Violent Ends

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violentends

Coming September 1, 2015. Pre-order on Amazon now!

In a one-of-a-kind collaboration, seventeen of the most recognizable YA writers — including Tom Leveen, Shaun David Hutchinson, Neal and Brendan Shusterman, and Beth Revis — come together to share the viewpoints of a group of students affected by a school shooting.

It took only twenty-two minutes for Kirby Matheson to exit his car, march onto the school grounds, enter the gymnasium, and open fire, killing six and injuring five others. But this isn’t a story about the shooting itself. This isn’t about recounting that one unforgettable day.

This is about Kirby and how one boy—who had friends, enjoyed reading, playing saxophone in the band, and had never been in trouble before—became a monster capable of entering his school with a loaded gun and firing on his classmates.

Each chapter is told from a different victim’s viewpoint, giving insight into who Kirby was and who he’d become. Some are sweet, some are dark; some are seemingly unrelated, about fights or first kisses or late-night parties. This is a book of perspectives—with one character and one event drawing them all together—from the minds of some of YA’s most recognizable names.

 

 

Then I’ll BE unhappy! – Heroes, TV, and Ron Perlman

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(c) 1989-ish, one of my best friends drew this for me; it’s his rendering of my player-character, Felix, an alien martial artist with cat-like powers. Because, cool!

(This is her world. A world apart from mine.)

So there was this show in the late eighties that in retrospect was kind of doofy, but perhaps only by today’s cynical standards: Beauty and the Beast, starring Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman. I’ll admit it—I loved the show. I thought Perlman’s performances as Vincent were amazing. Vincent was everything I was, wasn’t, and wanted to be.

Was, because I felt like an outsider and a monster, too.
Wasn’t, because he was strong and fearless and could kick some ass when some ass needed kicking.
Wanted to be, because he also had an amazing voice, presence, and loved fully and passionately.

These were all part of my early-teen psyche. In the very first episode, when Vincent’s adoptive father declares, in reference to Hamilton’s Katherine character, “She can only bring you unhappiness,” Vincent snarls back, “Then I’ll be unhappy!”

Lo, how oft I quoted those lines to myself whilst pining away for she who I could never obtain! No kidding, I actually have this line quoted in one of my old journals. One of the reviews of MANICPIXIEDREAMGIRL references my protagonist, Tyler, as “trying hard to break his own heart.” It’s my favorite review line ever, because it is true in the novel and it was true for me in high school, and Vincent—half lion, half man; half human, half monster—encapsulated my crazy emotions in those years. So much so, in fact, that when I had the chance to jump into a tabletop role-playing game with some friends, I based my character off Vincent. I went on to play that character for about 20 years. In so doing, playing with some very gifted storytellers and actors, my writing skills quietly got better and better in the background. (I later wrote a descriptive essay about that character and was accused of plagiarism because my writing “far exceeded the abilities of a comp 101 student.” True quote! Uh…my bad?)

(From the moment I saw her, she captured my heart with her beauty, her warmth, and her courage.)

So when I finally, after some 25 years, got to meet Ron Perlman in person at Phoenix ComiCon 2015, I just hoped I wouldn’t start bawling when I got to his table. (I didn’t.) Getting to shake his hand and explain that his storytelling, his character work in the show, inspired me in my own writing and that now I had books published by the likes of Random House, Abrams, and Simon & Schuster…it was just one of those I’m-meeting-my-rock-star! moments.

I gave the guy who played Vincent one of my novels. This is full-circle on a level that’s hard to explain.

He won’t read the thing; none of the people I’ve given my books to do, will, or have, I don’t reckon; and that’s okay, that’s not why I give them. I give them because it’s important to me to tell them how much their work mattered in my life. It’s important to me to show some tangible proof of my gratitude.

Because those stories do matter.

A lot of people don’t get all worked up over meeting celebrities, and I think that’s great. Some of us get riled up about celebrities not because they are special or powerful or whatever. They’re people. They go to work. Their work might seem glamorous, but I know just enough about the biz to know it’s anything but that a lot of the time (four hours in a make-up chair? Glamorous!). But still we get shook up when we meet them because they were the visible part of telling a story that perhaps said things we couldn’t.

“I am a monster, and I can never have what I really want because of it.” This was Vincent’s fate, and he knew it, and he let it get the better of him, and that is what I needed to see every week when I was 14. I don’t want to feel better, I want to feel whatever it is I am feeling right now, to the absolute fullest. Why do I write YA? Because so much of it, the real “it,” is exactly like that, and it’s a heady, breathtaking place to live for a little while.

In hindsight, Vincent and Katherine’s love affair, such as it was, wasn’t terribly mature. It couldn’t be, because good TV isn’t generally made about healthy relationships; conflict by necessity must be at a story’s core. I wouldn’t trade my awesome marriage for Vincent’s super strength and enhanced senses or his poetic pining; no thanks! But then I’m not 14 anymore, either. At 14? Oh hell yeah, that’s exactly what I needed to hear and see—that this monster knew what I was going through. So when I get a chance to meet the man who made that character come alive? A character who so deeply impacted my life and, in a roundabout way, my career?

Yeah. I’ll get a little choked up, all right? I can own that.

(I knew then as I know now that she would change my life forever.)

