Tom meant that you had stories to tell the next day. Every single time, there was some adventure, most of which I can't even tell you about because I'm not sure the Statute of Limitations has expired. We would get completely trashed and then end up at people's houses that I didn't even know. Hookers, dealers, gay people, homeless people, Tom knew them all. After one night of partying a little too hard, I fell asleep in the back of Tom's car and woke up at The Mission (homeless shelter) with Tom looking down on me. He said," Get up boy, if we don't make morning mass, they won't feed us." We made our way to the chapel and sang religious songs, prayed and ate with the homeless. Tom, by the way, had a great voice. Somewhere between Ray Charles and Joe Cocker, his voice was a gravely gospel that still rattles in the back of my brain. He would sing "Whiskey River" every time he got drunk and made me do the harmonies. Tom taught me how to sing with soul, something I never forgot. It was his one great gift to me.

One day God decided that Tom had roamed the Earth for long enough. He had developed a sore throat that was so bad he went to the hospital where he got into a fight with some of the staff. They restrained Tom on a gurney and locked him in a room. In that room, alone for over 20 minutes, Tom's throat closed and God took him home.

The story of Terrible Tom is, like everything about him, a strange mixture. One part of me laughs at the adventures we had, one part is stunned that I could have been so crazy. At his funeral there was a strange feeling among all of his friends and family that God had simply had enough of Tom antics and took him because it was the only way to stop him. Looking back, I wonder what God would have thought about one of his children that was so obviously mentally ill. Would he have recognized that Tom wasn't in complete control of himself? Would he have forgiven him for his misdeeds? Tom was both kind and cruel, vicious and caring. Tom taught me that there is good and bad in all of us. He never looked down on anyone and loved people with his whole heart. Although I would never want to repeat the adventures I had with Tom, they make me laugh harder than anything I've ever done with anyone else. I can't sing a song without thinking of him, and sometimes, I fondly remember the times, when I had my very own...... pet Dragon. H.C.