Tommy and Me, My Memories of My Brother Tom

By Pat Ferguson Hanson

When her brother, Tom, died suddenly of a heart attack, Pat Ferguson Hanson
processed her grief by capturing the best of their times growing up together in this
series of anecdotes that are both moving and entertaining. Her stories will resonate with anyone who grew up in the l950s and 60s, or knows someone who did. Her book will also be of help to anyone who has lost a loved one, and perhaps even encourage them to record memories of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 8, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462841363

Pat Ferguson Hanson

Pat Ferguson Hanson lives in Stillwater, Minnesota and teaches communications at the University of Wisconsin-River Falls. She is married to artist-educator Jim Hanson, with whom she has three teenage daughters. Pat claims Minneapolis as her hometown. She began her career as a journalist and spent over ten years as a member of the U.S. Foreign Service. While in the diplomatic corps, Pat served as Assistant Cultural Attache at the U.S. Embassy in Greece. Tommy and Me is Pat's second memoir. Her first, The Five Goodbyes, Mothering My Child With Down Syndrome, was published in 2003.

Book preview

TOMMY AND ME

MY MEMORIES OF MY BROTHER TOM

Pat Ferguson Hanson

Copyright © 2005 by Pat Ferguson Hanson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

KINDERGARTEN

BASEMENT CAPERS

VACATIONS UP NORTH AT THE LAKE

EXCELSIOR AMUSEMENT PARK

CANOEING ON THE ST. CROIX

ANNUNCIATION REUNION

PAPER ROUTES

OTHER FRIENDS AT ANNUNCIATION

HALLOWEEN

CHRISTMASES

SUMMER FUN

GO WEST, YOUNG MAN

WINTER FUN

SWIMMING

DOWN ON THE FARM—SORT OF

DREAMS FOR THE FUTURE

THE HIGH SCHOOL YEARS

THE COLLEGE YEARS—

TOM IS IRREVERENT

ROOTS AND WINGS—

EARLY CAREER VENTURES

MY WEDDING DAY

MORE HOLIDAYS, THE FIRST WITHOUT TOM

ARE WE EASTER PEOPLE?

HOORAY FOR THE RED,

WHITE AND BLUE!

EPILOGUE

POSTSCRIPT

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my brother Tom, who died in 1998. This was written as I processed my grief after his death to crystallize and preserve forever the many good times he and I shared. Now, even when memories fade, as they inevitably will, these stories might serve as a reminder of Tom—who was larger than life, handsome, smart, funny, charming, and generous to a fault—and the very special place he, held in my life.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my husband Jim, who was the first person to hear me read these stories. By his enthusiastic response, the way he truly listened, the way he laughed and cried, he encouraged me to keep writing and to believe there might be an audience for my stories beyond our home. Equally important, he encouraged me to be honest, to tell my stories the way I remembered them, all the while acknowledging that each of us has our own truths and might remember the same events differently.

I thank my aunt Maureen for encouraging me, the day of Tom’s funeral, to write a book recounting for others the stories about Tommy and me that I shared with her that day. Thank you for always believing in me, being a second mother to me, and being a never-ending source of inspiration. Thanks to the firstborn of Maureen’s eleven children, Cousin Sue, who, along with her husband, Larry, made sure my stories were read by their friends in New York and for reporting back that my stories had a "Garrison Keillor Prairie Home Companion" quality to them. I liked that comparison!

I thank too my aunt Gen who asked for a copy of this book in draft when her twin brother Gerry died and let me know how much she enjoyed reading it, not just the first but also the second time. It is my hope that these stories will provide a soothing balm to others who have lost a sibling and encourage them to record their memories as well.

I would like to thank my writing group, Rivertown Writers, for listening to me read these stories when I wrote them after

Tom’s death, the time when I was grieving his loss the most. They grieved with me and helped me heal. They also listened to me read these stories again and again, as I shared these stories in workshop classes and at public readings. God bless you, Marlene, for saying, I’ve heard some of these stories three times now, and they still move me.

Thanks to my friends Peg Guilfoyle, Peggy Hale, Elaine McDevitt, and Jane Holstein for agreeing to review my manuscript. I appreciate the thoughtful, helpful suggestions I received and the way they were made—kindly and in a way I was willing to hear them.

I also thank the many writing teachers whom I have worked with along the way, including Mary Rockcastle, who taught the first writing workshop I took, in which I wrote the poem Roses, which appears in this book. Thanks to Margot Fortunato Gault, who taught Journal and Memoir Writing and encouraged my efforts to write this book when I told her I wanted to do so. Thanks to Cynthia Orange for teaching a wonderful class on writing family stories. Thanks to Scott Russell Sanders for sharing in his class (The Art of Writing Essays) the letters he wrote to his children on the occasions of their weddings; they encouraged me to write the letters to Tom’s children, which are included in this book.

Thanks to Patricia Condon Johnston of Afton Press for encouraging me to publish these stories about my brother Tom and telling me she hoped one day to find the courage to write about her deceased daughter. (She did, in her memoir Pie in the Sky.) Thanks to Lynne Bertalmio, director of the Stillwater Public Library, for offering the writing classes that got me going, scheduling readings for me and other writers, and encouraging writers in so many other ways. She even offers space for writers to write (which I have used when things have gotten too noisy at home). Thanks to the organizations that invited me to vet these stories publicly, including the Art Barn in Osceola, Wisconsin.

You have all made contributions along the way, and I am in your debt.

Finally, I must thank my children, Tina, Maya, and Molly, for understanding my need to write and for honoring my closed door when I’m doing so, at least most of the time.

Thank you, too, for not honoring it all of the time; you keep me human!

Tina was eleven the summer I finished the first draft of this book, something I was anxious to do before heading out of town for a writing workshop. I bumped into Tina in the kitchen at suppertime. My girls had spent the afternoon at the neighbor’s swimming pool. Mom, Tina said, I forgot to eat today. Would it be all right if I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner now? Please, I said. I insist on it! Thank you, Kris Ferrari, for letting my girls swim in your pool on many summer afternoons and feeding them snacks on those few occasions when I neglected to offer them meals. I’m glad to report they have grown to be healthy teens!

Pat Ferguson Hanson

In any traditional society, stories are where the life is, where those in the present maintain continuity with those in the past.

—Kathleen Norris, The Cloister Walk

INTRODUCTION

THE RIVER (from the play Tom Sawyer)

The river runs warm in the summer sun.

The river runs cold when the summer’s done.

But a boy’s just a dreamer by the riverside.

Cuz the water’s too fast and the water’s too wide.

The world turns around and the boy grows tall.

He hears the song of the river call.

The river song sings, travel on, travel on.

You blink away a tear and the boy is gone.

A river’s gonna flow across the land, across the land.

Oh, a river’s gonna flow to the sea.

And a boy is gonna grow to a man, to a man.

Only once in his life is he free.

Only one golden time in his life is he free.

I sat in the Phipps Center for the Arts in Hudson, Wisconsin, one day in May and heard this song sung by the St. Croix Valley Boy Choir. It touched me deeply. In February, I had buried my beloved big brother Tom; he died unexpectedly of a heart attack.

Tom once sang in a boys’ choir when he was a fifth grader and I a fourth grader at Annunciation Grade School in Minneapolis. The choir performed for the bishop when he visited our school. Tom kissed the bishop’s ring, and a photo was taken; it appeared in our archdiocese’s newspaper, the Catholic Bulletin.

The St. Croix Valley Boy Choir performs The River regularly. The conductor, when introducing the song, said it captures something very significant about what happens in the choir. He was