I lost my best friend Thomas to his battle with depression last summer. These are the words I shared at his memorial service. I thought some others may find some peace in them. -TB

What I’m about to share is a tale that ultimately not about myself, or about Thomas, but really about all of us. It’s a story about rock and roll and belonging. About self-doubt, and self-love. This is a tale about finding ourselves, finding our place in the world, and about finding the people who will forever love and support us.

I’ll start the scene with myself as an awkward fourteen year-old. While I thought that I was unique in having all of those terrible feelings associated with adolescence, I know that everyone in this room can relate.

I grew up on a farm in rural Vermont in the 1980s- pre internet, no cable, no MTV. While the soundtrack in our school and at parties was full of 80s pop and hair metal, my preferred artist was The Kinks, a middle-aged group of oddball geniuses whose main hits came years before I was born. One bedroom song I related to during this period is the title track on their 1978 album, Misfits.

Look at all the losers and the mad-eyed gazers Look at all the loonies and the sad-eyed failures They’ve giving up living ’cause they just don’t care So take a good look around, the misfits are everywhere

So, it’s September 1988. I was hanging around the soccer field and this new kid I’d heard about approached me and noticed the Poison t-shirt I was wearing. As he asked me, “you don’t actually listen to that crap?”, his disdain for pop-hair metal was clear. After a bit of chatting I found myself driving around with him in his Mazda that afternoon. What I didn’t know was that I’d just found my best friend.

Thomas came to Chelsea, VT from a seemingly alien world, as to us sheltered kids, Long Island, NY might as well have been on another planet. He had a funny haircut, he drove a cool Jeep pickup thing, and listened to music from another world.  That brown vinyl leatherette cassette case he brought was, to those of us looking for something to gather around as we formed our nascent identities, like a message from the front lines of a cultural revolution we barely knew was out there. Before the alternative revolution of the 1990s, outsiders often found their affinity groups through shared tastes in music and culture. It may seem odd these days to Gen Z and Alpha kids who have access to all of recorded music at the swipe of a screen, but back then, we had to work to find alternative music, or really whatever we were into that wasn’t the main culture at the time fed to us by three network channels and a handful of commercial radio stations.  Weirdos and misfits had a pretty good sense that you would find common ground in a stranger who wore a Replacements t-shirt. We were the sons of no one, bastards of young.

This was a Left-of-the-Dial culture, not named for any political bent, but rather for the place over on the left side of the radio dial where college radio stations were found. New music, and more importantly, fresh ideas and perspective were critical to my forming into the person I would become, and Thomas offered that to all who met him. Really- the culture of Chelsea High School can literally be divided into pre- and post-Thomas eras.

Not only did the cultural shift that Thomas brought help us see that there was a world beyond Orange County, VT, but he also helped us to realize new potential for ourselves. Through that box of cassettes we learned  that even a two-chord hack guitarist and preachy polemical singer could write songs that moved a generation; that sophomoric morons with a knack for rhythm, melody, and stupid jokes could make a living from their art and inspire others own creativity; and that those insecurities we all held in our adolescence were shared among a whole generation of misfits. I don’t overstate it when I say that seeing the Ramones with Thomas when I was fifteen changed my life, as I was introduced to a whole auditorium full of weirdos who all felt the same way, and Joey sang to each and every one of us what we needed to hear-

Gabba Gabba, we accept you, we accept you, one of us.

As tends to happen when a change agent comes along, not everyone was as inspired by Thomas as I was, but I learned something incredibly important from his interactions with those who didn’t agree with him- some arguments aren’t worth having, while some principles are worth fighting for.

Thomas and I and everyone else did grow up and moved on into the world. He left me for Idaho and eventually Bulgaria and Utah while I, being two years younger, had to finish high school and eventually find my way into the greater world, too. Like before, Thomas’s letters from the front lines of college and the broader world served as a warning of things to come. Without his guidance, I know that my transition into adulthood would have been a lot more difficult and wracked with even more mistakes than I still found myself committing.

We both started our families, I in Vermont, he in Seattle, then North Carolina. While those early family years consumed us in different ways and our visits together were shorter and further between, I never haven’t considered him my best friend. We grew closer eight years ago when he discovered a nearly-fatal heart condition he had while collapsing in my arms while on a family trip to Vermont. Times like that remind us that life is short, and that people and priorities matter. While we were blessed with another eight years with Thomas after that, We never know when the next time we say our goodbyes will be the last. Ours was in a different Chelsea village, on the corner of 8th avenue and west 22nd in Manhattan, NYC the first weekend of this past March.

Thomas and I both fell into education professions in an uncoordinated manner, which left us with new, common experience to share as we entered middle age. We shared the same complicated sense of accomplishment, imposter syndrome, and raw humility that academia bestows upon those who work within it. It’s no surprise that many of the people we surrounded ourselves with are teachers and healers. Seeing Julie’s and my own daughter Alyce come of age in the last few years and Henry and Addie grow up before our eyes reminds me of how much we need people like Thomas in our lives. The people who challenge our very understanding of the world; help us refine, and sometimes define, our values; and support us, in this thing we call life.

I recently rediscovered a song, The Backyard, by the indie band Miracle Legion. It wasn’t in Thomas’s box of tapes, but as the band was from across the sound in New Haven, CT, I’m sure it was well played on WLIR and he heard it there before moving to Vermont. Its lyrics remind me of the shenanigans we would get up to back when we were just kids, and a little about the place we’re all in now.

This is the point in the story where I finish, and Nick Lowe steps out from behind the curtain to help me wrap this up. Well, Nick has gigs in Europe this week and isn’t taking my calls. I read the lyrics at this point, but with the wonders of YouTube, I can bring Nick to anyone.

Thomas left and left us in an increasingly difficult and divided world where compassion, empathy, and caring are in danger of being lost. We owe it to him, to ourselves, and to everyone around us to think about each other just a little bit more. To help those who are struggling. And to work toward a better world full of peace, love and understanding.

7/19/2025