Memories of Tom

It has been over three weeks since my brother Tom left us. As happens with profound loss, the initial shock and pain dominates for awhile. Grief comes in waves after that. Everything will seem o.k. for a while, and then an image or memory will come up, and I start sobbing again. I realize that everyone grieves differently, and even then, each death carries its own significance. For those who were accustomed to seeing the departed on a daily, or regular basis, that empty space is a chasm of continual loss. At least, that's how it was for me when my. sister Laurie died at 16. 

It isn't that I saw Tom that much in the past couple of decades. Of course there were the annual "Markfests" which were stressful for Tom and myself. I can't say why for sure. We have had this tradition for our autistic brother Mark  and for our other siblings, for decades. We never hung around too long after lunch and the obligatory candy run (Mark had to load up on chocolate at CVS pharmacy before heading back home). The visits were chaotic, at least in that meaningful conversation was difficult - it was loud, with scattered attention. But it was often the only time we got together each year. Tom was a big part of those Markfests, acting more like Mark's "big brother".  Another thing! Tom was our "backup conservator" for Mark. When Sue, Tom and I filled out the paperwork and were registered as Mark's conservators (a long legal process), I took the reigns as main conservator, since I was the eldest. I did that for 7 years, then asked for Sue's help. Sue and I now share equal responsibility, but if anything happened to us, Tom was our planned backup. 

The last time I saw Tom: Markfest, January 27, 2026

My mind often wanders to our childhood. Tom was the first of us to be born when we lived in Pacifica. Like me, Tom was born in San Francisco, as were Arlo and Mark; Laurie was born in Lynwood, CA. Tom wound ultimately become the middle child - four older, four younger. 

I love all of my siblings, but Tom and I had an often contentious relationship, based upon his bullying of the youngest 4 kids, all of whom I was responsible for taking care of (along with my sister Laurie). But Tom and I got along very well at other times, and our love was never questioned. 

Random memories: 

Tom was the first baby I took care of. Mom had to work full-time, and our parents needed Laurie and me to step up. Tom got stuck - with safety pins - often. It was a challenge to fold those diapers and adjust the pins on an active baby. The diapers had to be tight. If they fell off, there were a few times my father pushed my nose into the baby shit on the floor. I'm sure those babies/toddlers lost some circulation in the process. We also had to make the formula for the bottles. So, yeah, Tom was the first. 

Me holding Tom, when he was 13 days old

Tom's diaper was on tight, reinforced by his holster

In May of 1964 when Tom was 8, our brother Arlo, Tom, and myself appeared on the "Mayor Art" show", which I wrote about in a blog entitled "Kiddie Shows."

I related about a thrown chicken incident in my blog: "Begetting Violence"

I did a blog about Tom's love of aircraft, from childhood on, in my blog: "For the Love of Flight." 

One year, Laurie, Arlo, Tom & I got 3-speed Huffy bicycles for Christmas. They were all pretty much the same model - I think Laurie and I had the girl's version of the bikes, but otherwise all the same type and size.  I came home from school one day to find that my bike had a flat front tire. I was confused and upset about that, wondering what could have caused it. One of the "little kids" later told me that Tom had switched his flat tire with mine. Of course he did.

Between 1968-1971 Tom and Arlo used to hang out in my "hippie hangout" room. I have some old home movies of that time, and of Tom and the kids playing in the yard. 

In 1972, when Tom was 15, he and our mom drove up to rescue Perry and me when our car broke down in the snow in Lodi. Tom opened the hood of the car, wanting to dismantle it right there. Mom nixed that idea, and just drove us home. Tom knew all of the car parts, and was on his way to becoming a mechanic. 

Once we became adults, we got along much better. Tom even helped fix a few of our run-down cars. 

I remember when Tom introduced us to Georgia, who seemed very YOUNG. It was the first and only time I ever saw my brother in love. We lived on Hess road in RWC at the time. 

We saw Tom often when I was married to Perry, especially when we lived in Redwood City, and Tom and Georgia lived in La Honda. They would also visit us when we lived in Milpitas, mostly because our mom lived there.  At the time, our grandparents, mom, George, Sue and family also lived there.  They visited with babies Talina and Linda a lot, and later their kids hung out with Sue's kids. 

Our daughter Kelly stayed with Tom and Georgia several times during summertime.  We attended a party for Linda's second birthday and other visits- at least once to Memorial Park. 

I remembered that Tom was the one who told my first husband Perry and me about the film: "Harold & Maude", that we just had to see it. Once we did, we agreed that it was our favorite film of all time. It still is mine.

Tom's nickname for Perry was "Erpy."

Tom and I corresponded when we were both in our 30's, when he discovered that I had been telling the truth about our father, something he and my brothers didn't want to acknowledge up to that point. It was a sore spot for me, and I went through a lot to finally be believed. It was most important that my brothers realize the truth...they all had daughters.  Tom stepped up and was the only one that I know of to write to our father and mom. I know that it wasn't easy for him.  I was proud of him, and kept those letters, which mean a lot to me. 

