Hey hey, my my
Rock and roll can never die
There's more to the picture
Than meets the eye
Hey hey, my my
Out of the blue and into the black
You pay for this, but they give you that
And once you're gone, you can't come back
When you're out of the blue and into the black
--Neil Young
Rust never sleeps. Not when you reach the point where you realize you can't slow down and you can't fade away. There is nothing but running straight into the head wind day after day and night after night. To live means not trying to avoid death. To live means you are cheating death. Life is the only real cause of death. If you got rid of it death would never happen.
People never die too soon.
They always die right on schedule.
They found Tom on Monday morning. His closest friend found him. After not reporting to work for two days and not answering his phone, his friend went to his house. He found Tom in his yard. He wasn't sure how long he had been there, but Tom's life here had come to an end.
It is a strange sensation when you feel that you are working on a project that may be cursed. We were filming the pilot for our television show at Tom's house. After things not working out using a normal studio, we decided more than a year ago that the show could be rewritten and filmed in a house. The first person to agree was a good friend of ours named Don. He was from the east end of London and moved to America to be with the woman he loved. After he agreed to let us shoot at his home he was diagnosed with leukemia. Three months later Don died. His wife insisted we continue to shoot the show, but she sold the house and moved to Utah to be closer to her family. It took six months before Tom offered us his home. We became good friends with Tom and truly enjoyed our time with him.
Tom was a child of the Sixties. He reveled in the Summer of Love and took everything to the maximum extreme. He was well acquainted with everything from drugs to liquor to free love. He loved every minute of it. He was also diabetic. Sometimes he forgot about his insulin. He flirted with disaster for decades.
He was also an artist of impeccable talent. He was paid well for his contributions and worked in any field that would employ him. He once designed and constructed a bar in Jamaica that was designed to look like a Spanish galleon. He spent a week diving down to examine an old shipwreck to make sure he got the details right. He built things. It was what he did. He built things for movies and he designed things to frustrate uptight architects. Tom was put here to build these things. His works are everywhere. We were only just beginning to learn how far his influence really was spread.
He had been married, but that never quite worked out. In his final years he figured out a way to achieve romantic happiness that fit into his way of doing things. He had a girl in Germany and another in Japan. Once a year he went to see them. He took them to grand places and celebrated the bounty of life with them. A month ago he had been in Hawaii with his Japanese girl living it up on Waikiki Beach. He spent last Christmas in the Swiss Alps with his German girl. He jokingly referred to them as his "whores," but on the walls of his house were pictures of him with each of them, arm and arm with smiles on their faces. I am certain that he loved them both.
He died. He is no more. We will remember those Saturdays at his house discussing what part of the show we were going to shoot and his smile as we sprang into action. He has become a part of the legacy of The Harrington Show and will always be tied to it. He was a truly great man who refused to let doctors tell him how to live. He had diabetes and drank Glenlivet hand over fist. He worked whatever hours were necessary to complete the job assignments he was given. He created things and those things will last. He also created an impression. Tom was a truly great man. He burned out before he faded away. I drink a toast to him tonight. It will be the first of many. He is gone but not forgotten.