Tom Hlavacek has left the building. Or should I say, the pitch, the field, the court, the gym, the ring, the track, the slope, the green, or any other venue imaginable where people come together to celebrate the miracle of the human mind and body. Yes, he was competitive, but in service of a higher purpose: to work out our innate tribal muscles in a way that at the end of the game, the match, the bout, or the race we are all winners, no matter our ability, level, pace, or handicap. In other words, Tom was a sportsman in the most pure and archetypal sense of the word.
This greatest of sports came into my life in 1978, when I was a fourth grader son of a single mother and he a budding sports director for the US Armed Forces in my native Stuttgart, Germany. He may as well have been in fourth grade with me because our interests perfectly overlapped: soccer, ice cream, and pizza. While his official status at some point became stepdad, it never really had any bearing on our lived experience as best buddies. Tom was just Tom, always engaged, always upbeat, always appreciative of every little drop of sweet nectar life has to offer, from the moment he pulled up in his rusty old Citroën to check out the room my mom was subletting in our house to make ends meet until the last time I talked to him 47 years later.
While Tom truly was a kid in the candy store of life, his optimism, purity, and childlike wonder also brought out lots of incredibly profound encounters and experiences for those graced by his presence. For example, a big reason I am writing these lines and am able to wax poetic in my second language is because of Tom’s dogged persistence in convincing the Cal State Hayward soccer coach that I was the second coming of Franz Beckenbauer so I could go to college overlooking San Francisco Bay despite my less than stellar score on the English section of the SAT. And when I quit the soccer team after one quarter to turn into a hippie musician eco astro poet, he was right there with me every step along the way, always in awe and with such deep respect and joyous support for my, shall we say, unconventional journey.
In some ways, our paths mirrored each other’s. While I was adopting his native country as my playground, he did the same with mine. Tom loved Germans, and Germans loved Tom. In a country where people are famously guarded, he was just radically fearless in chatting up friends and strangers alike, doling out compliments and pep talks in his thick Kansas meets Schwäbische Alb accent to perplexed people in bakeries, cobblestone alleys and along bike paths. His genuine spirit of goodwill and uplift was so disarming that he could melt even the most hardened curmudgeons. He was in more clubs and organized activity groups than any German I know, and they all loved Tom. In a way, he embodied and represented the ideals often associated with America and Americans around the world (at least until recently) better than any movie or TV show ever could: Easy going. Friendly. Positive. Not taking himself too seriously. Forward looking. Nothing could keep him from looking at the sunny side, not even late stage prostate cancer.
Tom was also a helper by nature. When I decided it was a good idea to take my obscure rockn roll band on a tour of Europe in 2003, he jumped on that wagon like a 100m sprinter. And before we knew it, he was driving that van (that he borrowed from the neighbors) and functioned as manager, roadie, publicist, motivational coach and tour guide all in one. He gave 110% of his energy every day to make life for others just a little bit easier and enjoyable. He was relentless in his quest to uplift others, and it didn’t matter whether it was pulling some strings for a friend or carrying bags or any number of other unsolicited favors for random strangers.
But above it all, he was my mother’s biggest supporter and advocate. He loved her so unabashedly, she often had to tell him to tone it down. An email he sent to me and my brother just two months ago was so classic Tom even as he was struggling with his health: “Your mother is a saint. I have a lot of limitations because of my cancer, but she is so good to me. Her cooking keeps me alive. The last two days she fixed white asparagus twice. The very best. If it were not for your mom, I would never have met you two. I am so lucky.”
“I am so lucky” may have been the most frequently uttered words by Tom. And they were 100 percent genuine and true. But it must be said that all of us who had the honor and joy of being in his high flying orbit were at least equally as lucky. His spirit was just floating high enough above the ground that it would pick you up before you even had a chance to get down. His presence will live on through all of us, and if we’re ever on the fence about how to respond to a challenge, the spirit of Tom will point upward and onward. To end with a sports metaphor, Tom left it all on the field and now he’s getting some well earned rest. Though he’s probably already hustling for a side gig as a referee in the cosmic arena.
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German version: https://svenworld.com/tom-war-immer-mit-von-der-partie
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Great words and photos of a great man. He’ll be missed. Thanks for this brother!!
Mike! Another great service Tom did was that he introduced the two of us. It’s been such a joy to know and be brothers with you! I will never forget those Dead shows in DC with you.
Beautiful heartwarming words to honor Tom’s spirit. I’m very glad I got to spend some time with him and your Mom. Fare thee well, Tom.
Thank you, dear friend!
Such a lovely farewell. I didn’t know Tom well, but I was lucky enough to talk to him a few times at some of your parties and Chemystry Set shows. The man was a hoot! Such a character. So positive, and so joyful. You are keeping his positive spirit alive with these words, and with the way you go through life. I can’t think of any better way to honor Tom.
Thank you, my brother! Tom was definitely hard to miss or forget, even for those who only briefly crossed paths with him. Sending a big hug!