Years later, Tom visited Mike and me a few times, once with Georgia in Half Moon Bay, where we had lunch at the Flying Fish Grill. Other times were a stop-off from the HMB airport, once with his son David.  We also visited Tom & Georgia at our sister Sue's house for Thanksgiving in 2007, and once when we were on one of our road trips in 2012, where we got to hang out with Tom & Georgia at Table Mountain Aviation, Tom's business. There were also numerous memorials, a few weddings, and our Alaskan cruise, where we met up with Tom & Georgia between ports-of-call. Also, Tom, Sue and I were the only ones up around 4 a.m. for coffee in the ship's lounge.

When I turned 60, Tom wished me a happy birthday, then whispered in my ear: "Now you're circling the drain."  Gee, thanks, Bro! 

During one Markfest several years ago, Tom told me that I was his "hero". 

According to Ancestry DNA, Tom and I shared 53% of our DNA. 

I will miss Tom's text messages at 4 A.M., mostly for birthday or discussions about "Markfest".  Each birthday, he would wish me a "Happy Birthday." Exactly one week later round 4 a.m. I would wish him a "Happy Birthday". Tom's wife Georgia's birthday is the day after Tom's, and our brother Mark's is on the 2nd. My daughter Kelly's is on the 25th, and my mom's was on the 9th. That's a lot of December birthdays!

Each time we all got together, we always hugged, and remembered to tell each other "I love you". We all knew that there might be the possibility that it could be the last time we see each other. I think for me that started when when our sister Laurie died in a car accident at 16. Then, our brother Arlo, when he was 48, of cancer. Now, Tom.  I miss them all.  The only way I could reign in my grief this time was to ask myself what Tom would do if the situation were reversed - if I had died first (which I had expected to do). He would have been sad for a short while, but then he would have continued to live his best life....as he should have....and as I would have wanted him to do. 

For the Love of Flight

 My brother Tom died on February 28, 2026. He was flying a friend's plane to the Oroville Airport, where Tom would inspect the aircraft. Two miles from the airport, Tom's radio went silent. Shortly after that, he crashed. No one else was hurt. It is probable that Tom had a medical emergency, and lost consciousness.  His wife Georgia explained: "Details show that he likely went unconscious before the crash. He was communicating with a friend by radio. After he announced he was 2 miles from final, it went silent. His friend didn't hear anything from Tom. The plane went straight down and Impact caused instant death. I am comforted by that thought. It's even possible he suffered a massive stroke or heart attack and was dead before Impact. Tom was an excellent pilot, he practiced emergency landings often. If he was in trouble and conscious, he would have said something to his friend."

For Tom, interest in aircraft and flight began early. 

Tom's gift, second birthday- something that flies!  

Our father hung model airplanes in our garage. The model I remember the most was the Gee Bee. Those models could fly - sort of. They were control-line models made from kits, not radio-controlled models, even though they had internal combustion engines. Dad would take us out to Orange Park or San Bruno Park to fly these planes. We would stand in the middle of a grassy field and hold onto the handle of the plane, spinning around in circles to make the model "fly", while the engine whirred the propeller. Much later, radio-controlled models were used.

Some of Tom's collection, decades later

Spinning around is also what I did with Tom and the youngest 4 siblings. I gave them airplane rides in our back yard, holding onto an arm and a leg, or both arms (NOTE: I have since learned that this is not recommended, as it can pull arms out of sockets).  My siblings would line up for these rides. After a few up-and-down-and-around spins and sound effects that I made - something like: "Yeoomm..blblublu-yeoowm blblublu.." I would toss the "airplane" onto a pile of grass.  Tom was always the first, getting these rides before he became too heavy for me (I joked with him several years ago that he needed to give me one, now). Sometimes I missed the pile of grass, but my sibs didn't seem to mind.

When my father bought the Aeronca L-3, we were all expected to pitch in to maintain it. This included stripping the wings and doing a re-apply of the fabric covering. We spent many weekends at the Half Moon Bay airport, and we were also expected to fly with our father - we had no choice.

The Aeronca L-3 at the Half Moon Bay airport 

After numerous flights (frights?) with my father piloting the Aeronca as well as a memorable ride with one of his pilot friends in a Cessna, I decided that flying was not for me - but Tom loved it- he was hooked! He liked being "up in the air".  In fact, Tom, Ben and Laurie all learned to fly the Aeronca. Laurie even obtained her student pilot's license when she turned 16 and flew solo shortly after that. Tom and Ben eventually got their pilot's licenses.

Tom not only enjoyed piloting aircraft, he enjoyed working on them, ultimately starting his own business, Table Mountain Aviation in Oroville, CA. Tom was that guy whose car bumper strip said: "I'd rather be flying".  He did confess to me that he was not comfortable flying in commercial airlines. Maybe he knew too much? Since then, he has traveled to Europe and other trips, so he may have gotten used to it.  But small aircraft were another story. He was at home in the cockpit. Here is a video that Mike shot in 2014 when Tom took him for a ride:

When Mike and I lived next to the HMB airport, Tom would occasionally visit - after all, we were right there. I enjoyed living next to the airport, watching the planes take off and land. 

