Thomas Dean Preston

The fun started for Tom on his birth at 10:35 AM Friday, August 12, 1960 in Albany, OR to Leon L. Preston and Delores J. Eisenhauer. He was the third of three children, ten years younger than his last born, sibling. Tom died February 27, 2023 in Salem, Oregon of pancreatic cancer. In August 2022, Tom was given an estimated 5 to 6 months of which, the first few months were expected to be relatively symptom free before a rapid reversal.

In 1962, the family moved to Scio, OR where Tom (with a few exceptions) had a fairly, normal childhood. As a child, he was always restless and bored, especially during the winter months. Summer months in Oregon were great! Motor Dirt Biking, The smell of the first cutting of hay in fields, Swimming in Thomas Creek and best of all, the Mint Fields!

Academically, Tom was an average student, curiously with lower scores in reading and spelling. It wouldn’t be until approximately Mid-2000s that Tom was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). Even though characteristics of ADD were seemingly first observed and studied in 1798, it was apparently not classified as a treatable affliction (rather than a mental disorder) until the 1990s. Tom’s mother noticed this his reading improved exponentially when reading of Armond Hammer for example, over Pocahontas. She did report these findings but, to no avail. Tom was “Labeled” as a poor reader and that was that!

Spelling was another curious in which his marks were sub-par. There were many words that he inherently misspelled and could not overcome. For Tom, he knew he had to intentionally “Misspell” a word, to have it marked as “Correct”. It was not until Grade 8 that his teacher had the wherewithal to ask him if he had ever lived in Canada or England, while pointing out many words he misspelled were in such British fashion. Such words included: Cheque (As form of payment), Colour, Programme, Defence, Theatre and the like. As he had not lived outside the United States, the weak spelling marks continued – for a while.

Tom was 34 years old before he learned in 2004 while watching the Discovery Channel, that Theodore Roosevelt, in 1906, signed an executive order to CHANGE THE SPELLING of roughly 300 words. Two reasons he learned, 1) Although an accomplished author, Theodore Roosevelt was in fact, a very poor speller, and tried to spell words phonetically and 2) It was more economical for the government printing office. Tom suspects the foremost, otherwise the word “Deficit” would have been included to the list.

For example; We’ll use the word “PROGRAMME” - We were all familiar with the saying, “Drop the E and add ING, EXCEPT for…” “Why the exception?”, Tom would ask. And Tom always asked a lot of questions. Although being “Right” is more fun, Tom never had an issue with being “Wrong”. If he was wrong about something, it was important for him to know WHY he was wrong. “Because, that’s just the way it is”! Was the only answer he got from his teachers. For years, Tom was taught that he was poor at spelling. Admittedly, Tom was “Horrible” speller but, meanwhile, every other English speaking Country in the world, uses PROGRAMME!

Starting about the age of eleven or twelve, Tom (while his mother would go shopping) started asking that she drop him off at various funeral homes and pick him up when she finished. Needless to say, his mother thought this was odd behaviour. However, Tom seemed happy with it and, as long as they were not too busy, the funeral directors seemed happy to have him. In 1975, Tom was given a part-time (one day per week) job at Fisher Funeral Home in Albany, OR – washing cars, vacuuming, helping with the transfer of remains to the funeral home and on funeral services. He could think of no two gentlemen other than Walter Kropp and Dan Ordeman, to learn the “Proper” formal intricacies of Classic Funeral Service. Dan always said, “If you don’t have time to do it right the first time, you have no business doing it at all!” No truer words were ever spoken, where Tom was concerned. If lawyers were held to that standard, there would be far fewer lawyers today.

Two short months later, Tom’s parents informed him that, for business purposes, they would be moving to Toronto, ON. Tom was given two weeks to decide if he wanted to accompany his parents to Toronto or stay with his grandparents in Scio. After two weeks of weighing the options, Tom decided he would remain in Scio. He was livid upon learning that his parents too, had reconsidered and decided that he would be moving to Toronto. Two months later, Tom, much against his will, was on his way to Toronto. For 2,633 miles, he barely spoke to his parents, except to occasionally yell “Shanghaied!” Tom wasn’t quite as angry of the move as he let on.

Once arriving in Toronto, Tom remained silent, but not for the same reason. He was in absolute awe of the bustle of life and plethora of activities Toronto had to offer. This was Heaven! Tom soon learned that having been forced by his parents to move to Toronto, quite literally, opened the entire world to him. He adjusted to life in the city very well and made new friends easily. The boredom was gone, no more restlessness and what’s more, his spelling improved instantly.

Adjusting to academia presented new challenges for Tom. He referred to it as jumping from a high school freshman in Scio, Oregon to an upperclassman at Yale – overnight! Arithmetic soon became his greatest challenge. One instance, Tom could easily get the correct answer in three steps, as could anyone but, no. That was WRONG! Although the final number was the same, the correct answer required SEVEN steps and the work of each of the seven steps must be shown. He simply could not comprehend such sophisticated instruction in the art of wasting time.

Everyone who knew Tom, knows that if he had an issue with something, an issue would probably be made. All he needed, is to understand the “Logic” behind the required method. Yet, an answer to his question was never forthcoming. Could it be, like the Oregon teachers – They just didn’t know? This of course put him in ill favour with his math instructor. In time, to bring up his Grade Point Average, Tom decided the prudent measure may be to enroll in a Home Economics course. Part of this course, Tom expected, would be to learn to cook for oneself. Not a talent necessarily needed immediately but will certainly be beneficial in the future. The “Economics” part of this course always seemed off. Domestically speaking, if it is a Mignon Roast you are craving, with a heavy, mushroom claret sauce, but you have only $40, it would be ECONOMICALLY prudent to go with the Meatloaf and Ketchup. Boom! There is an “A” in Home Economics.

Tom recalled a Home Economics test in Toronto, in which one question required A) List all ingredients mayonnaise or some other such condiment. B) List duration of each ingredient to spoilage from X date at X degrees Celsius and, C) calculate how long the condiment will last if stored at X degrees Celsius. Given eggs (being be a significant variable, so he believed) to be the major component in mayonnaise and as there was no data provided as to when or where eggs were laid, no transport and storage data, Tom answered “Not Enough Information Provided”. WRONG! Tom took issue and again found himself waiting to see the principal. AUGH!

Soon, Tom started looking for part-time funeral home job after school and weekends as being productive, by working was an activity he really enjoyed. He visited a few funeral homes in the area with no offers. Still about fifteen years old, he called on one funeral home and spent considerable time speaking with the owner, who he very much liked. Finally, the funeral home owner said “Tell you what” as he handed Tom some cash and the keys to a black, 1973 Sedan De Ville “If you drive down to the beer store and bring back a case of Labatts, you’re hired”. Tom did, and he was! I KNOW, RIGHT? A CASE OF BEER!

Tom was very much overwhelmed by the pomp and formality of funerals in Toronto. A director’s service attire was a Morning Suit, comprised of hickory stipe Trousers, backless, pearl or black Waistcoat (vest) with a black Gentleman’s Stroller – very dapper. Female funeral directors were rare in that period, but not unheard of. Their attire was a hickory strip skirt, two to three-inch black, heeled shoes, white blouse with ruffled front and black jacket. A typical funeral procession was comprised of a full complement of professional vehicles, starting with the lead car (provided for the clergy) followed by at least one, open flower car, a pall bearers limousine, the hearse followed by family limousine(s) of their choosing. One Italian funeral home where Tom occasionally helped even had a separate limousine for the funeral directors to ride. Imagine this, if you can; A cold, winter day in the city, a 300-year-old gothic Basilica, a funeral fleet of eight or nine, long black shinny cars line the curb in front, snow gracefully falling on the idling cars, as the sound of a lone, somber funeral bell tolls from the tower as well dressed mourners quietly gather in front… THAT WAS A FUNERAL! And each was meticulously orchestrated and flawlessly directed by exquisitely dressed, well experienced, professional FUNERAL DIRECTORS!

That was nearly fifty years ago. It seems today, proper funeral etiquette requires a good, Funeral Size Slurpy and a bag of Cheetos.

Tom was fascinated with and gained valuable, early knowledge of people from around the world, their cultures, funeral rituals and protocols. Not to mention, where he could buy beer at the age of fifteen - as this was one of his part-time tasks for at the Funeral Parlour.

This may be an appropriate time insert an answer to what may be an obvious question. “Did your parents condone such behaviour?” Condone and tolerate, yes. Encourage? Absolutely not! His parents, knowing that he would party regardless of their wishes which, for a teenage boy, the odds would certainly be in that favour. Tom’s parents did not “forbid” him from partying but asked for absolute honesty. It was made clear that their only concern is my safety. Tom would tell them the address of a party, the phone number and, if he was unable to drive, call a cab at their expense, they will come to pick him up or, if I am going to be later than expected, call them to let them know – Which he ALWAYS did. HONESTY! But no, they never encouraged it.

In late 1977 or early 1978, Tom moved to Los Angeles to study Mortuary Science. Tom loved Southern California life as it offered again, endless sources of entertainment with near perpetual sunshine. Before long, he was offered a job with a transportation, limousine and hearse livery service, providing services to Los Angeles funeral homes. This proved very rewarding to Tom, as the assignments were much more varied than at a traditional funeral home. More rewarding, albeit, a double edge sword, as with his experience gained serving such varied cultures, many funeral homes requiring a hearse or limousine would request Tom, specifically. Soon, Tom was being called in early, working very late and on days off. Sleep, or lack thereof, was becoming a serious issue. Tom recalled one instance while waiting in the basement for the nursing supervisor outside a locked morgue at a hospital, a freshly made bed was in the hall, directly outside the morgue. This bed was calling his name – Loudly!

Truly exhausted, Tom waited five minutes, then ten. All awhile, focusing on the bed. Eventually he could not resist. He climbed onto the bed and fell immediately into a deep sleep. He was abruptly awakened by the nursing supervisor, beating him with a broom and chasing him up and down the hall screaming “That was a sanitary bed – Now it has to be completely redone because of you – what’s wrong with you?” A BROOM!

Another instance, Tom hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in nearly two weeks. His phone rang about 10:00am Saturday morning. Tom was instructed to pick up a limousine at a Redondo Beach funeral home and was given the family’s home address. Tom said, “I’m sorry, I can’t do it – it’s too dangerous – I need sleep” Tom was told to do it or basically, he will be fired. Maybe too tired, maybe too young or maybe, there were no laws supporting the situation at that time – either way, he took the assignment. Then he was told, “Just to let you know, the decedent is equivalent to what would be the Godfather of the Chinese Mafia and the funeral director requested you specifically” to help with the family. If true, he would have been given more than four hours’ notice, prior to service time.

He drove to Redondo Beach, only to find a 1966 limousine without working air conditioning, the glass divider would not go down and the rear windows would not unlock. Very poor condition for a twelve-year-old car. Tom called the dispatch office to warn of the issues and request another car. He was told there was no choice as every other funeral appropriate limousine in the city was already tied up for this same service. And the family limousine is a twelve-year-old car without air? Tom was tired, and now, pissed off too! The widow was so sweet, and Tom felt so bad, as she pecked on the glass divider, “Please sir – It very hot in car – Please”. Tom pulled over and was able to get one of the rear windows to go down halfway. They were so appreciative, even for that.

As they neared the service location, for blocks, they slowly drove past limousine after limousine. Probably about 150 in total. Some so new they didn’t even have plates yet – Every single car was empty, without a single passenger. The funeral director told Tom that they had all been hired to transport the spirits of the long dead ancestors of the decedent. Tom was familiar with this custom but, it does not mean the living family rides in the oldest car in the city! Someone screwed up – very badly. The family was so very gracious and appreciative for his efforts, they knew Tom had done all he could. In keeping with tradition, everyone who participates in the service will receive some gratuity. Tom’s gratuity he was sure, exceeded the primary director’s gratuity in value by at least three times. It was quite substantial.

One day after school, Tom decided to stop at a little, beach-front bar in Orange County. The bar was quiet at that hour, with exception of few, freaky looking guys that turned out to be a lot of fun to hang out with. They all played pool together and taking turns buying rounds of beer. About six hours later, the bar was filling up quickly. People started lining up to get autographs from Tom’s new friends. Not wanting to embarrass himself or his new friends, Tom asked a girl waiting in line for an autograph, who they were? “That’s Frank Zappa and his band” she said. Sweet! Tom had spent the last several hours partying with Frank Zappa! Feeling well overserved, Tom decided to make his way home. A poor idea, as he only made it a few blocks. Tom stopped at a red light – unfortunately, he stopped in the middle of the intersection. He was unaware of his faux pas, nor did he notice the police car that was unable to cross the intersection he was blocking. Tom’s arresting officer was a very nice girl who drove him to the hospital for a blood/alcohol test. Tom had recently been to a Halloween party, hosted by several of the ER staff at that hospital. Tom’s pictures were all over the Emergency Room bulletin board, which Tom was (wearing a very handsome Dracula costume) proud to point out. After being checked into jail, his arresting officer thanked Tom and told him that she had never had more fun, anywhere, on any arrest – EVER! She THANKED HIM!

