A final tribute...
We said goodbye to our friend last week in a wonderful service in which some shared personal memories—often humorous—of Tom (“Tommy,” as many called him). Though I wasn’t one of those who spoke during the service, I was honored to be a pallbearer. (Thank you, again, Janis and Amanda, for this gift, which meant the world to me.)
Some know that Tom and I were close friends during our time working together at WKLX/WBBF (I hope this includes not only colleagues, but also listeners who could sense our kinship). Despite our bond (or perhaps because of it), though, aside from personal conversations with old friends over the past week, I was fairly silent here while gathering my thoughts about Tom’s passing.
In times such as this, it’s in my nature to think...to think some more...and then, finally, to write. At first, I wasn’t sure for whom I was writing, nor if this would be the proper forum. But I wanted to put some words someplace and, ultimately, this tribute is for Tom’s extended “radio family”—including those still in radio along with those who, like me, have moved on. (Despite the circumstances, it was nice to see so many last week.)
There is not a lot more to say that hasn’t already been shared about Tom’s unique radio talents. So, instead, I want to highlight other sides to Tom (known by some, perhaps, but likely not everyone)....
As I listened Wednesday to repeated references to “Tommy,” I thought, “That’s funny, even though we were friends, I don’t think I ever once called him ‘Tommy.’” The reason, I knew, was because I most often called him “big bro’,” after he had taken to calling me “Mikey,” his “little brother”—nicknames that represented a true “brotherly” bond (though we sometimes greeted each other with “pizza, pizza!”—from the Little Caesar’s commercial). For those who might’ve missed it, the
99FM WKLX Facebook Fan Page posted a 99BBF audio clip, from 1999, featuring Tom and me.
Our connection ran much deeper than nicknames, however. Once, when Tom encountered a personal rough patch, I was able to help—without even knowing it at the time (he told me much later)—just by listening (or, to use his word, “commiserating” with him over coffee at Jay’s Diner). Later, when I encountered my own rocky period, he was one of the first to whom I turned. I still remember—and can almost hear—his simple yet heartfelt advice. Imagine Tom’s baritone voice, but instead of the usual guffawing, he said, slowly, “Well, pal, one day it’ll melt away and all that’ll be left are fond memories.”
Another time, he had been sitting alone inside a darkened studio in the Forman Building. It was dark, that is, until I hit the lights—startling both of us. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know you were in here.” What kind of antics was he up to inside that empty studio? Well, Tom told me, he had been praying. I knew him well enough to know when he was being sincere—though I’m sure he lightened the moment with a joke afterward.
In fact, time spent with Tom—whether up in the the old sixth-floor studios, out at a festival appearance, or meeting for coffee—was typically filled with laughter.
Hearty laughter. There are
many stories that could be told, for he was a
huge character, on air and off air. He also had many traits that I, and undoubtedly others, wished we could better emulate. Regrettably, we had lost touch in recent years (aside from an occasional e-mail suggesting a get-together—the most recent one almost exactly one year ago after I referenced him in a
blog post). Understandably, many have described feeling shocked upon learning of Tom’s passing. But because Tom and I no longer saw each other frequently, I was deeply saddened by the news and, truth be told, a little ticked off at both of us for letting us drift apart. (“Dammit,” I said a few times. Surely he would understand.)
Last week’s “Celebration of the Life of Thomas D. Noonan”—officiated by the Rev. Imani Dodley (who, by the way, Tom would have loved)—gave comfort. Clearly, “Tommy” was beloved by many. While each of us, thankfully, can count many good friends in our lives at any given moment, most of us could probably point to only a small handful—those special few throughout our entire lifetimes—with whom we’ve shared a
true bond. Last week, I said goodbye to one of mine.