Tom and his son David at the Half Moon Bay airport, 2014

Tom, me and David, in front of the old 3-Zero Cafe at the HMB airport.

We were even lucky enough to watch Eddie Andreini do his stunts overhead from our house(!), many times, when he practiced for an event. He often tipped his wing at us as we photographed his stunts. Tom admired Eddie Andreini, and was impressed that we knew him.

A photo I took of Eddie Andreini and Mike at our gallery in 2006. 

It's so cliche' to say that someone "...died doing what they loved",  but in Tom's case, that was true. I am convinced that his heart gave out prior to the crash. In essence, Tom left us while he was still in the air.  With the exception of being with his wife and family, that was his happy place. 

Begetting Violence

When you're a child, you don't know any better.   We lived in a violent household, but thought that was normal. My father beat his children, and raped his daughters regularly.  When I was 10 years of age, I was hospitalized to repair the severe damages from one of the rapes.  Various forms of torture were also included.  For now, though, I'm just talking about the violence.
 
When your father beats you on a regular basis, you hate and fear it, but know that it is a part of life. It was also a large part of our continued underlying anxiety, growing up. Being punched, kicked, thrown against walls, having hair pulled, and subjected to spankings defined a painful part of our existence.  There was never a question of IF we would be beaten, but WHEN.  

The majority of the time, we didn't do anything wrong, so we couldn't really "prevent" being punished, or predict when our day would turn sour and terrifying.  The beatings were an excuse for our father to let off steam, so we became his little punching bags. 

Appropriate, I guess, considering that my father was once a Golden Gloves boxer.  We used to watch him box, back in the early-mid 1950s, on our little B&W t.v. set. Later on, we were made to watch the Monday and Friday Night Fights.  His Golden Gloves, meanwhile, retired to the big storage closet in the hallway.

                                           We also learned to box.  

We were made to put on the gloves, and spar, learning to jab with a left-hook, how to get that uppercut in when your opponent was off-guard, the cross punch, etc.  I guess this was to help us learn to protect ourselves - that could be a good thing. But what we really needed protection from was our FATHER.

In any event, we learned violence from the time we entered the world.  When the neighborhood kids would beat up on our siblings, Laurie & I would beat up the bullies.  Arlo later told me that I was doing him "no favors" when I would beat up the kids who beat him up.  It just earned him more derision, that he "...had to have his sisters defend him".  Our brother Tom became a bully and also kicked holes in the walls, learning from dear old dad how to vent his frustration and rage.

I used to get sucked into fights in grade school.  There was one notable fight in the school yard, where my opponent was at least a foot taller than me. As I was flailing away with my punches, he mostly just slapped me, and held me back.  I was too stupid to realize that he probably could have decked me with one punch, but since I was a girl, that might not look good for him.  As it was, a teacher broke up our fight, pretty much telling him that it was wrong to be fighting with a girl, and wasn't he ashamed of himself?  Since I was the one who said: "Call you down!" in a fit of rage, I felt slightly guilty that he was the one who was made to sit in the principle's office, and I was made to look like the victim. 

Rage.  I had a temper, with rage fueled by violence done to myself and my siblings.
 
Hitting and punching were accepted forms of communication in our house.  Since I was the eldest of 9, I was the enforcer when one of the youngsters complained about another sibling (usually Tom) who was beating up on them. I had to then kick the offenders' butt: "Stop hitting Sue! If you do that again, I'll hit YOU!"    This usually worked on a short-term basis each time, until my brothers grew taller and stronger.  Big sister had to resort to other methods of "discipline".  Once, I was so upset with my brother Tom's bullying, that I threw a chicken at him that I was stuffing for dinner. 

Stuffing all over the floor - no harm done, but I had to revise my methods of keeping the "peace". Tom just laughed and ran off.

"Peace" was the operative word beginning at age 14, when I spent a lot of time with my hippie friends.  The rules were changing, we didn't want to live as our parents did, etc.  Living in peace was a goal to achieve, though something not that simple for one who was raised in violence.  But I was willing to learn about PEACE & LOVE! 

I wasn't the only one who had trouble maintaining that philosophy.  During a peace rally in SF in 1967, as we were holding up our "Make Love, Not War" signs, one of the marchers turned to another, and started hitting him with him with his peace sign. They'd had some sort of philosophical disagreement.   True story.  The irony was not lost on the rest of us. I heard one woman cry out: "Let's split this scene, Melissa - bad vibes!!!"  

I had a child when I was young, who, for the most part, was treated well (in my view), but there were a few times when in frustration, I hit her, and even used my fists on one occasion. She was a teen, and arrived home hours late. No excuses, but I had been terrified. I fell back on what I had been taught, and castigated myself later - over and over - for my actions. 

The majority of the time, however, I turned my rage and frustration inward, resulting in panic attacks, phobias, and hypersensitivity. I was a lot of fun to be around!

I guess I shouldn't feel too bad - John Lennon himself was a violent man, before he preached "Love, Not War".  He wrote songs about threatening to kill his girlfriend, if she "looked at another man".  But then, he met Yoko.

 It's tough finding that middle ground, in real life.  Few of us are Gandhi or Mother Teresa.....but we can learn...can't we?