During the inflationary times of the 1970’s, Tom also recalled that Los Angeles County (along with others) had made significant budget cuts. This of course affected the Los Angeles County Coroner’s Office as well. Being understaffed, the coroner’s office contracted with the livery firm with which Tom was working, to handle the more typical situations involving the deaths of individuals who were not under the care of a physician. Tom attended the death investigation classes offered by the coroner’s office and upon completion, was given limited authority to act on behalf of the Los Angeles County Coroner.

Still no more than nineteen, maybe twenty years old, Tom recalled one instance in particular, when he was dispatched to a major, San Fernando Valley hospital to investigate a death at the hospital emergency department. The circumstances were highly irregular with issues continuing to unfold. A paramedic collapsed and passed out, along with two nurses, and it was growing. Realizing the situation was well beyond his authority or knowledge, Tom called the coroner’s office to explain the situation and request that a deputy coroner be sent immediately to this hospital. Tom was told that all deputies were out on other calls and it would be at least two hours before one could sent. Tom was instructed to use his best judgement and do whatever he thought was necessary until such time a deputy arrives. Tom remembers thinking to himself “I am a teenager about to order the emergency department of a major hospital be closed, sealed, and order all ambulance traffic be diverted to other nearby hospitals – this is INSANE!”. Terrified and anticipating pushback from all directions, he did what he felt he had to do. Tom also ordered two additional ambulances to be on standby, to cover any walk-in emergencies and initiated the call to dispatch HAZ-MAT teams to the hospital and to the address of the incident, for their assistance. Much to Tom’s dismay – there was absolutely no pushback from anyone, and his decisions proved 100% accurate. Decades later, this matter was portrayed in an episode of Forensic Files or other such television programme however, no mention was made of the scared, teenage kid who had to give the order. He doesn’t recall the final outcome of this saga as, once the deputy coroner arrived, Tom handed over his reports, filled him in and was immediately dispatched on other calls.

Tom eventually took a funeral director’s position at a large, multi-location mortuary, working between the Hollywood and Beverly Hills locations, both of which have now been closed for many decades. The Beverly Hills location served few, but all remarkably affluent and well celebrated families. During this period of time, a California funeral director was not licensed as an individual. Rather, a funeral director was authorized to act as such under the establishment’s license. As much fun as Tom had working for this company, he recalls a point about two months into his employment. Tom was informed that it was his night to take “Funeral Director Required” calls for all locations. This being the first he knew of this responsibility, he had many “What If” questions. Briefly put, the answer was “You Deal With It”. About 2:30 in the morning, a call was put through to Tom at his home. A member of the founding family of a company of which Tom was familiar, had died and the family wanted to meet with a funeral director immediately. Tom tried to arrange a conference later, during business hours but the family was most instant that they meet immediately. By chance, they were calling the Beverly Hills location. Tom lived less than a mile from the funeral home so agreed to meet them. He was with the family for about two hours. A very impressive service was planned with an exceptional casket. About 11:30 the next morning, Tom received a call at Beverly Hills from a manager at a different location, scolding him for doing what “He had no business doing” and that Tom should have called “him” to come in and make the arrangement. Soon thereafter, Tom received a couple of calls from directors at the service centre, (720 as it was called) furious and scolding him for something that Tom truly did not understand. No one would tell him specifically what he had done wrong. Tom thought he was on the verge of being fired – Until a couple hours later. Bill Gex, who was the Batesville Casket market representative, came in to see him at Beverly Hills to congratulate Tom for being “Number two in the entire company”. Tom had absolutely no idea what Bill was talking about. During lunch, Bill explained that Batesville was offering a one week, all-expense paid trip for two to Hawaii, to the director with the best casket sales for the month. It was a great relief for Tom, to know he hadn’t really done anything wrong, yet it did leave a great big “WTF” in his mind. From that point, Tom stood absolutely no chance of winning the Hawaii trip as, for the duration of the month, Tom was assigned to only help families of modest comfort.

Unfortunately, that would not be the end of the retaliation. There was a standing policy that only Cadillac vehicles be used on all Beverly Hills services. Still, some cars were better than others and Tom was always careful to order the newest and best Cadillac service vehicles by their tag number. In this case, someone, apparently during the night, had changed the board, not only from all Cadillac to all Buick but, the oldest Buicks in the fleet were specified. One limousine had been taken out of service pending repair of a dented, rear quarter panel and another was waiting for a replacement hubcap. Tom was completely unaware of the change until these dented Buicks began pulling up in front of the Beverly Hills funeral home, with the family inside. Tom was livid, but there was no fixing the situation at that stage. This vehicle switch had been unsuccessfully attempted a couple of times later but, the fleet manager knew to be watchful of these changes.

The funeral business being the only industry Tom had known, always wondered why his friends all had better cars, nicer apartments and more disposable cash than he. After a couple of years with this funeral home, an acquaintance offered Tom a Los Angeles job with (as he was told) an Abu Dhabi based, event promotion company. The current project was to be a Boxing match in Dubai. Supposedly, Don King was involved as was Mohamad Ali – although not as a contender. The strange thing about this job was that Tom never seemed to have anything to do. Before long, he was given a couple “token” assignments to work on. One involved a few, 40 foot ocean containers, allegedly, all containing “Grand Piano’s”. It seems these Grand Piano’s had been inadvertently released to a consignee in Antwerp without the required, advance payment – which was substantial. Tom asked what seemed to be the most obvious questions, 1) Why is this company involved with so many Grand Pianos and 2) What is this company’s relationship with the shipper and consignee?

Tom was told “You don’t need to know that”. Hmm! The other task seemed relatively meaningless as well, but nonetheless, much more interesting. It involved the sale of two, used Greek flag ocean cargo vessels to an obscure, African country. Tom asked if these vessels were currently in service and where they were now? The reply – “You don’t need to know that”. Tom was starting to smell “Rat Droppings”! Secretly, Tom called the Los Angeles Port Authority and the Greek Embassy - Neither of which had any record of these two vessels. Of course, Tom reported his findings, only to get a scolding in the extreme. This scolding however, answered many questions. Tom wondered, “What kind of buyer would agree to spend hundreds of millions of U.S. Dollars on items that do not exist?” It must be a company that needs a reason to move hundreds of millions of dollars, internationally, without raising eyebrows. Tom was “uncomfortable” with this and now suspected that all these Concert Grand Pianos may be the subject of fraud. One day, Tom was in the West LA office alone and took a call from a cargo agent in Houston. The boxing ring had been delivered but, the freight charge had still not been paid. Tom was told that unless the freight charge was paid immediately, it would not be on the last vessel to timely arrive in the UAE.

Tom was unable to contact anyone who seemed to care. Furthermore, he was curious that this company did not have it’s own freight account. Shortly thereafter, another call came in that required Tom to pull the plans to the event centre in Dubai. He pulled the tube containing the prints to the event centre which he had done a few times before, only now, the design prints for a jet fighter aircraft! A clear picture was developing. Tom politely, resigned after two months and ran like a cheetah.

Not wanting to return to the funeral industry and learning that it may behoove him to know a little bit about a company before seeking employment, Tom started checking with Dun & Bradstreet, first. Depressed, not knowing what industry he wanted to pursue, a friend suggested that he pursue a position at Dun & Bradstreet. A GENIOUS IDEA!, Tom though. He applied and was soon offered a position as an account manager in the Commercial Recovery Division at Van Nuys.

Although not exactly the job he was after, it was a foot in the door. Despite Tom’s best efforts to heed the suggestions of his supervisors and colleagues, he did not have the recommended demeanor for that job. After a couple of months with little progress and fearing his days may be limited, Tom explained to his manager, several common denominators he had observed, one of which being, roughly 93% of were disputed. Given that the company gets paid whether the account is paid or settled, Tom asked if he could be given 60 days to try to approach the situations from his own perspective. Both curiously and somewhat guardedly, his manager agreed. Tom began looking into each file before drawing any conclusions, speaking with the client and the receiver, requesting supporting documentation in attempt to forensically learn the true nature of the dispute and if nothing else, arbitrate a reasonable settlement. This method proved so successful that Tom’s file sizes began to grow exponentially, generous monthly bonuses were forthcoming and little monthly plaques were offered as he began exposing issues ranging from minor accounting errors, lost freight, employee theft and international fraud. A Dun & Bradstreet colleague once said of Tom, “If he smells a rat, you can bet, there is a rat – somewhere”. For Tom, exposing the rat was only about 90% of the job. He never felt the job was complete until the rat had been mercilessly, dragged the into the light of day and beaten to death with a stick.

It was upon his hire to Dun & Bradstreet that Tom learned the answer to years long question, “How could all his friends afford a better lifestyle than he?” The answer was really, pretty simple. Tom didn’t have any close friends who worked at funeral homes! Dun & Bradstreet’s entry level (No Previous Experience) compensation package was a short jump to being double his rate of pay as a funeral director. Add on performance bonuses, annual pay increases and a wonderful benefit package – he was earning, for the first time ever, a very comfortable living wage. Tom recalled his first Christmas bonus outside the funeral industry. He thought it was an error. His first Christmas bonus with Dun & Bradstreet was $3,500. The second Christmas bonus was $5,000. By comparison, his last funeral industry Christmas bonus in the twenty first century, after thirty years experience was $250.00! This also helped to explain why so many of his colleagues at the multi-location firm in Los Angeles, were forced to “Weaselism” for nothing more than a simple trip to Hawaii. That’s very sad.

While still at Dun & Bradstreet, about the age of 22 or 23, a friend who worked for Pan Am (who knew of Tom’s previous experience in the funeral industry) posed a curious business opportunity. Believing that Tom may have direct, personal contact with many florists and his increasing knowledge of international logistics, suggested they partner in a business of importing Roses from Guatemala and supplying florists, direct. Given very specific rose varieties, the florists with whom Tom spoke, were all quite receptive. A few sample cases of 500 stems each were shipped and distributed. Of these few sample cases, arrivals were rarely timely and varietal specifications were ignored entirely. Tom’s potential new business partner seemed disinterested in correcting these issues. Still, the idea was interesting to Tom as he set out to find a replacement partner. Tom had an acquaintance from Guatemala, an attorney practicing both in Guatemala City and in Los Angeles. Now, this was 40 years ago – back when Tom was still quite naïve and thought, to be an attorney, you had to be smart. The word “Naïve” may be understated in this instance. As it were, this attorney claimed to have two friends in Guatemala who owned rose plantations. They had dinner a couple times for discussion of the topic. Tom always found the topic of Law interesting and for various reasons, was interested to hear his Guatemalan friend speak of his cases. After three or four collective hours (generously spent, from Tom’s perspective) Tom eliminated this candidate.

A couple months later, Tom walked up to the bar at the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard (which was one of his favourite clubs) to order a glass of scotch. Sitting at the bar next to him was an elegant, well-dressed woman in heels. Iris was her name. She opened her mouth and began to speak like a refined, well-educated stevedore. They hit it off immediately. About an hour of buying each other drinks, the topic of our occupations finally came up. Tom was an Account Manager with Dun & Bradstreet, working with international dispute resolution matters, Iris was the Vice President of a company dealing with the acquisition and transfer of bananas from Central and South America to Hawaii. For Tom, all the bells, whistles and lights immediately went off. Not wanting to be overzealous, Tom kept his primary interest concealed until they had the opportunity to talk more. Tom and Iris exchanged phone numbers and planned to meet for dinner in the next few days. Before long, Tom and Iris were on their way to Guatemala. With several pre-set appointments, with thanks to the U.S. Agricultural Attaché, none of the rose producers they met even knew the varieties they were growing – only that they had red, white, pink, and yellow. The most promising was an American broker, residing in Guatemala. Unfortunately, he was never quite able to pull things together and ultimately, one may have thought he was more interested in shadow trading of Mayan artifacts and marijuana. Neither of which was on their agenda. However, Guatemala is a producer of the best Chinese snow peas, second to Kenya. Iris knew a British distributor, in search of snow peas. We did arrange and sent 3,000 lbs. of snow peas to London. Despite several more trips, we curiously seemed to get a quality claim that was right about the same as our margin.

Eventually, the decision was made that Tom should resign from Dun & Bradstreet and buy a one-way ticket to Guatemala. But first, Tom needed to go to London to meet with the buyer. Iris packed him a sack lunch, dropped him at LAX where he paid his $8.63 (or some such amount) for a ticket in steerage class on Peoples Express to London Gatwick. It was an unpleasant flight. An unexpected storm had moved into the UK, heavy snow and one of the coldest days in over 25 years. The client sent a message that they would be unable to meet Tom at the airport and that he would have to take the train to Wembley. Somewhere around Victoria Station, Tom started getting sick. Upon arriving at Wembley Station, Tom called his client’s home number as instructed – An answering machine! With no appropriate clothing for this climate, lost, shivering, and getting sicker by the minute, Tom took a room at the first hotel he found. It may well have been some eighteenth century, house of ill repute. A very unpleasant trip. However, Tom did get some of the answers they needed.

