Having not posted since March 10, 2005, I believe it is fair to conclude that My Friend, Tom Demerly, can be declared legally dead. Either that or Mr. Tibbs finally pedaled all the way to Dearborn, and he and Tom have headed out to LA to start an Aids Awareness Program.
I am proud to say that Tom Demerly and I called each other "Friend". Not "Friend" in the sense that we were friends, but "Friend" in the sense that we didn't even know each other, and yet, somehow, didn't really understand or care much for each other, either. As in when you say "Have a Merry Christmas, my Friend" to someone who works in your building who you might want to have think of you as a vessel of great good will even though you ignore him the other 365 days a year. As in saying "That's Huge, my Friend" to a complete stranger, when something is truly pedestrian.
Yes, most of you simply knew Tom as an uncomplicated man, quite simple, in fact, the Ultimate Bachelor, Triathlete Soldier of Fortune, Luster after No-Talent Underage Female Singers, and FIST bike fitter, but did you know that before Tom discovered Allen Wrenches and the perverse pleasure of touching women's private parts with greasy fingernails, he led a very colorful life: He was the Personal Nutritionist for Mama Cass and Karen Carpenter, he baby sat for Eric Clapton, he did Alcohol and Drug Counselling for Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and John Belushi, he was Natalie Woods' personal swim coach. He did the final O-ring check on the Challenger Space Shuttle and was responsible for the developing the United State's Immigration "Don't Know-Don't Care" policy along the Mexican border.
[Looking skyward] When I think of you, Friend Tom, I will always remember how you finally realized your life's dream of knowing that someone else flew around the world using an auto-pilot, non-stop, whilst napping in a bath tub, occasionally suffering from a headache.
Perhaps some of you would like to place your personal reminiscences here. Perhaps this will help you to move on, to help you cope with your grief. But meanwhile:
Tom--here's to you My Friend:
I am proud to say that Tom Demerly and I called each other "Friend". Not "Friend" in the sense that we were friends, but "Friend" in the sense that we didn't even know each other, and yet, somehow, didn't really understand or care much for each other, either. As in when you say "Have a Merry Christmas, my Friend" to someone who works in your building who you might want to have think of you as a vessel of great good will even though you ignore him the other 365 days a year. As in saying "That's Huge, my Friend" to a complete stranger, when something is truly pedestrian.
Yes, most of you simply knew Tom as an uncomplicated man, quite simple, in fact, the Ultimate Bachelor, Triathlete Soldier of Fortune, Luster after No-Talent Underage Female Singers, and FIST bike fitter, but did you know that before Tom discovered Allen Wrenches and the perverse pleasure of touching women's private parts with greasy fingernails, he led a very colorful life: He was the Personal Nutritionist for Mama Cass and Karen Carpenter, he baby sat for Eric Clapton, he did Alcohol and Drug Counselling for Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and John Belushi, he was Natalie Woods' personal swim coach. He did the final O-ring check on the Challenger Space Shuttle and was responsible for the developing the United State's Immigration "Don't Know-Don't Care" policy along the Mexican border.
[Looking skyward] When I think of you, Friend Tom, I will always remember how you finally realized your life's dream of knowing that someone else flew around the world using an auto-pilot, non-stop, whilst napping in a bath tub, occasionally suffering from a headache.
Perhaps some of you would like to place your personal reminiscences here. Perhaps this will help you to move on, to help you cope with your grief. But meanwhile:
Tom--here's to you My Friend: