Deceased May 9, 2005

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In Memory

Though I have not communicated with Tom in the past 50 odd years, I feel it necessary to add a few footnotes to a life beset by a stroke of bad luck and a trait of persistence and good humor relating to that bad luck. Tom and I shared two years at Westminster School, a prep school in Simsbury, CT; four years at Amherst College and a single night of drinking in the late 1950's at the old German-American Club on Third Avenue, New York City.

 In the fall 1945 at Westminster, both Tom and I spent time in the school infirmary with what was thought to be some sort of flu-like illness. I left the infirmary a few days later with no ill effects, but Tom, and others, student and faculty, ended up with polio. Tom lost the use of both his legs, after having played both football and ice hockey. He returned to Westminster the next year where we completed our senior years. Since both of us applied and were accepted at Amherst College, we decided to room together. The College assigned us a room in Morrow, first floor south, an isolated enclave, where we enjoyed solitude and the extra perk of female guests, a practice then frowned upon, but we did it anyway. Tom could stand on his paralyzed legs, in braces, but that was all. He swung across campus on his Canadian crutches and for longer distances drove a three-wheeled motor scooter with a large lidded box on the rear for books and stuff. This took him everywhere including Northampton and Smith College, nine miles off, where often I joined him as a passenger. (That was a cold ride!) Tom never used a wheelchair. I never saw him in a wheelchair. That wasn't Tom. Not at all. After freshman year, our paths diverged, different fraternities, interests and the rest, and we pretty much lost contact, except for a phone call. This led to a night of drinking and many pitchers downed. Then Tom glided to the curb, lifted a crutch high in the air to hail a taxi, threw me a caustic grin and a rough embrace, unlatched the knee catch on his leg brace, folded himself into the taxi and was gone. So those are the footnotes. I never saw or spoke to him again. I guess that's OK. Memories, strong memories linger, even the sound of his voice. So that will have to be enough. I'll take that, old friend.

Nesbitt Blaisdell ’51