The next eighteen months in Guatemala were, for lack of better words, tenuous for Tom. Of course, Tom made many new friends in Guatemala and had a lot of fun yet, always tempered by his inability to find quality and quantity of any given item, delivered when, where and at the price agreed. Confirmed supply could easily go from “Guaranteed” to “Impossible” within a matter of hours. Tom had to learn how to negotiate business in Central America and maybe even redefine his ethics. Guatemala had a lot to offer and many (not all) but many good, well-intentioned people. However, the structural organization was literally, nonexistent, or at least, that’s how it appeared. These were also dangerous times for Guatemala and for Americans in Guatemala. The kidnapping of Americans for ransom was considered a profitable venture, and the disappearance of locals was commonplace.

Tom had taken a comfortable apartment on Avenida La Reforma, located in the best (safest) part of town, blocks from the American Embassy on one side and the Camino Real (The City’s best hotel) on the other, which Tom and many others used as a central business meeting point. The ground floor of Tom’s apartment building was comprised of many commercial shops including a barber shop and travel agency, both of which Tom patronized frequently. Tom’s philosophy was that you cannot have too many friends at Embassies, Banks, or in Government. Having friends (or at a minimum, acquaintances) in the Guatemalan government was helpful, but not without its own potential risks. The advantages however, outweighed the risk. Tom remembers being on a first name basis with Guatemala’s Minister of Defence and the Minister of Agriculture. One evening, Tom even had dinner with the First Lady of Guatemala. On the surface, this seems all quite politically exotic however, Guatemala is a very small country, and many of these political figures were relatives of, and introduced to Tom by friends he had met in the clubs. The clubs Tom frequented, all had armed guards posted inside and out. It was required that all persons entering these clubs, check their weapons at the door.

Tom spent a lot of time outside of the city, in the growing areas. These areas were where his safety was most vulnerable. Tom was asked many times by many people if he carried a gun – which he did not. Many people highly urged him to carry a weapon whilst others pleaded that he not. On several occasions, this became a very heated debate among guests (of which Tom was one) at dinner parties. Those who recommended he carry a gun, argued that it can be a powerful deterrent to those wanting to kill you simply because you are a “Rich American”. Tom was quick to point out that he was not rich but, felt rather foolish when the hostess fired back “Yes you are – Look at you – You’re white, you’re attractive, you’re well dressed, you live in Zone 10, you frequent the best clubs, and you arrived here tonight in a bullet proof Mercedes!” “There are people here who would kill you for your shoes alone”! Did Tom say he felt “Rather Foolish?” He meant to say, “Stupid”. Tom thought all this time, he was being humble. Then she went on; “Not to mention those who want to kidnap you for ransom or the political dissidents – You should be carrying a gun”. Another guest would heatedly counter with “No he should not – If you are found with a weapon, you could be killed immediately without question”. It was suggested by other opponents that he would be less of a threat if he did not have a gun and if need be, he can beg for his life”. This point would be again countered by another pro-gun guest, by asking Tom “Yes, which would you prefer? – To be killed immediately or beaten and tortured for months before having your throat cut?”

Tom was told, the only way to “legally” carry a gun as a “personal weapon” was to hold a political office – at minimum, Mayor. Tom had been stopped a few times and held at gunpoint by camouflage wearing men, while traveling with friends or business associates in the mountains. Friends taught Tom to recognize the difference between the Military and the Guerillas. You could not tell by sight, only by their behaviour. Interestingly, the Guerillas (looking for ???) were always very polite – “PLEASE get out of your car – May we PLEASE inspect your belongings” and they always put everything neatly away as they found it before thanking you for tolerating the intrusion. The Military (looking for Guerillas ???) on the other hand, “GET OUT OF YOUR CAR” – They would not ask to inspect your items, rather take it, empty your wallet and drop all contents on the road, dump your luggage out on the road and leaving everything for you to pick up and reload your car before being cleared to continue. A couple of friends carried weapons, most did not, while others occasionally had armed guards. Tom, as an American, grew up with the belief that Guerillas were always the bad guys, as frequently portrayed by the media. These were interesting observations, Tom thought. But, how should this correlate with whether or whether not to carry a gun? Both fractions asked in advance if anyone had any weapons – If so, you were instructed to slowly place them on the hood of the car and step away. Neither of these fractions seemed to be the “Reason” that Tom should or should not carry a weapon. Yet, what would be the Government opposition’s reaction to a political title? Afterall, it is the mountain regions Tom would be at his greatest risk?

Ultimately, the thought of being tortured and having his throat cut seemed to be the most compelling reason. Tom decided that, while he knew the necessary people to approve his being legally armed, he would at least get necessary permits and make the decision to purchase a weapon or not, later. Apparently, there were no citizenship requirement laws to hold a political office in Guatemala. Tom was (so he was told) declared Mayor of a village in the eastern part of the country and the permit was a promptly issued. However, it was recommended that he NOT carry the permit without carrying the weapon. This topic was becoming overwhelming for Tom considering, all he really wanted was some Pineapple, Snow Peas, Mangoes and maybe some Long Stem Roses.

Good relationships can develop over time by a consistent exchange of good quality product, provided timely in exchange for a fair price tendered as agreed. In many Latin Countries Tom learned, is the exact opposite. The relationship must be developed first. However, cash does speak louder than friendship. With that, channels were established for the prompt movement of cash, internationally. Exchanges rates and associated fees were often extreme. While everyone wanted U.S. Dollars, the banks were not always practical. When a large sum of USD was required, Tom found it much more economical to buy and sell Dollars on the black market. These transactions were not only interesting, but exciting too. Tom had been working to develop a relationship with a gentleman (Filipe) who owned a Mango and Coffee plantation. Tom had still not been invited to the plantation but, Filipe taught Tom how to trade currency on the black market, accompanied him on his first transaction and introduced him to the key people. The transaction started with a very brief telephone call to discuss which currencies and the intended amount. They were provided with time that they would be picked up at a predetermined location. A nondescript, windowless, bullet proof panel van pulled up, with four or five HEAVILY armed guards inside. Tom and Filipe were blindfolded and driven to an undisclosed, very heavily guarded compound. The transaction is promptly completed, before being again blindfolded and driven to a destination of their choosing. It was a very exciting and profitable transaction.

A couple weeks thereafter, Tom was invited to the plantation. Filipe explained that his son, Filipe Jr (Filito, as he was known) lives at and manages the plantation and comes into the city on weekends. Arrangements had been made that filito would pick Tom up at my apartment, 10:00 Saturday morning. In Guatemala, this means sometime before 1:00pm. Friday evening, Tom packed a small bag and, as usual, went out for cocktails. Saturday morning, maybe just a little hungover, at EXACTLY 10:00am, there was a knock on Tom’s door. “That’s Odd” Tom thought, for two reasons; 1) This was a very secure building. No one should ever have been able to get to his door, and 2) the gentleman at the door looked absolutely nothing like a Filito or at least, how Tom had expected him to look. For their privacy, Tom will not go into detail, only to say he looked NOTHING like his father. “Señor Preston?” Tom said nothing but, gestured to the affirmative. “I am Filito – I believe you are expecting me”. Tom replied, “yes, let me take a couple aspirin, get my bag and I’ll be right out” and they were off. After about forty-five minutes, Filito suggested they stop for a Bloody Mary – “it might help you with your hangover”. They did. Later, they stopped for a couple beers and later, a couple more. Tom asked how much further? “Just a few more hours” Filito replied. Felito suggested they might smoke some pot – “it makes the trip go faster”. Okay! Tom remembered thinking that it wasn’t very potent. Soon, they were laughing and having a great time! They bought a six pack of beer to drink on the road. Eventually, they turned off the paved road onto a dirt trail. “We must be there” Tom stated. “About an hour to go” Felito replied. Then, BOOM! Tom started experiencing extreme paranoia. Tom kept telling himself that he was just being paranoid then countered his own thoughts with “Paranoia is a psychological state removed from reality”. “This is reality and I’m being kidnapped”. Eventually, they had to stop to engage the Four-Wheel Drive. Tom knew that there was no possible way that a heavily, laden field truck could possibly maneuver these mountainous roads – “I’m being kidnapped, and I have no gun – I’m going to be beaten and tortured before having my throat cut” were the thoughts in Tom’s head, as he casually tried to move a screwdriver with his foot, for easy access when he needed a weapon. Anticipating a variety of scenarios in his mind, Tom carefully choreographed his preemptive strikes to avoid his worst possible, impending fate. Felito commented on how quiet Tom had become – Crap! “I’m being too obvious” Tom thought. What could he say? “Yeah, sorry – I was just thinking about how I’ll have to try to kill you?” As they crested the last hill, the relief Tom experienced was not describable with words, as atop of this hill was a beautiful, white, two-story plantation house with hundreds of people moving about. Felito explained that there were roughly 150 families living and working on the plantation, including ample, well-armed security. But still, Tom remembered that he had told absolutely no one of his plans. No one in the world knew where he was. An incredible experience. Unfortunately, the variety of mango Tom needed, was a new planting for this farm and not producing sufficient volume needed. No business was generated but, Tom and Felito became good friends, and they would go to the clubs together when Felitio was in the city.

Tom’s time in Central America was often met with surprising amusement. One day while having a business lunch meeting at the Hotel Camino Real, an unknown couple interrupted the meeting and addressed him as “Tom”. Once his meeting had concluded, Tom went to the table of this couple. It seems the staff at the restaurant gave them his name. They wanted to hire Tom to make a television commercial for the fast food restaurant, Burger Shop, which was owned by Hardees in the Southern States and a sister company to Carl’s Jr. Tom was to wear white jeans, white t-shirt and, as they could not find a letterman’s jacket in Guatemala, he was given a red, satin jacket. Tom was to take a bite of a hamburger and make that classic “Oh, This is Really Good” look at the camera. In the next take, Tom was to mouth the words to the Burger Shop jingle, “Donde Puedo Elegir” and finally, while holding a hamburger, run around the corner, drop to his knees, and slide across the floor, toward the camera. While singing the jingle, the director kept telling him to make more obvious mouth movements. Tom didn’t like this exaggeration and continued to question the director about it “Looking Stupid”. The day of the shooting, Tom did go with a couple friends – not knowing if all was above board. Fortunately, Tom never did see the commercial and after a few weeks, had forgotten that he had even done it. He noticed a little kid on the street “Mama look – it’s him” as the kid made outrageous “fish mouth” gestures at him. Tom thought, “poor kid – what’s the matter with him?” Then another kid and another… “Ah Man! The commercial is running and I look STUPID!” Then, Burger Shop started getting bombed – twice within 3 months. Always at night, no one was ever hurt and no, “I didn’t do it!”

The patience Tom and Iris had invested in Guatemala was growing thin. Iris had been contacted with interest in Garlic from Guatemala. This was forwarded to Tom and, Tom knew a broker with experience in this region of Guatemala. As a guest of the brokers, Tom flew to Huehuetenango for a tour of the area. No single grower was able to provide ample supply for a single shipment, however, collectively it could be done. The quality was good but, as nothing else had gone problem free in Guatemala, Tom remained skeptical and shipped samples to Iris in Los Angeles. A few days later, the problem presented itself when security called Tom’s apartment, telling him that Enrique (one of the brokers) was asking permission to come to his apartment. Once in my apartment, Enrique started yelling “We Trusted You”, and called him a “Serpiente Sucia” (dirty snake) – The rest of the words, some in English, some in Spanish – All bad! Tom had no idea what Enrique was talking about. Eventually, he accused Tom of having gone back to Huehuetenango the following weekend, alone, attempting to work with the growers directly, whereby cutting Enrique out of the transaction. Despite Tom’s emphatic denial, Enrique said that he had spoken with each of the several growers they had visited, and each confirmed that “It was the gringo you brought here the week before”. Unfortunately, there was no one who could verify that Tom had not left Guatemala City or barely even his apartment that weekend. Tom felt bad but was nonetheless, suspicious of these accusations. Tom had had enough. Both he and Iris agreed that there was nothing more that could be accomplished in Guatemala so, Tom began making plans to leave Guatemala.

About two months after being back in Los Angeles, Tom received a call from a friend in Guatemala, advising that he had secured the Pineapple shipment from Tom’s chosen grower. It was agreed for 40,000 Lbs. on consignment, and packed to specification. The shipper would advise full shipping details when available. The load was confirmed as packed and enroute to the shipping port but, shipping details were still not available. This made no sense but, Tom remained patient. After pushing, the shipper advised the arrival date at Long Beach, but nothing else. Then, Tom’s friend (the shipper) was never in the office. Tom checked to see which carrier had an arrival to Long Beach from Guatemala on the given date, however no record of any such shipper nor, any shipment that we were named as consignee. Days later, Tom received a call from his friend, explaining that he had “LIED” and was very sorry. It seems the shipper thought the grower would provide the boxes while the grower thought the shipper would supply the boxes. The load was never packed because they didn’t have any fruit boxes. He said he was ashamed and didn’t have the nerve to tell Tom the truth.

