One of my close friends died a year ago and his entire 50 years of life in San Francisco is not in the brief obit in the Boston press.
I met Tom in 1976 when he came from Boston to San Francisco. The first thing Tom did when he got here was become a partner in a bar in Noe Valley, Finnegans Wake. His two partners were Don Neuwirth and Tom Frankel. Tom Hargadon had owned a bar near Harvard Square where he had gone to college and where he had graduated with a law degree. Tom passed the California bar, but never practiced law to my knowledge. Tom Frankel went on to own a bar on Potrero Hill where Tom H. rented the upstairs apartment. I shared the apartment occasionally over several years in the 1980s. Tom owned a home in Monte Rio near the Russian River. It flooded twice (2 one-hundred year floods). The home was above a garage and only the floor of the house was flooded. I helped Tom clear it out after the floods by dumping everything out the front window into a dumpster.
When Finnegan’s Wake was closed in 1986, Tom Frankel moved it to Cole Valley where he took over a former lesbian bar, Mauds.
The original Noe Valley bar was the headquarters for San Francisco politics during the Dianne Feinstein years, largely due to Don Neuwirth’s contacts. I never saw Tom H. drink, but I assume he had beer on occasion.
The entire time I knew Tom he was built like a long cube, very Irish. He was able to run occasionally with my Portola Institute gang and with my friends at Crissy field. But otherwise I never knew him to indulge in athletics.
Soon after I met Tom I made him Publisher of the Briarpatch Review, which never entailed anything but showing up at parties and being a springboard for discussions. From the late 1970s he was a regular at our coffee group mornings in North Beach. First at Roma’s for a dozen years and for the next three decades at Malvina’s and then to the new Roma’s. The final story on that comes later.
Tom was among my very closest life friends. He was the most intelligent man around. With an encyclopedic mind and a comprehensive knowledge of Irish literature. All my close friends were like Tom. Interested in the world, current events and deeply self educated.
Tom was also wise. He talked when talked to, but he was quiet otherwise. Surprisingly, his bar talents meant he was gregarious among strangers. Calm, sweet, gentle, genetically honest and infinitely curious. Always reading when alone. Tom had the unique ability to carry on three simultaneous conversations.
Tom grew up in Boston, probably Waltham. His education was at private Catholic schools. Because Tom was so bright and probably slightly autistic, the nuns, bless their hearts, didn’t waste his time in class, they sent him to the library where he read every book in the collection over his dozen years in pre-college.
From Tom’s own report, after law school he worked at Boston City Hall with mayor Kevin White. Tom understood politics. He had done some organizational work in Mayor White’s office which later led him to some similar work in Washington D.C. It had to do with computers of that era. Tom always had friends in the computer world.
The only anecdotal story I have about Tom is that he lived, for a time, in a communal arts group in a warehouse in Emeryville. There, he met and married a woman, Ambika, who lived in the building and was a fine potter. A few years later when Ambika went to Japan, I strongly advised Tom to join her there. I said that Japan would be heaven for a potter and unless he joined her she would meet up with a Japanese potter and stay there. He didn’t understand what I was saying. I had been going to Kyoto, at that point, for many years. I was right.
A decade later Tom joined me and my girlfriend in Tokyo. He had a marvelous time. Japan was so new and interesting to him. He spent his days just travelling around the city in total amazement, learning everything he could.
At one point Tom became a partner in the Blue Heron, a restaurant in Duncan Mills near the mouth of the Russian River. He made it a lively musical center for the area, but since all the business was weekends, it never succeeded financially. During all my years as a close friend, I never knew where Tom’s money came from. One year a friend of his in D.C. had government funds left over at the end of the fiscal year to build public housing near Santa Rosa. Tom helped him spend it.
Tom always dressed a little more formally than the hippie style of the era. Usually a white shirt and suspenders.
Tom and I ended our friendship twenty-four hours after the Arab terrorists piloted airliners into the New York Twin Towers. We had our usual coffee at Malvina’s in North Beach the next day. An Egyptian, an occasional visitor to coffee, had sent an email overnight saying the attack was justified because of America's role in oppressing nations around the world. Before he entered Malvina’s I told him he was not welcome at the coffee group. Tom tried to stop me from chasing him away; I told Tom to ‘fuck himself.’ He told the rest of the coffee group, who agreed that I didn’t have the authority to kick anyone out of the group. That ended the group at Malvina’s and my friendship with Tom. Over the next 20 years we ran into each other twice, but we never talked.
Tom was a wonderful man and a great friend. He died September 8th, 2020 at a hospice in Larkspur, California.
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