Tom had a knack for finding people and animals in need. I think he often drew to him souls looking for one last chance. One snowy night in Colorado, a stray cat came to our cabin window crying for shelter from the cold and wet. In distress but also frightened of people, the cat spent the night in an open outbuilding on the property. The next day, Tom chose another outbuilding, this one enclosed, and added a pet door, heater, food, water, and a bed made of old clothes. He showed the cat how to enter through the pet door, warming the small building beforehand. The cat, later named Callie because she was a calico, stayed in her "house" whenever she wasn't prowling. Eventually, she lived in the main house for a year or so, then left   one day and didn't return. I like to think that Tom helped her along in her journey. And then there was his beloved dog, Dax, about whom books could be written. Tom stepped in to save Dax, too. And Tracy, the nine year old kitty abandoned at the Humane Society, was given a home when Tom took one look at her. Tom was like that. He had a gift.

One Christmas, Tom was visiting home and told me what a great Christmas he was having with his friends. How, with no money to hand they had all put up a tree and  made homemade ornaments out of paper and fruit and other household items. It sounded so enviably full of simplicity, love and camaraderie. It was a gift to be able to imagine the same sort of life for myself.

It was really a shock when I received an email from an old friend, Rodney Carroll, about Tom's passing. Of course, I was immediately transported back to many wild and wonderful days in the 1970s that we spent banging nails, sweating profusely, communicating in very crude "framer language", and figuring out new ways to blow our weekly pay on beer and the endless pursuit of the next party!  We had an amazing construction crew – Rodney (the boss), Tom, Michael, Nick and Tony. Most of the crew were karate black belts, so they were always intense when it came to attacking the next challenge – usually ending up breaking boards and of course drinking beer. We were all just loving being young and alive, and working outside building houses. Tom was definitely an essential part of the crew – not the most vocal, but certainly with a wild streak. My best description of Tom would be fearless. He often led some of our wildest adventures in his car we called the “Tom Bomb”. He also helped me work on my old VW bus, something I probably would never have done successfully without Tom’s help. I lost touch with Tom after those years and am just now discovering stories from his later life. I loved hearing about his eighteen years of time as a step-father – and really wish I could have seen him during that time. Please pass along my sincere condolences to the rest of the family. Tom's memory will always be a part of my life, and for that I am very grateful.

I raise a beer and toast Tom, Cheers my friend.

I have a lot of fond memories of Tom, building houses, the deck at your moms house, karate, and many obscure times where beer was involved. He was a real trooper always helping out and putting everything in it, a great laugh with sharp humor, couldn’t get him to quit smoking. 

There was a time that Tom had a hard time getting to work so I loaned an old car I had for transportation. Soon everyone called it the Tom Bomb and he drove it until it couldn’t be driven any longer. Fridays after work we all piled into the Tom Bomb and he drove (showing off a bit)  
to the 7-11 for beer.  Before long, Tom would be breaking a board karate style and of course we would all join in breaking boards also. Those were the days.  Never saw the Tom Bomb again, he put it to good use.

OK, another memory. Strawberries. Tommy LOVED  strawberries. One year, when we were living on Whidbey Island, we all spent a day picking strawberries.  Mom was planning to (and did) make strawberry jam. We, eight kids picking strawberries for several hours meant we had a LOT of strawberries.  Once home, we had to prepare them for jamming. This involved the three elder children using sharp knives to hull the berries, For hours. And hours But Tommy was smiling all the way through. Asked why and he sang a little ditty: 
Momma, don't let your babies grow up to be strawberries.
'Cause I'll pick 'em, and eat 'em
And drown 'em in cream
Make them the stuff of a strawberry dream....

That's all of the tune I can remember but we ended up  singing it at the top of our lungs until hushed by Mom.

Tommy was always present in my life.  when we were young, he liked to play make-believe adventure games. These games were very detailed and as he grew out of them, I grew into them.  Tommy loaned me my first Sci Fi book: Star Man's Son by Andre Norton. Tommy never understood the way he influenced my life with these ideas of make believe and sci fi.  But they were part of the foundation of why I wanted to go into theater.   When I remember Tommy; I will remember his smile, his courage and persistence  when facing fear or any obstacle, his compassion.

What most people don't know about this picture is that Tommy punched Joe Palooka as hard as he could and then stood there grinning. Joe Palooka snapped back up and popped Tommy in the face.  Good Times.

I think one of the happiest times I ever saw Tom was a few years ago when we were in Alaska.  We took a helicopter ride to the top of a glacier and landed there, got out any walked some.  He just loved it.  All of it.  

Thank you for visiting and please share a memory of Tom.  

It looks like the date for the memorial may change as the family needs a little more time to coordinate a Zoom memorial.  Please check back for details.

Here is the last picture of the Smith family. It was taken at our mother Helens' funeral.

Rear : Tom, Ross Lynn and Peter
Front: Michael Stephen Paul and Kate 

Happier memories will be posted shortly.





Janna and I lost touch with Tom after he moved from Norfolk.  We are saddened to learn of his death.  My favorite memory of Tom occurred when we hired him to remodel our kitchen, a job that required tearing down everything in that room.  Tom stood T-shirted, with a bandanna around his forehead, a tool belt below his waist, a hammer in his hand and a look of joy on his face as he shouted "Let the games begin!"

OBITUARY

Thomas Henry Smith

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