With some proverbial seeds having been planted in Guatemala, in time, some results were forthcoming. For a few years, they were recorded as being the largest shipper of table grapes to Guatemala. These were Christmas time shipments for cultural consumption. Every year, the Guatemalan buyers would come to Los Angeles, with suitcases filled with hundreds of thousands of dollars, much of which was small bills. All night, they would be up counting money. Each time, they finished about sunrise. Tom would leave the hotel with a suitcase filled with cash – a lot of cash, and go directly to Lloyds Bank, where the bank manager was waiting to let Tom in early, to recount and deposit the cash to their account. Because this sum of cash grossly exceeded the minimum, anti-money laundering laws, there was quite a bit of paperwork to be done at the bank. Tom was always frustrated that the Guatemalan buyers would not simply make a wire transfer but, so be it.

Tom remembered being notified that, his friend Carlos in El Salvador, who was the Minister of Agriculture, had been shot and killed. He was a good friend. On Tom’s first visit to San Salvador, Carlos had taken Tom out to lunch at an open aired, concrete diner. They were sitting against the wall. Carlos asked if I was aware of the massacre that had taken place a short time earlier – Tom was aware. Carlos informed him that this was the restaurant and, if he look at the concrete wall right behind their heads,

the wall still bares the bullet marks. Carlos spent some time instructing Tom, what he needed to do to best survive the Death Squads, should he find himself in that situation. Fortunately, Tom never had need of Carlos’ advice.

Tom and Iris had been doing some distant research, attempting to find a reliable grower/packer of mangoes, in Venezuela. An initial order had come in to be shipped to an Italian supermarket chain in Rome. With very specific varietal, sizing and grade specifications, Tom flew to Caracas and was escorted into the jungles of Venezuela to oversee the first shipment. Very impressed with all phases of the process, Tom confirmed the order. Upon returning to Caracas, Tom went to Lloyds Bank to arrange for cash. Tom explained to the receptionist what he needed to do, provided the name of both their bank and banker in Los Angeles. Growing frustrated and impatient, he sat and waited. Eventually, the president of the bank came out “Señor Preston – I am so terribly sorry you were kept waiting – Please come into my office”. Tom was graciously provided coffee and fresh baked pastries while he waited for the transaction to be readied. The banker told Tom that he had spoken with Tom’s banker in Los Angeles “Again, Señor Preston, I am so very sorry you were kept waiting” He went on to say that he had never received a more flattering, character and financial verification from a foreign office. Apparently, their Lloyds Bank, banker in Los Angeles said “Of course his cheque is good – I will guarantee it personally – for any amount”. That made Tom pretty feel good.

Now that the business was complete, Tom went out to a few clubs and made new friends. Good thing, too, as he had no idea how quickly he would need them. After being dropped off at the Caracas Airport, Tom had to pass three check points before boarding his flight. Tom was unable to even clear the first. No one spoke English so, Tom had to rely entirely on his Spanish. As Tom understood, he had to have “Tax Stamps” in his passport as evidence that he had paid tax to the country of Venezuela. Of course, for US$100.00 cash, they will allow him to proceed to the next check point. Tom had little doubt the next check point would cost at least US$200 and maybe US$500 at the third. He explained that he had no tax papers and owed no tax as he did not “Earn” any income in Venezuela. They told Tom that he needed to arrange to have his last year’s US Tax Papers forwarded, pay the Government of Venezuela, the equal amount he paid to the United States. Tom broke from his Spanish just long enough to say two words. Tom gathered, by the way he was promptly escorted from the terminal building, that they must be familiar with at least two English words. Tom took a cab back to the hotel and called one of his new friends who promptly came over to help him deal with his dilemma, as this was another matter best handled in the shadows. Relinquishing his passport to someone he had known only a few days was a little uncomfortable, but necessary to avoid what Tom called “The Venezuelan Shakedown” that was awaiting him at the airport. Tom spent about $250.00 for the stamps, plus two weeks at the Caracas Hilton while waiting for his Tax Stamps to be created.

Within a couple days, Tom received feedback on the Venezuelan Mango shipment to Rome. The good news, the mangoes were received well. The bad news, it seems the packer went (Unannounced and uninvited) to Rome, to meet the supermarket buyers when the shipment arrived. To say that Tom was pissed off, was a gross understatement. With all the wonderful products and services available on the black market, Tom needed time to calm down before confronting the Venezuelan grower. As it were, the mango broker would not return for another two weeks. Tom, attempting to put his anger behind him, went to a few parties, spent some time at the pool, and was taken on a couple sightseeing tours. Venezuela really is an incredibly, beautiful country. Tom got his passport back so booked his flight out and hoped his next accommodation would not be a Venezuelan jail. He passed the first check point, then the second and finally the third. Tom never went back to Venezuela.

Iris was offered an attractive position in Seattle, with at the corporate offices of a bank, and with Tom’s approval, sold her shares to an investor in the insurance industry. As time went on, Tom realized that being with Iris was at least 70% of the fun of building a struggling company. Soon, Tom’s interest was waning and then he started receiving monthly insurance bills. There was “Key Man” insurance – which was reasonable, another policy for every possible peril one could think of. Tom took a hiatus for a couple years before returning to the produce industry, with a shiny, new class “C” Corporation, using the DBA “International Growers” and started with several, very profitable, problem free Asparagus shipments and, much to the amusement (and ultimate chagrin) of others in the produce industry, outrageously profitable shipments of Mexican Salad (Green) Onions to London – between the months of October to March or April. Within a couple years, everyone was trying to lock up supply of Salad Onions, cut to British specification.

For several years (so Tom was told by one of his British distributors) Tom was the largest supplier of Salad Onions to Safeway UK. Tom had waited more than patiently as his distributors always told Tom that they were trying to secure an inroad to the upscale chain, Marks & Spencer. One day, Tom called “M&S” and asked to speak with Brian, who was the Vice President of perishables for M&S. “Whom may I say is calling, please?” the operator asked. Tom was on hold for a moment before she came back with “I’ll put you through now, Mr. Preston”. Brian and Tom chatted for a couple of minutes and agreed to an appointment, set for two weeks out at Marble Arch (M&S Executive Offices) in London. On arrival, Tom was escorted into the boardroom, where roughly ten gentlemen were waiting for him. Taken aback by so many people, Tom was introduced to each. Included in the meeting were representatives of the store’s primary importer, Customs Clearing Agent and several others from the M&S International Salad Division. Brian’s first words to Tom were “I’ve heard of you but, you’re just a baby – I thought you were an adult”! Tom, uncertain and perhaps uncaring if Brian was attempting to insult or flatter him, Tom concluded the cordialities and moved the conversation directly to business. It seems M&S had been experiencing inconsistency in their current supply chain. That being Brian’s primary concern, eventually (and reasonably) asked Tom if he owned the Mexican fields, equipment and packing plant? Tom did not own the ground but, the crops were his under a supply agreement and, “my time is spent in the fields and packing plants, overseeing the entire project, Tom replied. “So then”, Brian added, “That makes you nothing more than a Cockroach – a baby Cockroach at that”! Tom was beginning to take issue with Brian but held his tongue. Less than two minutes later, Brian again made the statement “Being the Cockroach that you are, …” Tom did not know how or even if Brian finished that sentence, as Tom quietly gathered his papers and attaché, rose from the table, briefly looked at all and said “It was a pleasure meeting you all” as he walked out the door. Before the door closed behind him, Tom heard several voices “What are – Wait, Where – Tom?” then silence as the door clicked shut. While waiting for the elevator, three pursued him – “He wants you to come back in” No, Thank you! - “He wants you to supply M&S” - NO! Tom recalled three “NO’s” but, did thank them again for their time before the elevator door closed with him in it.

After returning home, Tom received calls almost daily, from the importer, almost pleading with him to be their supplier. As Tom was told, “He treats everyone like that but, NO ONE had EVER gotten up and so calmly walked out on him the way you did – You really impressed him, and we’ve been told to get you onboard”. “Thank you, but No” Tom responded to each call. A few days later, Brian called Tom to personally, apologize for his behaviour. The call was brief and although late in coming, Brian did have the character to offer an apology and Tom accepted. Tom asked Brian to have his importer call him at their convenience to discuss M&S’ specific supply requirements. Tom went on to supply M&S for many years thereafter.

Curiously, there seemed to be quite a few ruffled feathers among some California and Arizona growers and shippers, as well as several British distributors. Tom had told very few people of this meeting, neither before nor after. Yet, this information seemed to spread halfway around the world with remarkable speed. Tom began receiving calls from people, everywhere. “Why didn’t you tell me – I could have been of a lot of help to you with M&S” or “How the hell did YOU get an appointment with him – I’ve been trying for over 30 years, and he won’t even take my calls”!

There is a business saying, “If there is a market to be filled, it will soon be not just filled, but overfilled.” Salad Onions proved no exception to this rule. On the suggestion of a London wholesaler, Tom did his “homework” and believed that salad onions from Mexico would be well received over the current Spanish supply. Tom was unable to find any Mexican salad onions anywhere in the UK. To the best of Tom’s knowledge and despite the snickers heard from other growers and shippers, Tom was the first to ship Mexican Salad Onions to Britain. The following season, Tom saw onions being cut to UK standards on several farms in Mexico. From that point forward, Tom was constantly having to do something new to stay ahead of the rest of the pack. First, Tom started shipping five dozen bunches per carton rather than the standard, four dozen. Freight was a fixed price per 10,000 Lbs. so, Tom was able to offer a much lower price than his competitors. Soon, everyone was shipping five dozen per box. Tom redesigned his carton, much smaller than the decades old, standard Green Onion box, and went back to four dozen bunches but, the smaller carton, specifically designed to utilize every available cubic foot for a 747, PIP cargo pallet. Eventually, everyone had copied Tom’s carton size for UK Salad Onions. One of the coolers Tom used in Arizona, also had a very, very large customer, a produce shipper with a brand that can be found in any supermarket, anywhere. Apparently, one day their people were in Yuma from their corporate offices, talking with their territory managers covering the Mexican growing areas. One of the employees of this cooler told Tom that he had overheard a conversation. This cooler employee was good enough to relay what he had overheard. He said, “They referred to you by name”, saying “Watch Tom Preston – Watch everything he does - Whatever he does, let us know and copy it!” Okay well, Tom was flattered – sort of. Tom had always tried to keep a very low profile, and he was really getting tired of this. In fact, after nearly fifteen years, he was really getting tired of most of it.

Tom had four different labels (brands) he was using for Salad Onions. There was room for market expansion, mostly into Scotland but, he needed another label as not to compete with his other labels. With a glass of scotch in one hand and a carton of crayons in the other, Tom set out to design his fifth label but, he needed to be discreate, as not to step on other customers toes. International law requires the shipping carton include, The Contents, The Count, The Quality Grade, Country of Origin, and the name of the Grower/Shipper. Tom thought he was being really cleaver, by cloaking International Growers in yellow ink on a titanium white carton. Within two weeks, the first truck load of his new “Arizona” brand, Salad Onion cartons were arriving at the farms in Mexico. The yellow ink was so faint against the white carton, that it was extremely difficult to see. Cleaver Indeed! Within another week, the first “Arizona” brand onions were in the air, enroute to Heathrow. Three days after the first arrival, Tom started getting telephone calls from several customers and distributors, asking if he knew anything about a new label of Mexican Scallions, called “Arizona”? Tom, still doing his “Cleaver Dance” around the office, was elusive with a direct answer. Eventually, someone looked close enough, and the “Clever Dance” was over. And now, the rest of the story. Once again, CRAP! Who in one million years, would ever guess that with a glass of scotch, three crayons, and ten minutes, Tom would create an Agricultural work of art – a Masterpiece! The label was so chic that every wholesaler in the UK wanted to carry it.

Most of Tom’s overseas customers paid their bills on time but, it always ticked him off when he had to call them to ask for payment. Sometimes, wire transfers had been initiated but delayed due to bank holidays or some such. Every day, before going to the farms in Mexico, Tom always tried to make sure he had at least $100.00 cash on him – for police traffic stops and the like. When the police ask to see your driver’s license, if you hand it to them with a neatly folded $20 bill underneath, you got a warning. If not, you got a ticket. Most of the police on Tom’s routes in Mexico, knew him and, if he was short on cash, he’d tell them that he’ll be back tomorrow and would like to “shake their hand - tomorrow, at 9:00am” and they knew Tom always did what he promised. One morning, Tom stopped at the bank to cash a $100 cheque before going into Mexico. The drive-up teller handed him his five, $20 bills and said, “Oh, by the way Mr. Preston – Just to let you know, your account is overdrawn by about $163,000.00 this morning. They both chuckled at that. Seriously, how often do you hear those words and still drive away with the cash from a freshly, bounced cheque to the bank. The deficit was handsomely covered by the end of the day.

