Tom

A noble veteran of custodianship, Tom and his stories had the power to dazzle an unflappable Stoic. Simon Bolivar would have undoubtedly perceived that Tom was 50% Colombian. When I first met him, however, I thought that he was an average white man with a mustache. My assumptions were fostered by the very nature of his last name--"O'Connor". Then I heard him speak perfect Spanish. Gradually, I began to recognize the "Colombian" in him--whatever that means. His eyes and mouth clearly conveyed his Latin American roots. To be sure, Tom could have told me that he was from Venezuela or Brazil and I would have believed him just the same. 

Tom had been a custodian at Cal Poly for at least twenty years. He no longer cleaned the dorms (which he had done for around 15 years), but instead drove a small white pick-up truck around the campus, completing nearly every maintenance task in the dorms known to man. I am serious. Among other things, he did electrical work, fixed broken beds, replaced fluorescent lights, put closet doors back on their tracks, and kept vacuums and carpet shampooers running smoothly. When I got the chance to ride along and work with him, I savored every moment. He showed me the insides of machines and explained how they worked, even their most intricate details. He further stressed how important it was to properly maintain machinery, and how by doing so one could greatly extend the life of a motor-propelled object. I estimated that Tom had saved the university thousands of dollars during his tenure there. Tom was an original Gregor Mendel as well, and he loved to share with me the numerous benefits of plants on campus. One time we stopped at an aloe vera plant, where he subsequently broke off a piece of the plant, split it in half, and ate the gel in the middle. He stated that the plant had a number of vitamins in it, and that when ingested it was good for the body. No doubt he could have survived in the wild.

  Besides being one of the most intelligent individuals I have ever known, Tom had a work ethic that was unparalleled. Similar to Alfredo, Tom worked two jobs. He co-owned his own custodial business. Beginning at two o'clock in the morning, he cleaned businesses and health centers in the area. He finished around six o'clock in the morning, just in time to prepare for his next job. He made his twelve-mile roundtrip commute to Cal Poly by bicycle every day of the work week, regardless of the conditions. 

 Tom never took lunch breaks, and he usually worked overtime--without pay. He did all of this only to be treated like dirt by upper-management. Another custodian once told me that, for several years, Tom was making the exact same amount as other custodians ($28,000 a year). Well, all of the custodians didn't believe that this was right, especially considering that he did more work and had greater skills than they did. So, in 2004 or thereabout, they all protested Tom's meager salary. Well, their objections were heard and Tom now makes a whopping $30,000 a year. Amazingly, he never once complained about these disparities.

  Prior to arriving on California's central coast in the 1980's, Tom worked at a rose farm in Hawaii. It was here that he surfed until the sun went down and socialized with the locals for the rest of the night. He also befriended the inventor of Morey Boogie. He moved from his beloved island only because his wife wanted to be close to her family in California. Now that's dedication. As of a few months ago, Tom had visited every continent but Africa. Before he met his wife, Tom lived in New Zealand for a few years and worked in construction. I know that he briefly lived in a few other countries, but I am not sure which ones. In the midst of all his travels, he struck up a friendship with the adoptive father of the woman who created EBONY magazine. Apparently, her father was a priest at some Episcopalian church. I don't know if that is where Tom met the man. 

Tom loved his wife, and he had two very accomplished daughters. One daughter was a Spanish teacher at an elementary school in SLO, while his other daughter was a model. The latter lived in Paris, but travelled all over the world. Tom told me that she had graced the pages of ELLE and Glamour, among other fashion magazines. I once met Tom and his teacher-daughter at Trader Joe's. She could have been a model too. 

Tom lived in an apartment by one of my friend's houses. Both times I saw him, he was playing with his grandkids. Whenever the weekend came around, I would ask Tom what he was going to do. His answer was always predictable. "In the morning I am going to ride my bike to the beach and surf for a while," he would say. "After that I am going to play with my grandkids." Fortunate kids indeed. 

If I saw Tom in the morning, I usually asked him how he was doing. Like everything else about his regimented life, his reply was always the same: "Doing good, it's another day." That is how Tom dealt with life, one day at a time. No worrying about tomorrow. No complaining about issues that were beyond his control. According to Tom, life was a gift from God to be enjoyed no matter what obstacles a person encountered in life. Tom lived as a humbling testament to this assertion, and I miss him dearly.