The Tom I always remember greeted us with a grin too big to keep to himself so he shared his joy with everyone.

Tom gave me the name “Halls.” (long story, a Tom-ism, ask me in person)

When we worked together, 40 years ago, he delighted in getting to work early and I delighted in slowing his enthusiasm down so we could sit in our kitchen most of the morning eating the breakfast Sharon made, drinking coffee and talking.

Once we took down a red oak at a retired physician’s residence in Bexley. The doctor, a widower who lived alone, would come out periodically to see our progress and make a remark. As we broke for lunch I shared my sandwiches Sharon had made with Tom.  The doc spied this and emerged to bother us again, pronouncing “You two must be a couple of gay boys.” Tom, stunned, asked why he figured that. The doc’s reply, “Because I see you doing nice things for one another.” Neither of us were insulted, Tom merely referred to the old man’s thinking as “pretzel logic.” Just another of the many fine days shared with Tom Brown.