About 1997, the importer for Marks & Spencer wanted Tom to go to Egypt to oversee their salad interests on the farms, just outside of Cairo. This really was not something he wanted to do. There were many reasons Tom was opposing their encouragement. Number one on the list (which he did not disclose) was because “He just didn’t feel like”. The full truth was that his interest was waning, across the board and was growing overwhelmingly frustrated of having to go anywhere that required a flight longer than one hour. About a month later, several British businessmen were killed in Cairo and very soon thereafter, some British tourists. Therefore, Tom declined the Egyptian project.

As it were, the M&S distributor went on to become his single, largest customer for many years. This distributor posed a request to Tom, that he supply them with a pre-cut individually packaged, microwavable vegetable medley. An interesting line, Tom thought. He contacted David, the Vice President of Market Development of a large, US packer of such items, with a highly recognizable brand, to discuss this possibility. Although they did not have the full complement of vegetables requested, they did have the science and technology in place. Unfortunately, David explained, hey were planning to discontinue this line over the next three or four months, due to very poor supermarket sales. “They just aren’t selling, and I don’t know why”. Tom asked if he could offer a possible reason, based on nothing more than his observation in the stores. Tom spent a lot of time in supermarkets, observing placement and display but mostly, impulse buying of produce. Tom suggested that, first, there was no shelf appeal. “It’s just a little bag of broccoli florets – a very expensive, little bag”. “For far less than the cost of this bag, I can buy a full head of broccoli, chop some florets, and throw the rest away”! “Maybe”, Tom suggested, “a mix of broccoli, cauliflower, and whole baby carrots – maybe of different colours”. Or what the British were requesting, sliced yellow and green squash with snow peas. “Maybe add a few slices of red and yellow peppers for flavour and colour”. Tom suggested “This could improve your shelf appeal issue and add value for the consumer, for relatively little, if any, additional cost”. Tom was not able to provide the microwavable pack to the British but, after a couple of months, was happy to see his suggestions on the supermarket shelves – and selling!

Tom could go on and on about his adventures in international produce but, to move things along, he remembers his first trip London without Pan Am. It sucked! It’s like the world had just become a little less hospitable and a lot less gracious. Tom had become spoiled by Pan Am. Delta purchased Pan Am’s transatlantic routes and phone number, Delta was his favourite domestic carrier so, he tried Delta. Having forgotten, his ticket to London was in coach. Coach travel is very stressful and hard work, especially with every seat having been filled. He upgraded to business class for the return but still, it was not Pan Am.

The next trip was sudden and necessary for damage control. Flights were sold out so standby was his only option. Tom went to the airport in Los Angeles and waited for a seat to become available on British Airways. A seat opened on coach, but Tom declined it and hoped that nothing else would come available. One did – in Business Class. “Crap”! Tom thought. He really didn’t want to go. He was hungry and knew that British Airways would offer a good dinner. Once dinner was served, Tom’s mouth was watering, watching everyone enjoy their New York Steak in a Lite Merlot Sauce. British Airways had no food for him! Nothing! No one knew how this happened but, were it not for other passengers and crew sharing portions of their meals with Tom, he would have had nothing at all. And this was a non-stop flight! Fortunately, passengers and crew also shared their breakfasts with him several hours later.

Not long after that, Tom’s lack of interest or concern was becoming uncontrollable - later to be diagnosed as A.D.D. Right then, three of Tom’s customers called the same morning. One, to inform him that one of THEIR unrefrigerated trucks carrying Tom’s onions, broke down on the way to Dublin so they would not be paying Tom until the trucking company paid their losses. Another wanted a discount because they were not able to get airspace out of Miami to London and, the third mixed Strawberries in an air container with Onions they purchased from Tom, and now said their Strawberries had a slight taste of Onions. This all quietly, annoyed Tom. No, it pissed him off!

None of their issues had anything to do with Tom. Then, one of them (presumably unaware of Tom’s opinion of attorneys) mistakenly said to Tom “I don’t know if you are aware, but I’m a lawyer”. All though there was plenty to say, Tom remained quiet. Unbeknownst to this “Lawyer” while still on the phone, Tom was deleting their forward orders, one by one. Tom paid off all his outstanding debt, informed a few of his customers and set them up with alternative supply and continued to supply a couple others on a limited basis, before ripping his phone cords out of the wall and closing his Arizona office. To make this decision substantially easier for Tom, Tesco (which is to the UK as Walmart is to the US) had been soliciting Tom to supply them with Iceberg Lettuce and Salad Onions. Although they did not specifically say, Tesco was already flashing signals that they operate on the old Sears & Roebuck supply strategy. This, Tom would have no part of. Tesco soon started acquiring distribution companies, many of whom were Tom’s existing distributors – especially, Sheffield and North.

Constant, international travel was such a large and exhausting component of Tom’s business. Pan Am made that segment not only easy but actually, pleasant. He often wondered if he would have continued in produce had Pan Am not ceased operations. Pan Am stopped flying in December 1991. From that point, travel was a dreadful chore.

Although the “Golden Age of International Travel” was officially over, Pan Am retained that quality standard. It was very sad to see the passenger load start decreasing so drastically – especially after sad event of Lockerbie. Albeit selfish, with the decrease in passenger load, Tom eventually learned that he could fly coach on transatlantic flights and how to do it without compromising comfort. If any of the cabin crew knew him, he would still be invited up front for meals. This was a huge financial savings! Tom always took the early, 7:00am flight from LAX to JFK. After breakfast, Tom would raise all the centre armrests in coach, take a Xanax and sleep all the way to New York. Have a nice dinner in the Clipper Club, have cocktails with interesting people before boarding the evening to London Heathrow. Again, centre armrests up, Xanax, and wake up hours later to the smell of good coffee served in bone China cups with freshly baked croissants before being served a full breakfast.

Pan Am was unique in so many ways, including the individual naming each aircraft. Tom remembered having flown the “Clipper Maid of the Sea” at least twice. The Clipper Maid of the Sea was the aircraft sadly lost over Lockerbie, Scotland. The one aircraft he remembers flying more than any other Pan Am 47 Clipper, was the “Clipper Gem of the Ocean”. It’s hard to explain the simple, maybe senseless, but warm feeling when, if not in the Gate area, the name of the aircraft is finally visible from the ramp “Clipper Gem of the Ocean”. All planes were of course all the same but, whether Los Angeles, New York, Miami, London, Paris or Frankfurt, it came to be like an old friend - like being at home.

Toward the end, Tom recalls being on several, Pan Am 747s that may have no more than five or six passengers, total. Frequently, Tom would see the same flight attendants and even passengers, over, and over again. One passenger Tom remembered specifically. Tom first saw him on a flight (specific cities and routes may not be exact, but close) from Stockholm to Helsinki, then, by coincidence, on another flight from Geneva to Frankfurt. Three or four months later, he was on the same flight as Tom from Paris to Miami. A few months later, from Miami to Panama. They were recognizing each other, but never spoke, eventually, they began nodding in suspicious recognition. A few months later, they shared a flight from Mexico City to Los Angeles. One day, Tom saw him at a Los Angeles club, where Tom was partying with friends. Tom approached him and they spent a few hours partying together. What they talked about, Tom does not recall and doubts the other guy did either. The last Tom remembers, he saw him throwing up in an alley. Tom never saw him on any other flights after that.

Probably one of the most exotic trips Tom had taken was when he received an invitation to a party in Paris, from a couple of his friends at the Canadian Embassy in Geneva. Tom’s weekend was free, so he took an early Pan Am flight from Los Angeles to Paris.

His friends picked him up at the Airport Saturday evening, they went straight to the all-night party and had a great time. Early Sunday morning, as the party was finally starting to wind down, they took Tom back to the airport, thoroughly exhausted, for the early flight to New York. Because Tom had taken no luggage, US Customs was rightfully suspicious and for the first time ever, taken for interrogation. Soon, Tom was cleared and on his way home to Los Angeles. There was some logic to what some may consider, Tom’s insanity. Tom knew that many of their friends worked for various Consulates and Embassies throughout Europe and correctly suspected that this may be an exceptional opportunity to meet more representatives of foreign governments, casually, under one roof and at one time than he may ever have again. It was a worthwhile trip!

Over the course of his life, Tom has met many fascinating and influential people. The two most memorable, were Ron Hast (Co-Founder of Abbott and Hast and Publisher of Mortuary Management Magazine) and Del Smith (Founder of Evergreen International Aviation and Evergreen International Airlines).

Ron Hast was an extremely intelligent gentleman that Tom felt he could listen to all day, every day. Ron had a very warm and generous personality. Tom could easily imagine of Ron, asking himself every morning, “What new can I learn today?” He looked for it – and Tom suspects, he most likely found it. Tom recalls being with Ron, Steve, and a couple other funeral directors, riding in one of Ron’s limousines, enroute to Laguna Beach at a point during the late, 1970’s or early 1980’s. The purpose of this outing, Tom does not recall. However, they were driving in the number one lane of the south bound 605 when Ron said to the driver, completely out of the blue. “Take the next exit!” We quickly moved across several lanes of the freeway as Ron continued with his turn, by turn instructions. Ultimately, we learned that Ron had seen a large Pet Cemetery just east of the freeway. Tom didn’t know what, but he knew he was about to learn something. Tom stayed with Ron, every step. There were many people visiting the graves of their former pets. Ron had a talent of making people feel very comfortable, very quickly. Ron approached several people, introduced himself, told what he did for a living and listened to each person tell their stories of their beloved pet. Tom still did not understand where Ron was going with this. Eventually, Ron delicately asked each person about their parents or grandparents, where they were buried and when was the last time they visited their graves, all the while, patiently and compassionately, listening to their stories. They must have spent at least, three or four hours at this pet cemetery. What Ron (and Tom) had learned, in an overwhelming number of cases, the graves of their parents or grandparents may too have been local yet, they visit the graves of their pets, far more frequently than the graves of their family members. This truly was an eye-opening observation. Subsequently, Ron published a series of articles on this topic. Each of which was fascinating to read. To say that Ron Hast was an interesting man, is an extreme understatement and does not do him justice. Tom did have the opportunity to spend a weekend with Ron and Steve at their home in Tiburon, a year or two before Ron died. Ron was a good man.

As for the second gentleman, Tom had never met anyone in the world who actually intimidated him. This was an entirely new emotion for Tom when he Del Smith. Tom met Mr. Smith during the mid-1990’s approximately, when Tom was invited by a company called Evergreen Agriculture, to discuss the possibility of Tom’s helping with some international sales of Hazelnuts which to his understanding, was quite substantial. Immediately upon arriving at their facility in McMinnville, Tom recognized the Airline’s logo on the sign, as he had seen their 747s on tarmacs around the world. Tom sat stopped the car for about two minutes staring at the sign, processing this information in his mind. Tom realized he was feeling a sense of anxiety and what must be “intimidation” as that, he had never experienced before. Tom took a deep breath and continued on. Tom sat waiting in the lobby – heart pounding (which grossed him out) and light headed. Then, a well dressed lady approached and said, Mr. Preston, Mr. Smith is looking forward to meeting you now – please come with me”. She may have just as well said, “Mr. Preston, Mr. Smith owns his own fleet of 747s – please come with me”. Although Tom being in his mid-30’s, he had met many celebrities, people of significant political and social import as well as people of truly profound wealth. One brief side note to put that into perspective, one day while reading the Wall Street Journal, Tom learned that one of his casual friends he knew from the clubs, was rated as either the 12th or 15th most wealthy people in the world. Tom had been at his home on a few occasions, been out for dinner and drinks but of course, Tom never asked any impolite questions. Tom was fascinated to read the article and thought it was pretty cool to personally know someone of such extreme wealth, he was not “intimidated”. This day, Tom was unmistakably, intimidated. While walking to Mr. Smith’s office, Tom kept thinking “HE OWNES HIS OWN FLEET OF 747s!” He owned so much more than 747s but, it was the 747s that made Tom weak in the knees, as one of the few things that really, excited Tom, was large, commercial aircraft. For Tom, there was no thrill like being on the tarmac with these huge, graceful, swept-wing beasts and the roar of the engines when they were pushed to full throttle as they slowly begin to move down the runway.

