Tom Lawrence: Tom Lawrence and the Keith Richards joke

Hi, My name is Marshall, and I’m guest-posting this evening. I used to work with Theresa at Knowledgewire/EduNeering, and I knew Tom through her. I play in a rock band, and I’m also one of seven writers at a music blog called Nonalignment Pact, where I write one music-related post each Saturday.

Well, this past Saturday, along with many of you, I attended Tom’s memorial service and reception. When I got back home, I decided I would dedicate that day’s post to Tom. Theresa has asked me to re-post what I wrote here, on Tom’s blog.

I should preface this by admitting that I only got to hang out with Tom a handful of times. But as I told Theresa, I left Saturday's service and reception inspired by Tom's love of music and what he had to say about its importance in our lives. So that's what I wrote about. I wouldn't and couldn't pretend to write a proper story that captured everything Tom means to so many people. But I'm grateful for what he meant to me. What I learned at the memorial service was that he affected a lot of other people in the same way.

So with Theresa’s permission, I am honored to share this with you.

_______

At work, I am the guy with the band. No matter which job I’ve had, that’s been part of my identity. I’m never sure how my coworkers feel about it, and I generally don’t push my music hobby on anyone. Sure, I’ll invite people out with via email, but I don’t get offended if no one comes. And if somebody makes it out I’m grateful for the gesture. Still, I don’t expect to convert anyone into a fan.

But several years ago, I did get a fan when my coworker Theresa Strong brought her husband Tom Lawrence to a show of ours. He was in his mid-40s and huge classic rock fan, and he said we were his kind of music. I suppose we must have been, because over the years my friends Theresa and Tom came to a number of our shows, and have always been enthusiastic and willing evangelists, to the point of buying our CD for out-of-town relatives. Tom, a professional filmmaker and photographer, even shot some publicity stills for us, charging us only for the materials.

Once, we played a show at Super Happy Fun Land, and there were only about 10 or 12 people in the pews, including Theresa and Tom. Naturally, since hardly anyone was there, it turned into one of the best shows we’d ever played. Maybe the best. We were playing our sleepy, humble Wilco imitations with guts and loose energy. Even our fuck-ups felt right. It sounded good, and I could tell that all 12 people in the pews agreed.

After the show, Tom came up and he said it was the best he’d ever seen us, and the he was really happy to be there for it. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but the point is he knew from what he’d seen and heard that we felt special about our show, and he wanted to acknowledge the feeling was mutual. He was excited and stoked about it. That meant a hell of a lot to me then.

It means more now.

Early this week, Tom died of brain cancer. He was diagnosed in June of 2007, and he passed away just a few days after moving into hospice care. We went to his memorial service and reception this morning. What struck me about the service was how music-centered it was. Interspersed between the sermons and the speakers, Tom played us some of his favorite songs. Songs he chose for this service, and we just listened as they played. It wasn’t background music. It was silent time for memories and reflection. Made me think I’d like my own memorial to go like that. A lot of music, and not too many speeches.

I won’t go through the playlist, but the last song was “Baby I’m Amazed”. I didn’t expect to cry, cuz I never do (not even at funerals). But I did when that song started. I love that song, and I could feel it overcoming my heart immediately. Usually, I’m alone when songs and circumstances combine to hit me that hard. But today I was with a hundred other people mourning man who had picked that one song to be one of our final memories of him, and a final message to Theresa, who had helped him through the most difficult time of his life.

For today’s post, with the service still fresh in my mind, I wanted to share a wry quote from Tom’s journal. Everyone who attended got a copy of it as we were leaving, so I can show it to you in his handwriting:

The idea that Keith Richards could survive me in death is so ironic to me—a bit twisted yes—but so sublime in the perfection of it all.

People have been making the Keith Richards joke for ages, but in this context, it serves to remind us that Death is unprincipled and unpredictable. For some, Death is merciful and protective. Willing to preserve us into banal old age, no matter what horrible things we’ve done to our wicked earthly vessels.

But for some Death is capricious and wonton. It doesn’t matter that you ran marathons and climbed Kilimanjaro, as Tom Lawrence did. Some are nevertheless pushed too soon from the train carrying the rest of us. They breathe the last hard breaths and maybe laugh a bit to themselves as they imagine the rail car that will usher all the aging rock stars into their golden years.