The Uncommon Man with a Common Name

Imagine a conundrum cleverly posing as an enigma wrapped in a contradiction. Pretend that you don't know what the most predictable person you know is going to say or do next. If you can do that, you surely must know my lifelong friend.

Envision the folksy humanity of Walter Brennan, the zany optimism of Curly Stooge, the eccentric humor of W.C. Fields, the butchered language and convoluted syntax of Archie Bunker, the compassionate earthiness of Festus Haggen and the sage philosophy of Will Rogers -- all as a single, barrel-chested man capable and more than willing, without provocation, to philosophize and pontificate at length on any and all topics, and in a language of his own highly peculiar construction.

Try to conjure up the image of a person who cares not a whit whether you agree or disagree with him, so long as you attempt to comprehend the hailstorm of illogical opinions and disjointed beliefs he joyfully ricochets in all directions, forcing your total engagement.

The contradictions of this man are so extreme they are impossible to reconcile. He practices what he preaches, but only when it’s convenient. He fiercely defends his friends, no matter what stupid things they may do. He has lived a difficult life and has few possessions, but would instantly and lovingly hand them all over to anyone truly in need.

My friend is a human dynamo who embraces success and failure as if they were of equal value. He is an optimistic pessimist, a supportive provocateur. He is maddening and lovable all at once. If you want to know a take-no-prisoners-in-the-game-of-life kind of guy, then you want to know, and would be very lucky to know, my friend Thomas "T.C." Brown. Even his name contradicts his personality - being far too average to identify this anything but ordinary, overtly charismatic and totally irrepressible human being.

Tom is so difficult to describe that in musical terms he would not be a single instrument. He would be the entire orchestra -- the cymbal crashes and tuba blasts of sudden realization, the perfectly pitched and yet tone deaf and unyielding drumbeat of political activism, the clarion trumpeting of coffee shop orations on issues of the day. Yet, when you least expect it, he can suddenly become the violin's subtle refrain, wafting gently through the lives and hearts of friends and opponents alike.

This man defies prediction. As if allergic to typecasting, he is not blustery and then tender in rapid sequence, but at the exact same moment. He can enrage his audiences -- whether they consist of lifelong friends or innocent strangers encountered on a sidewalk -- through blind loyalty to obscure positions unique in all the word of human opinion. But before you can react in opposition or annoyance, he can swiftly win you over by shifting focus to the subtle shades of color and texture in a single flower -- or a cloud, or a distant memory. Even more effectively, he can melt you down by suddenly producing a yellowed newspaper clipping about something you once did, one he has kept without your knowledge for decades in his little secret stash of treasures.

Tom and I both love photography, but I am convinced that he must see things very differently through the lens of life. This robust juggernaut of a man doesn't own any gems - but he is one. He doesn't live life, he creates it spontaneously, moment to unpredictable and often hilarious moment.

One of TC's greatest charms lies in his polished ability to give stern advice even while inventing myriad reasons not to be personally bound by it. Because of his enthusiasm, his broad generalizations can often seem to make sense -- even when he supports them with huge flaws of fact or goofy suppositions. He is the only person I know who can quaff a burger, fries and milkshake while sternly lecturing others about proper nutrition. He never acknowledges and perhaps doesn't perceive the obvious conflict.

Here is a person who changes his mind six times before making it up in the first place, revises plans before they are conjured, and habitually spares no energy answering unasked questions. He slaughters, splinters and mocks the English language in ways both maddening and amusing. Protocol, formality, pomp and Miss Manners be damned. We're talking about the unique world of Tom Brown here. It’s a hell of a lot more interesting.

The food in Tom Brown's World is ice cream float, beer chaser and a cigar for dessert. His politics are even more unconventional. The portrait of this man's life is the inspirational image of hard work and self-sufficiency -- the very things most cherished, in the political world at least, by Republicans. Yet, he is a liberal Democrat -- almost to the point of promoting Socialism.

Tom constantly bemoans America's flagging competitiveness in the world's economy, but despises the big American businesses whose innovations make us competitive. He thinks large corporations should be crushed because they are all employee-bashing, greedy and selfish abusers of everything we cherish in America. Naturally, he simultaneously endorses the free market economy and complains emotionally about government-subsidized foreign competition.

Tom gripes enthusiastically about our own government too, and thinks the vast majority of those serving in Washington should be removed from office, preferably by firing squad. But he also believes the conflicting view that government should be more involved in our lives at every level -- presumably finding ways to spend federal money and making America more competitive, even while spending more federal money caring for the former employees of the newly crushed evil corporations and those people who never bothered to work in the first place.

Tom is the only man I know who not only served a combat role in Vietnam and patriotically volunteered for a second dangerous year manning helicopter machine guns, and yet sees President Clinton's draft dodging as acceptable -- because, after all, he didn't actually flee to Canada. It was England.

OK, OK! I admit it. I'm as partisan as Tom. And the frustrating thing is that I can’t seem to do it as well. Through it all -- Tom's blustery orations and fierce defense of positions that are rickety at best -- his booming voice rattles every calm. One thing explains TC's success and makes him such a treasure: To have Tom Brown as a friend is to have another brother. To enjoy his blind loyalty is to be pulled through the hard times in life by an unfailing supporter and cheerleader. To talk with TC about humanity, responsibility, reliability and friendship is to buddy around with the unknowing Zen Master of those qualities. So what if he is a walking oxymoron, a study in contradiction? It makes no difference, because above all, Tom Brown is a man of great heart and enduring, rich, unfailing humanity.

Tom Brown is a diamond-in-the-rough disguised as pop-psychologist, a self-styled editorialist more rare and interesting than those who are highly paid for their opinions. For even when Tom infuriates with one-of-a-kind and unshakable assertions on political issues of the day -- opinions I sometimes oppose only because I have spent so much of my life in the very government he so dearly loves to hate -- the twinkle in his eyes and the laughter in his thunderous voice give opponents pause.

At the end of every argument, this man of great, good cheer will turn to his red faced combatants, and buy them a beer while gleefully and sincerely announcing that he loves them -- even if something in their questionable character or flawed mental processes causes them to disagree with him. With rolling waves of contagious and disarming laughter, he quickly washes away a debate's irritating salts and launches off on some new course. Even though he hates politicians, or approximately half of them, my friend Tom Brown, by demonstrating an instictive capacity for being on all sides of all issues all the time, is a natural politician.

Yes, it is heartening to know that even when I'm far away, a certain Mr. TC Brown is out there somewhere, assessing every situation and sharing his views with all those about him whether or not they like it, or even know who he is. As a self-styled protégé of the Man of LaMancha, I know that wherever he goes, he will be cheerfully tilting at windmills on what he somehow considers my behalf. This rowdy gent brings joy to life in ways that can't be replicated or bought -- or for most of us, even imagined. The world would be darker and quieter, and life would prove less interesting and more somber, without a certain Thomas Carlyle Brown constantly scanning his horizon for those souls who will be next to learn all about his unique worldview.

On the other hand, maybe he’ll just end up driving you nuts.

Don Hardy

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