Now, just feet away from Mr. Smith’s office, Tom realized his hands were sweating, which threw him into greater panic. As Mr. Smith stood up and introduced himself, Tom extended his hand (in dire hopes that his hand was sufficiently dry) and exchanged greetings. Tom described his initial impression of Del Smith as Gracious, Quirky, Eccentric with a very, fun and welcoming personality. “Please, call me Del” he said. Tom really struggled with this, after all, he had his own fleet of 747s! Tom literally sat on the edge of his seat while Mr. Smith enjoyed telling story after story of some of his freight challenges. Tom had to keep telling himself “Keep your mouth closed” and “stop staring at his hair plugs”. Tom gathered that one his favourite freight stories was, when Evergreen had moved several racehorses either from Australia to Saudi Arabia or the other way around. “They had an entire 747 to themselves”. “Horse shit EVERYWHERE” he said. “HA, the whole plane smelled of horse shit – took a while to get that cleaned up”. By this time, Tom had completely forgotten he was there to discuss hazelnuts. Once the topic was raised, Tom really had no interest in Mr. Smith’s nuts, and it showed. Soon, his secretary came in and handed Mr. Smith a note. Mr. Smith excused himself for about ten minutes. On his return, he asked Tom “What do you know about Roses from Colombia”? “Roses, some – Colombia specifically, nothing – However, supply issues from Central and South American do tend to exist without boarders” Tom replied. “That’s not a concern” he said. “If I run into a problem, I’ll just buy the farms”. Mr. Smith went on; “That was the president of Walmart on the phone – He wants me to send a 747 to Colombia each week to supply them with Roses”. Tom really hoped he was not going to be asked to go to Colombia and fortunately, he was not. On a warm note, After Pan Am stopped flying in 1991, Del Smith bought the “Clipper Gem of the Ocean”. Refitted for cargo, given her sharp, new green and white, Evergreen International Airlines colour scheme, she was back in the air and looking as good than ever.

Tom was given a tour of his Hazelnut facilities. At an orchard immediately surrounding Mr. Smith’s house, Tom noticed within the orchard, several trees appear to have been completely obliterated. Tom of course asked of this. After the breakup of the Soviet Union, a lot of military surpluses items had been sold to anyone interested in buying. It seems Mr. Smith bought an old, Soviet era tank. While the rest of the world was playing pinball and video games for amusement, Mr. Smith was loading live shells into his tank’s magazine and playing war games in his nut orchard! THAT is exotic recreation!

Tom’s recreation was never quite so exotic. More so what he called “California Standard” being, all beach activities on a hot, sunny day, followed by a night of clubbing with friends and meeting new people. A few of Tom’s favourite clubs were “The Oar House” in Venice Beach, “Merlin McFly’s” in Santa Monica, “Studio One and “The House of Blues” on Sunset Blvd in West Hollywood. Of all the clubs, Tom had the most fun at the Los Angeles’s underground parties. Then, you had be with someone as a guest, the first time. Upon leaving, you may (or may not) be given an envelope, containing a “secret telephone number” to call with a recording of when and where the next party would be held. Although Tom never asked, the criteria to be given an envelope upon leaving, seemed much like being chosen to enter Studio 54 in New York, in its day. These were always very fun parties with fun people. You never knew where the next party would be. It could be at an abandon factory, warehouse, a ballroom at an old, luxury hotel from another era, maybe an airplane hangar and, you never knew who you were going to meet there. Tom felt very lucky – he was always offered an envelope.

Eventually, Tom discovered he really did have a fun hobby, no doubt spawned by his childhood amusement of playing with Matchbox cars. Tom had a lot of fun with his small collection of classic, luxury automobiles. Tom had a beautiful, 1965 Black Lincoln Continental; a 1968 Bentley, Right Hand Drive, T-1 Saloon; a couple 1969 Black, 75 Series Limousines and a White, 1978 El Dorado Biarritz, all of which he had purchased in Oregon. He took a Limousine, the Lincoln and the Bentley back to California. These were not hobbies in the traditional sense. Taking a car to a show, sitting all day in a lawn chair, was not at all fun for Tom. These cars were a useable, functional hobby.

The Bentley proved to be by far, the most ridiculously expensive but also, provided the most ridiculous fun. Tom first, had the engine rebuilt for the outrageous sum of $17,000. Tom thought that that would be all it needed for a long, long time. RIDICULOUS! That would be just the beginning. While driving it from Oregon to Palm Springs, Tom wanted to see how fast it would go. A few miles south of Sacramento, Tom thought he might go a little faster, just to see. 100, 110, 125, 140, at 150mph, the needle on the speedometer began to shake – otherwise, the car didn’t even feel as though it was moving. Tom went a little faster, still, the gas pedal was nowhere near the floor. Soon, the speed needle started to bounce then swing violently – a little bit faster then, the needle popped off its pin! Tom estimates that he must have been going about 165mph. Then it dawned on him – How old were the tires? Tom said a quick prayer and started letting off the accelerator, slowly dropping back to the legal speed – or there abouts, since the needle was laying at the bottom of the speedometer.

One of the benefits of Tom’s car collection, be it the Limousine, Lincoln or the Bentley – he was always invited to park at the front door of any restaurant or club. Another benefit which Tom always thought was curious, you can get away with things in a Bentley (or Rolls Royce) that you cannot in a Toyota, for example. One day for amusement, Tom and a friend drove to the Los Angeles Airport and deliberately parked in the Red Zone at the terminal. They stood several feet away and waited to see how long before they got a parking ticket. Although carefully looked over by a couple officers, no ticket was ever issued – but that was a long time ago. Another instance was when Tom, due to an unfortunate, malfunction with judgement, accidentally drove the Bentley through some shrubs and into someone’s lawn, in Laurel Canyon. With $300 paid for any possible damage to the lawn, the homeowners were most gracious in accepting Tom’s apology – with one caveat. The homeowner wanted a picture of Tom with the homeowners standing next to the car in the middle of their lawn, to send to their friends and relatives. They were very agreeable not to have the license plate photographed. Tom assumed they must have mistaken him for a celebrity.

That story reminded Tom of another incident which he refers to as “An unfortunate misunderstanding with the LAPD”. Tom recalls joining up with some acquaintances he had met through other friends, he recognized at a club, but had never partied with, directly. It was nearing last call when someone suggested, they all go to the beach. It was a hot, summer night so, there was no opposition to this idea. Everyone went to Cody’s pick-up – Tom called shotgun and others piled into the back. They were in the west bound, left lane of Santa Monica Blvd in Westwood Village, stopped at a red light. Cody said he needed to go to the washroom and asked where he should go? Tom said, “Make a right” meaning, at the next LEGAL opportunity. Clearly, Cody misunderstood Tom’s instructions and immediately, made a very, very illegal right turn. Cody said “Crap – There is a cop back there!” He said the cop car was following him. Tom looked behind and saw nothing. Cody said “What should I do? What should I do?” Tom, loving old 1940s crime movies, gave the most obvious instruction. “Step On It!” Tom said, in his best “Cagney” voice – and Cody did. “They’re chasing me – What should I do?” Every time Tom looked out the back window, he saw nothing and heard no sirens. It may have been because the stereo was too loud – Tom continued to give Cody turn by turn instructions, tires squealing at each turn. Tom asked Cody “Weren’t there people in the back?” “Well, they’re not there now – They must have changed their mind”. And Cody went on “What should I do?” Tom told Cody to pull into a driveway, turn off your lights and duck down”. The stupid idiot picked a driveway with cars in it! Right then, Tom raised up to find a 45 pointed at his head, with the reflection of red and blue lights everywhere. Tom promptly surrendered but, Cody wasn’t going down quite so easily. Cody had to be pulled from behind the wheel, taken down on the lawn, handcuffed and put in the back of one of the patrol cars. Cody was taking Tom’s “Old Movie” thing way too far. Tom could hear him yelling from the police car “You Stupid Flat Foot – You Dirty Screw!” Fortunately, Tom had the more senior, grey haired officer. Tom had to first overcome his shabby appearance. He proudly produced his driver’s license (Now of legal age to consume alcohol) along with his Dun & Bradstreet identification card and his Republican, voters registration card, which meant something quite different in those days. Tom told the whole story, including his part in having encouraged what he believed was a fictitious chase. Tom was fairly certain that he would not be going to jail but, Cody, on the other hand, was still kicking, screaming and cussing – yeah, Cody was going to hell! Then, Tom hears dispatch over the police radio, recite Cody’s date of birth. Tom, while still with the grey haired officer, quickly did the mathematics and HAD A FIT! Cody was only EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD?” It was explained to Tom, not to worry and that he was released without charges, and that Cody would be released to Tom’s custody. Hmm – Tom didn’t know what to think of that. Fortunately, Cody had full automobile coverage and his truck had little damage.

Now, back to a couple more, brief, Bentley stories. One of Tom’s friends in Los Angeles always called the colour “Butter-Cup Yellow” and said that Tom looked like he was driving around in an old lady’s car. And of course, he was right. Tom had the windows heavily tinted, thinking “That would help for now”. Mechanically, that car had three, independent braking systems and, even produced it’s own hydrogen for one of the brake systems. Brake work was an expensive matter. To Tom, a squeaking brake was unacceptable. Tom took the car into the Rolls Royce shop for service. Tom was quoted somewhere between $5,000 on the low end and $7,000 on the high end. Tom had to get something from the glovebox before leaving the car and was a little embarrassed when the service technician commented his bottle of Grey Poupon. The technician said, “Come with me – let me show you something”. There were probably twenty-five or thirty bays in the service department – all full – all Rolls Royce and Bentleys. They went car by car and in every glovebox of every car, was a bottle of Grey Poupon.

A few days later, Tom got a call from the mechanic. It would be just a little over $7,000 and, Tom, although displeased with the estimate, authorized the repair. The following Saturday afternoon, Tom had a couple friends over for drinks and there were a couple people (guests of a friend) whom Tom had never met. Tom, as usual, was whining about not being able to afford to get his car out of the shop. A girl, who Tom had never met before, was so sweet! She was so sincere and honestly felt bad for him. She was offering suggestions on how to get by with less money. Tom’s friends, most of whom were all fiscally comfortable, were starting to chuckle. Tom shot them a stern look and they understood – She was so sweet that, Tom felt, for her to know the rest of the story, would embarrass her. Anyway, when Tom got the call that his car was ready, he really was frustrated to have to pay so much for a squeaky break. Even though, a squeaky break on a Bentley signifies a much more extensive problem. Yet, he was so frustrated in fact, that as he was driving off the lot, he hit the concrete pillar, supporting the Rolls Royce sign. It dented and scratched up the entire, right side of the car. Crap! Because the parking attendants at the Beverly Hills Hotel wrecked his Lincoln (and lied about it) a few weeks earlier, Tom knew where to take the Bentley for paint and bodywork. The bright side, this would be a good opportunity to change colours. Tom drove directly from mechanic to the body shop, although he had never given much thought as to what colour he would like to have the car painted. The owner of the body shop suggested Ferrari Red may be a handsome colour on that car. “Fine – Let’s do it!”

But wait, how did the Beverly Hills Hotel wreck his Lincoln? you ask? Well, it’s like this – The soap opera “Days of Our Lives” was having their Thirtieth anniversary party at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Tom had a “behind the scenes” friend who invited him as a guest. Tom thought (and offered) that since the show first aired in 1965, it might be fun to take the 1965 Lincoln. And so, they did. Tom’s car was a hit that night. It glittered under the thousands and thousands of lights at the main entrance of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, complimented by the flash of cameras. And of course, Tom was invited to leave the car parked at the front entrance. After a very long, four-hour ceremony, they went to the Beverly Hills Hotel for drinks where, the valet car services severely damaged the driver’s front quarter panel and concealed the damage from Tom upon leaving. The next day when the damage was discovered, Tom went back to the hotel, with the hopes of finding what they had hit. Tom found a damaged, retaining wall in a lower parking lot, still baring the black paint chips from his car and, the beige paint on the car matched the paint on retaining wall. Tom concluded that the impact and resulting damage could only have been while the car was in reverse. Clearly, the driver was going too fast, made a hard left turn, overshot the parking space, put the car in reverse, turned the wheel hard to the right and again, with excessive throttle, hit the corner of the low retaining wall. Tom was not concerned, as he truly did believe the Beverly Hills Hotel would demonstrate credibility in the matter however, it was not to be so. The management refused to even look at his car or the wall, and the valet drivers all claimed the car was already damaged. After a couple weeks with his anger growing daily, Tom decided to just have the car repaired and drop the matter. Bastards!

A few months later while parked directly in front of a very trendy restaurant, Tom found a note that had been left on his windshield. Long story short, Tom was generously paid for the use of the Lincoln as the prop, in an eight-page fashion layout in Elle Magazine. That was cool!

Another brief story came to mind when speaking of Soap Operas. One Saturday evening just before Christmas, Tom was invited to a party in the San Fernando Valley. As it turned out, Tom was the only attendee not in the entertainment industry. There were many celebrities there, including the entire cast of “The Bold and the Beautiful”. Tom had the pleasure of being introduced to Billy Preston. They chatted for a while and Billy enjoyed calling Tom, his “Little White Brother”. He was such a nice man. Tom knew who he was but unfortunately, not enough of him. It wasn’t until after his death in 2006 that Tom learned Billy Preston was hailed as having been one of the greatest keyboardists of 1960’s R&B. Tom enjoyed playing the organ and would have loved to have been able to say, “Billy Preston taught me these chord progressions”.

Once the Bentley had been repaired and painted, Tom was very happy with the Ferrari Red – until the sun went down and the streetlights came on. The colour changed from Red to Orange. ORANGE! It didn’t just look bad under streetlights, it looked STUPID! Stupid, but fun! Tom and some friends took the orange Bentley to nearly everyone’s favourite restaurant in Los Angeles, El Coyote on Beverly Blvd. This too was a very trendy restaurant with marginal food but, no one went to El Coyote for the food – it was the Margaritas! The first sip was always kind of nasty, the second better and by the fourth sip, it was the best margarita EVER! By about 9:00pm, there was always a line down the street, with people waiting to get in and, this could be a very slow, moving line. That night, a metered parking space opened directly in front of the restaurant and Tom snagged it, with the orange Bentley.

After a few El Coyote margaritas, it was not unusual for Tom to go to the table of other people, if they appeared to be having excessive fun, and say, “Your group is more fun than mine – I want to sit with you!” and soon, Tom had new friends and would integrate the two groups and create one big party with new people. This night, Tom was standing in line for the washroom (which was always very long) when one guy said, “Hey, you’re the guy with the orange Bentley!” This was very cool, Tom thought. A Rolls Royce or Bentley can be very off-putting. That was never Tom’s objective. Now, it was just silly enough to make people comfortable to engage Tom in fun conversation.

Meeting new people was one of Tom’s favourite pastimes. He was really, quite comfortable and even good at it. About thirty years ago, Tom was at a Palm Springs club with friends. From an elevated level, Tom noticed a group enter the club. Tom immediately identified one of the guys in this group as being maybe just a little, stuck-up! Tom quickly fought his way across the dance floor as not to lose them in the crowd. Tom approached him, saying, “You don’t know me but, we are going to be best friends!” Tom and Brian have been best friends ever since. One night in San Diego, Brian, in flip-flops, was engrossed in conversation with someone to his right. Tom felt this may be the perfect opportunity to wedge a match under his bare foot, and light it without being noticed. This proved be one thousand times more entertaining for Tom than he had expected, with Brian screaming, arms and legs flailing, Tom was almost on the floor, laughing so hard that he could hardly catch his breath. Brian, for whatever reason, did not share in Tom’s amusement. A few years later, Brian saw an opportunity for revenge. He could be quite patient in such matters. While at a busy beach in La Jolla, Brian dropped a French Fry on the ground and noticed an abundance of sea gulls swarming a single fry. Brian started throwing the fries at Tom – dozens of gulls were swarming Tom. It was like the Alfred Hitchcock movie! The fries kept coming – as did even more gulls. Beyond the fluttering sound of all their wings and screeches, Tom could hear the faint sound of children screaming, parents trying to protect their children from witnessing the horror, Tom could hear the muffled sound Brian laughing, hysterically! Brian used each fry very strategically as to prolong Tom’s suffering. It really was a priceless move on Brian’s part.

Tom and Brian had so many experiences. One Tom recalls, when Tom and Brian were at a San Diego club. The hour was either very late, or very early. They were on the sidewalk, just outside the club, laughing as they usually did together. They, for whatever reason, roused the attention of a San Diego Police Officer. SDPD officers were not quite as refined as LAPD officers, Tom would learn. The officer asked Tom and Brian if they were driving? Tom remembers that he and Brian looked at each other with bewilderment – “No”, they replied to the officer, “We’re standing on a sidewalk talking with you”. The officer insisted that they knew what he meant. One of them politely suggested to the officer, that it may be more productive if the officer asked what he wanted to know and in turn, they would answer the question that he asks. Things started going downhill after that. The officer asked how they got here? “We drove” Brain responded. The officer asked how we were going to get home? Tom told them that that decision wouldn’t be made until they were ready to leave. “We may drive, ride with friends or call a cab”. The officer asked which was our car? They pointed to a white, BMW parked just feet away. With Brian’s car being in the shop, Brian was driving a loaner car. Who owns the car, the officer asked? BMW, Brian answered. In hindsight, maybe to explain that the car was a loaner may have been wise, or the officer could have ran the plate (which they believed he would do regardless) and confirm this answer as correct, or he could assume they were being obtuse. The officer chose the latter and threw Brian face down onto the trunk of his car, before frisking, handcuffing, and reading him his rights. Tom asked where they would be taking him that he could come to post bail. “Don’t worry about it – You’re going with him” the officer said, before slamming Tom’s face into the trunk of his car and cuffing him. After check-in at the city jail, Tom and Brian were taken to, what appeared to be an over-crowded drunk tank. Tom and Brian both expressed their dissatisfaction with these quarters and the occupants and requested a private cell. The police were neither amused nor accommodating. It was an uncomfortable misunderstanding.

Another one of Tom’s favourite events was Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Tom started attending every year, staying with another one of his best friends who lived on Bourbon Street. Every year was pretty much the same, One Million plus sinners all flocking to New Orleans from all around the world, readying themselves for lent. One year stands out, though Tom couldn’t say which one. It was Tuesday night – The most significant night of Mardi Gras. You must have all your sinning complete by midnight. At midnight, all police cars, mounted police and officers on foot come through the French Quarter. Sinning is over and no one is permitted on the streets (or risk arrest) until the sanitation trucks have come through. The last Tom remembers, he, along with a few local friends, were all waiting in a bar until it was safe to go back out. Then, a brief recollection of walking in an unfamiliar neighbourhood. Next thing, Tom woke up about 10:00am Wednesday morning, in a strange room. Clearly, it was a guest room. His mouse gloves, cash and door key were on the nightstand along with 2 aspirin and a bottle of water. No clothes! Tom took a white bed sheet and began roaming through the strange house, looking for someone – anyone. There was no one! It was a large, two story antebellum style house with pool, six or seven bedrooms, sparsely furnished and appeared to be student housing. Tom found a pair of tennis shoes that fit and wrapped in nothing but the bed sheet, walked to the corner to get the street name so that he could call a cab. Tom waited, waited and waited some more, before calling again. Again, he was told they’d be there as soon as they could. Finally, it dawns on Tom that today is Mardi Gras Day! There would be no cab so, he put his cash and door key inside his mouse gloves, put the gloves on, still wrapped in NOTHING but a white sheet – and started walking.

Because of all the Mardi Gras parades, the police would not allow Tom to cross Canal Street so, he continued up Canal without success. North Rampart was about as far north as Tom would go on foot, for safety reasons but, today, he had to go all the way up to North Claiborne. For Fat Tuesday, it’s safe to say, Tom was approaching the heart of ZULU Country. Because of the Zulu parade, the police would not let Tom cross North Claiborne, which is what he had to do to get back to the French Quarter. By this time, Tom did not remember when he had last seen anyone white. As he continued to walk, the neighbourhoods were becoming more and more in decline. A black radio station was covering the Zulu parade. Everyone had their boom-boxes on their shoulders, all tuned to this single radio station. Hung-over and preoccupied with trying to cross the street, Tom had heard on all the radios, about some “DAMN FOOL WHITE BOY” walking around in a white sheet! Tom pictured in his mind, some white guy in full Klan dress and remembers thinking to himself, “What an idiot!” As the coverage increased and mention was made of his white, Mickey Mouse gloves, Tom realized HE was white boy, and his movements were being broadcast like OJ in the white bronco.

Finally, at St. Bernard Avenue, Tom decided he had to get across, regardless of the police. “AND THERE HE GOES, HEADED FOR THE UNDERPASS – LOOK AT THAT SKINNY WHITE BOY GO!” There were so many people lining the streets. All shoulder to shoulder and about fifteen feet deep, nearly all with boom-boxes. By the time he got to St. Bernard Avenue, people had been following the broadcasts for nearly twelve blocks. At first, people weren’t looking at Tom very nicely. Toward the end of his trip, people knew he was not a threat and meant no disrespect and having ran to get past the police, people were clearing a path for Tom, some people were clapping and patting him on the back as he passed. Finally, a

few blocks down St. Bernard and being on the correct side of the street. Tom was pretty much home free but still had many blocks to walk. Tom finally got home about 2:00pm – just in time for Mardi Gras lunch – and cocktails! Tom’s clothes were delivered to him later that evening – They were in the dryer.

People’s individual idiosyncrasies have always been of particular interest to Tom, and how he was perceived by others. Tom remembers the first time anyone had called him an “Ass Hole”. He must have been eighteen or nineteen years old, at a club in Los Angeles. Tom was having fun with friends at the bar and, about twenty feet away, was another group. Tom smoked cigarettes and at the other group, was a girl who also smoked cigarettes – just not her own. She came over and asked Tom if she could “Bum a cigarette”. Although Tom did not care for her verbiage, he gave her a cigarette, she thanked him and that was that. Several minutes later, she came back to “Bum another cigarette”. Tom said no however, he would sell her one for $1.00. Tom pointed out to her that it would be more economical if she were to purchase her own pack from the machine. She wasted no time in calling him an “Ass Hole!” Tom’s friends were baffled that he did not get angry. Tom wasn’t concerned, In fact, he thought it was interesting and considered this new label as a badge of honor.

“Stuck-Up” has for years, been a common opinion of Tom, shared by his friends. At first, Tom took offense but was soon convinced that it wasn’t a bad thing besides, it was true. “It’s all about how you wear it” he was told. Some don’t wear it well and appear to be “Snobbish and Socially Repugnant”. “You however, wear it well and it is who you are”. Tom remembers a good friend of many years ago, a lady of colour, who always treated Tom very badly. She always seemed to find some fantastic issue with anything Tom did or said. Tom was never too concerned about it, rather just assumed that she must have some personal issues. One day, she saw Tom in the parking lot of a supermarket. She came running up to him “Tom – Tom – I need to talk to you”. “I owe you such a huge apology - I am so sorry” she said. “All this time, I have been so nasty to you – I always thought you were acting Stuck-Up towards me”. She went on “Then, I overheard you talking with other people – You talk to everyone the same way – I thought it was just me”. “You weren’t ACTING Stuck-Up, you REALLY ARE!” She gave me a big hug and they remained friends for many years thereafter.

No one pointed out to Tom more eloquently than Les. Les recently said to Tom, “You have a remarkable talent of identifying one’s faults and pointing them all out.” Tom thought that was priceless and so true. Another one of Tom’s idiosyncrasies that he had never realized, came from his best (Los Angeles) friend, Bill. Tom had a print that he had purchased from the National Gallery in London, titled, “The Execution of Lady Jane Grey”, that he had kept in the tube for many years. One day, he decided to have it framed, and at a relatively expensive frame shop. Bill was with Tom when he went to pick it up. Once back in the car, Bill pointed out to Tom “You chose a very expensive framing shop, went to pick it up in a Bentley and then RAN to avoid having to put a QUARTER in the meter!” Parking enforcement doesn’t care what kind of car you are in. But, Tom had never realized that of himself and thought it was pretty funny.

All these descriptions of Tom by others, Tom believed to be true. There were two labels or descriptions of Tom’s character to which he expressed opposition. One being “You always think you are smarter than everyone else”. Only a few people verbalized this statement yet, Tom suspects far more shared this opinion, but were too polite to verbalize it. Tom took exception with this characterization but understands why some may believe it to be true. To a large extent, Tom admits that this is probably true, given the sad statistics that very few people today have the wherewithal to formulate a proper sentence. As for the denial of this statement, if someone is experiencing frustrating situation and in search of a functional resolve and, if Tom had experience with this situation, Tom always shared his experience in hopes of doing the other person a favour. Tom thought he was being helpful by saving the other person a lot of time and frustration. He learned that many people are not welcoming of this kind of help.

Another angle on this topic is, if Tom needed to know an answer to a particular topic and could not find it on his own, (we’ll say legal) Tom would seek out someone he expected knew more than he. This may be someone working in that industry, or maybe an attorney. As we all know, there are a lot of people who will give you an answer, regardless of the accuracy. Once given the answer, Tom always asked, “How do you know that?” Curiously, many people would become agitated or even angry – he assumed it’s because they felt challenged. Whereas others, are more than happy to tell you exactly how they know the answer. Tom believed that those who became angry, had most likely given him wrong information anyhow. Tom knows only a handful of people who are absolute “Go To” people. If they don’t know the answer, they’ll tell you. If they do know the answer, you know you can take it to the bank. These are “people you trust”!

The other label was “Nice”. On occasion, someone may have caught Tom doing or saying something “Nice”, to which Tom would jokingly reply, “Well, Don’t Tell Anyone”. When Tom would see an elderly, blind or other person appearing lost, confused, or needing some help, Tom nearly always stopped to help, depending on the severity of the situation and traffic. He always insisted it was not a matter of being “Nice, it was necessary”. He learned this from his mother. At about four years old, Tom remembers having gone strawberry picking with his mother. He wasn’t much of a strawberry picker but, after his mother picked a sufficient quantity for her family’s needs, she continued picking another large quantity of berries. Tom, restless and eager to leave, asked why? She said that we were picking some for an elderly, neighbour lady who didn’t have much money. Tom remembers the tears that came to the lady’s eyes when they delivered all these berries to her. The lady insisted on paying his mother fifty cents for the berries. His mother declined at first then accepted the fifty cents. Back in the car, Tom asked his mother why she accepted the fifty cents? “Because it made her feel good to pay it”, his mother replied. Tom sat in silence after that, as he processed this information. And yes, Tom did feel good for having helped, as little as it was. But, most of all, he felt very proud of his mother. A few weeks ago, Tom had a telephone conversation with his cousin, Mickie. Mickie most certainly is in that small, “People you Trust” category. Mickie assured Tom that he was, indeed, Nice. Thank you, Mickie.

His parents always taught him, regardless of what he is doing, do the best you can, never forget your manners, and above all else, be honest. These were very easy principals Tom lived by. Some say he took the “Honesty” a bit too far. Most knew not to ask his opinion if an honest answer was not necessarily what they were seeking. However, asking for his opinion was rarely a requirement to get it.

As everyone knows, Tom was not without opinions or pet peeves. These were Tom’s “Soap Boxes”. There weren’t many. It seemed like more because they presented so frequently. Those of greatest import and most serious, are BAD LAWYERS. There are so very, very many of them. Those few who are truly good at their profession should be hailed. The State Bar Association will be of no help identifying the good from the bad, as it is no crime to be a bungling, feckless weasel with a license to practice law.

The other, BAD GUARDIANS AND CONSERVATORS. Again, the good ones should be set aside from all the others. Apparently, all anyone needs to be a Guardian or Conservator in Oregon, is a “Certificate” issued by some company on the east coast. Oregon has no governing body to investigate, track or even hear complaints. You’ll be entirely on your own. Just you and maybe a lawyer that most probably, is more interested in their billable hours, than whatever help you may be needing.

Tom’s “Peeves” albethey far less grave, were still matters of great audible or visual disturbance to him. His first peeve, with some obvious exception of course, is White People Singing in Church. When Tom was about four years old, he went to Church with his grandma. The minister told everyone to open their hymnals, and then, OH MY GOODNESS! At least one hundred people, totally void of any rhythm or harmony, began squeaking and squawking like the wheels of a freight train on a curvy track. It was the most unholy sound he had ever heard. He tried to leave but his grandma would not let him. “It would be rude”, she said. Grandma was right of course, about it being rude, to say anything. Afterall, it wasn’t “his” Church, and he did not have to go back. He held his tongue for nearly sixty years since that day. Over time, Tom grew to become set in his opinion, that no one can desecrate a perfectly, beautiful hymn like a group of white people. In attempt to demonstrate his thoughts, we’ll use the song “Nearer My God to Thee”. It sounds so much more beautiful and reverent when played on a violin, rather than…. a cat.

Another peeve is to see women wearing Flats or Bedroom Slippers in public and even worse, in a professional environment – unless you are the afterhours cleaning woman. No doubt Flats and Slippers are much cheaper but, now that Tom is just another humble dead guy, this is his opportunity to tell you, Flats and Slippers make your feet look ENORMOUS! And equally important, PUT ON YOUR DAMN PANTYHOSE! This feels great! It’s like the Seinfeld show’s “Festivus” episode with Frank Costanza’s “The Airing of Grievances”. “I’ve got a lot of issues with you people”! Tom loved that episode.

Tom remembers being in the 97302 Post Office about six years ago. He was completely taken aback to see a lady who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She was wearing an ivory dress, matching jacket with black or dark brown, velvet collar and ivory heals. Tom had to approach her, and with some such verbiage, he said “Pardon me, I don’t mean to interrupt but, I’m from Southern California. I’ve have been in Oregon for several years. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a lady dressed so nicely. You look wonderful! Just seeing you has given my day a refreshing start – Thank you for that”. Tom could have gone on and on but, not wanting to come across like a perv, Tom went about his business. She seemed very appreciative of the complement, and Tom felt better for having given it. That was a good day!

On the other end of the scale, we have people who wear pajama bottoms in public. If you are one of those do, THIS IS BAD - STOP IT!

Tom’s remaining peeves are more language based, such as; People who, after being thanked, respond with “No Problem”. People who constantly ask for “A Good Phone Number” and when, for example, placing an order at McDonald’s for the most pathetic excuse of a Chocolate Milkshake anyone has ever served, you most likely will be asked to provide “A Good Name” for the order.

Despite Tom having previously stated that he did not want to return to the Funeral industry, he did, in roughly 2000. Tom did like the funeral business and was really quite good it. Tom did get a lot of satisfaction from helping people after suffering a personal, devastating loss and he knew how to do it. It takes many years to learn, even the use of a single word may be interpreted as something devastatingly, differently by someone experiencing an extreme state of grief. The most difficult part of returning to funeral service was becoming reacquainted with a fraction of what Tom had known as a comfortable income.

Fortunately, Tom had maintained some offshore investments which he, at appropriate times, brought to the US markets, still vowing were never to be used except for retirement, and under no circumstance would these investments be used to supplement his income in the funeral industry. Equally as fortunate, investing, although very hard and frequently tedious work, was something he truly enjoyed, to the point that he considered it as a hobby – a very lucrative hobby. The irony, and Tom did recognize the humor, the markets had been testing their lows at the very time he was given his terminal diagnosis. As much as he hated to do it, Tom liquidated many positions in a couple of accounts to assure his comfort in what was now calls his “Early Retirement”. Positions were held in a few other accounts and nearly every day, with cane in hand, he privately did what he called his “Prosperity Dance”.

Many have asked Tom how he got his start in Funeral Service. “Were your parents in the business”? To most, he gave the “short answer” being, yes – kind of. With very few did he share the “full story”.

From as early as Tom can remember, he had dreams – two or three a week. Never more, never less. In Tom’s dreams, he grew up living in a funeral home owned by his father. Tom can still describe the floor plan of the funeral home, the grounds, a carriage house, stable for the horses and the street they lived on and a friend (his age) he frequently played with, who lived directly across the street. No two dreams were ever identical, but a continuing saga of Tom’s childhood. The family consisted of his parents, and his brother – roughly four years older than Tom.

Rarely, did anything happen in any given dream to make one stand out over another. Tom never spoke of his dreams, as to him, they were nothing unusual. Tom had his own bedroom, upstairs and to the right, his brother’s room was across the hall and his parents room was at the end of the hall. The living quarters were also upstairs, to the left.

As Tom grew older, he also grew older in his dreams. Still, never giving his dreams a great deal of thought, Tom began to notice things in his dreams such as the use of horses and carriages. They had three hearses, of sorts. One was basically an open, buckboard wagon painted black, another was a true, horse drawn hears with glass sides, although not overly ornate and the third, a new, motor powered hearse, also fairly simple in decoration. Tom remembers in his dreams, his father frequently complaining that it was loud and smoked a lot yet, it was the “latest thing”. From these recollections, Tom estimated time period of these dreams to be at or near the year 1900. Tom remembered doing tasks around the funeral home such has helping in the back, opening and closing the front door for guests that would arrive for services, riding in/on the hearse with his father to the cemetery and occasionally walking behind the hearse with the family, to the cemetery. The primary cemetery was only about four blocks down the street from the funeral home.

Eventually, the country was at war. From this memory of his dreams, Tom concluded that the funeral home was in Europe. He thinks Germany although does not remember any specific, telltale evidence of that. In the dreams, Tom recalls the constantly increasing influx of bodies, mostly young males who had died of violent trauma. Tom will not go into detail of the images of his dreams, only to say that he does remember these dreamed images were introduced very gradually, that he was never disturbed to the point that one might be startled awake during a nightmare. So gradually in fact, that regardless of the images, these dreams continued to be relatively benign, and nothing that ever “inspired” Tom to speak of them.

One dream did eventually stand out as more powerful than the others. The sheer number of bodies that were arriving daily into this small, family owned funeral home, became overwhelming. Tom remembers his father telling him that he would have to move into his brother’s bedroom, as his brother helped their father build shelves in his room, to be used as storage for the dead. Tom remembers the windows being left open in his room to help keep the temperature cool. Tom also remembers arguing with his brother, as they would be sharing a bed, wanting to sleep closest to the wall. He was uncomfortable sleeping with bodies, now on the same floor. His brother wanted that spot and there was nothing more to be said of it.

These dreams continued for Tom until the age of fifteen. Interestingly, after Tom got his first, part time job at a funeral home, he never had another dream of this nature again. Tom never spoke of his dreams to anyone, until his mother was visiting him in San Diego, about 1995. Tom told her of his dreams and even though she was somewhat surprised, she said “That explains the odd things you used to do when you would sleep walk”. This was news to Tom! His mother explained that he would come downstairs, dressed in nothing but his PJs with feet, stand at the front door, opening and closing it, again and again for about thirty minutes, then go back upstairs to bed. Another sleepwalking incident she recounted, was that I would come downstairs in my PJs, walk outside in the rain, slowly walk around for a couple of minutes before stopping. She said “You would just stand there with your hands folded in front of you and your head bowed, then sooner or later, you would come back in the house go back upstairs to bed”.

“We always watched you but could never understand what on earth you were doing”!

Hence, when asked if his parents were in the funeral business, Tom’s answer was often “Yes, sort of”!

After a few more years in the funeral industry in Southern California, Tom came back to Oregon and helped care for his mother while his sister continued to work, until taking an early retirement. During this time, Tom studied for and passed his Funeral Practitioner’s exam. Soon after being licensed to practice in Oregon, Tom was asked to help at Hughes-Ransom Mortuaries in Seaside and Astoria, while the owner was out having knee surgery. This was to be only a two or three week period which Tom, never having spent any significant time in that area, thought would be fun. And it was! A couple weeks in, Tom received an ominous call from a gentleman, saying “I just wanted to call to introduce myself and let you know that the court date is scheduled for next Thursday. “Court date – What?” “Who are you again?” “Oh my goodness” he said. “They didn’t tell you”! He went on to explain that the bank had foreclosed on the funeral homes and they are to go into receivership next Thursday. Tom was asked to manage both facilities until such time they could be liquidated, which was originally estimated to be about three or four months. Managing a funeral home was one thing – Managing a funeral home with a challenge, was an offer Tom could not refuse.

Hughes-Ransom had a century of history in Astoria. It had only one employee, Larry, the apprentice who, having grown up in the area, knew everyone in Seaside and Astoria, was so extremely dedicated, not just to the funeral home but, he personally knew the families that came to Hughes-Ransom for help. Despite the state of financial affairs of the business before going into receivership, Larry, had often, without pay and having to use his own money, continued to personally serve the community.

One day, a couple of wonderful, retired ladies (sisters) Jan and Marsha came in to complete some business with the funeral home. The funeral home didn’t have much money but, both thought it would be fun to work part-time. They were both an enormous help – it allowed us to keep both locations open, every day during business hours. Then came Bo. Bo used to deliver pizza to the funeral home and gladly accepted a part-time job at Hughes-Ransom. he helped anywhere and anytime needed and, he was a master at small talk – This was something Tom could not do at all, but very much needed to be done. Most importantly, Bob Roeser, a former owner of Hughes-Ransom and an old school undertaker, also agreed to help part-time, whose presence alone brought a sense of stability and comfort to the community. People’s eyes would light up when greeted by Bob at the front door, after so many years of retirement. Bob was another enormous help! Together, we all kept Hughes-Ransom alive and rebuilt the communities trust until a suitable buyer could be found for this viable business. Otherwise, one hundred years of reputation would have been lost to the shadows of history and buildings liquidated for scrap.

Tom spent the last ten years with Virgil T. Golden Funeral Service in Salem, OR. Over the duration of his roughly thirty years in funeral service, Tom has heard many funeral home owners profess to have the best staff in the industry. Tom often thought, after removing the obvious exaggerations, you’re still left with, at best, an amusing statement. Golden’s really did have such a staff and it truly was a pleasure to have known and worked with them all.

To wrap this up and, in the first person, I planned just to have my urn placed quietly, without ceremony. Joelle asked if she could plan a memorial service for me? Indifferent to the idea, I said “Yeah – fine, if you want to”. Soon, I was totally enthralled with designing my memorial folder, Everett helped with that. Selecting music to be played and gathering photos for a video tribute which Les is helping with and best of all, writing my own eulogy, in the third person. How cool is that? Let me tell you – The memories I’ve shared here are only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. So many people, places and things I had not thought of in years, all bring back another flood of memories. Many of my friends were older and have already died. Remembering them and all the fun times has reminded me that I really did have such a very cool life. Thank you, Joelle!

My only regret in this life was having failed my mother. My mother simply wanted to die in her own home of nearly sixty years. She asked me “If anyone tries to do anything with my home, please don’t let them get away with it”. I promised her that I would, and that her home would be there for her. I failed.

Still, I must have been an okay guy to have had so many people immediately step up, offering to help take care of me in my last days. This was beyond, overwhelming. How do you say thank you? Ralph, Brian, Ty, Bill and Dana – There are no words. Joelle, who every day, for months, checked in with me to see if I was ok. And most of all, to my best friend, Brian Danielson. Thank you, Brian, for making me laugh so hard, for the last thirty years.

Thank you, everyone, for a great time!