“It’s a TV show, dammit! It’s just a TV show!” barked William Shatner in a classic SNL skit. He’s right of course. It’s just a TV show.

But TV shows, movies, novels, poems, plays, songs…these things reveal to us and for us many things we can’t often express, even to ourselves. So I have no problem with anyone getting excited over meeting a person whose work has impacted them. Standing in line at Con this May, watching the thrilled, happy faces of fans after having met one of their favorite actors (or authors, or artists)…it’s a good thing. A very good thing, for everyone involved. Whether that person is an actor, athlete, musician, director, writer, artist, chef—whoever—it’s a noble thing they do, and I think a noble thing for us to say thank you. If what they did or do keeps us going one more day, then gratitude is the only reasonable reaction.

The Day Amber Benson & The Dread Pirate Roberts Saved My Life

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Could I just have one good f*cking day?!?! Answer: "As you wish."

Could I just have one good f*cking day?!?! Answer: “As you wish.”

Phoenix ComiCon 2015 begins in about 48 hours. I’m looking forward to it in a very special way this year because this time last year . . . I wasn’t.

2014 recap: Got to meet some great authors; met about a hundred up-and-coming writers, for whom I wish the best of luck and joy in their writing; met Cary Elwes who was preternaturally kind and wonderful; then was utterly charmed and stunned by author and actor Amber Benson for not only not roundhouse kicking my face when I jumped in front of her and asked her to come to my last panel of the day…but that she showed up and absolutely made my weekend. Her arriving at my class really took my breath away. You know what it’s like when you meet your Rock Star – whether he or she is an artist, actor, writer, poet, musician, or Fortune 500 CEO? Whoever your Rock Star is, you know that feeling? Yeah. It was like that.

And I wasn’t going to go. I came *that* close to skipping the whole thing.

No one knows, until just now, that that was my plan. Not my wife, not my ComiCon friends, not the Con organizers who are as dear to me as any family. No one. I didn’t announce it. I just quietly debated the merits of even bothering to show up. Because for all the awesome that is Phoenix ComiCon, sadness and self-loathing are . . . well, if we’re gonna be geeky, let’s just say the Dark Side is “Quicker. More seductive.” 

The reason I debated those merits is, I’ll never be good enough. I never have been, never will be, let’s end the entire charade.

You ever felt that way?

Let me make one thing clear, here: I am 100% aware of the sheer volume of blessings I have. No question. We can start with my wife and son and work our way along. I know them all. I do actually “count my blessings.” Frequently. Toby and Joy take up Spot #1. I have published novels that are on bookstore shelves; we’ll call that #3, because my friends take up Spot #2.

But still I wonder. Still I fear. Still I think it’s all a trick. 

Let’s put it this way: If anyone ever said to Toby the things I say into the mirror — and that’s not always metaphorical, by the way — I’d be Cobra-Kai-sweepin’-the-leg all over that person’s face. No one talks to my wife or my kid like that. No one.

I, on the other hand, am totally allowed to say those things to me. Some are things people have said and just stayed in there for, oh, thirty years. Some are brand-new that I came up with myself. And being a writer, trust me, some of them are pretty heinous. (My wife and my doctor get all upset with me when they hear the sorts of things I say to myself. Geez, calm down, right? I mean, they’re just words! . . . Right?)

So that’s just the tip of what was happening right before Con 2014. It’s the tip of what happens a lot in this office where I work. 

Thing is . . . I look back at last year’s Con and think of all the total coolness I would have missed out on if I’d given up. The wonderful people I wouldn’t have met.

No matter how much easier it is to give in, I can’t let it happen. You can’t let it happen. There is just too much cool shit we could miss out on if we let our Dark Sides get the better of us.

So this time last year, I could barely pick myself up off the floor. But I did. I got up, and goddammit, I went to Phoenix ComiCon to be with my tribe. And what do you know — heroes showed up, and reminded me by their smiles and their handshakes and their hugs that this place is worth sticking around for. Even when it sucks.

Artists you admire come watch your dialogue class, or dread pirates show great kindness. These things can change the entire course of a day, week, or longer. Much longer, sometimes. Like, the entire year between Cons, for example.

So thank you, Amber, and Cary, and Faith, and Brandy, and my exquisite and unrelentingly faithful bride. Thank you to every person who’s ever said a kind word about me or my work. Thank you. It matters. I hope I return the favor somehow.

I hope to see you at Phoenix ComiCon 2015. I’m really looking forward to it, no kidding. And if you or someone you know has been or is in one of those awful places I described, hang in there. Heroes abound. Keep your eyes open. We can do this.

We can. We have to. Because I don’t want any of us to miss Phoenix ComiCon 2016.

So say we all.

We’re All The Backpacker

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Me, SICK, and the cosplay cast of Walking Dead.

Me, SICK, and the cosplay cast of Walking Dead.

Yes, I’m a fan of The Walking Dead. It took me a long time to get around to watching it, because that first episode with the half-woman crawling on the grass . . . how they elicited empathy from those two scenes frankly scared me. I knew, as did millions of others, that this was to be no ordinary zombie romp. I could barely handle the gore; my taste for that disappeared many years ago. But even moreso, I couldn’t handle the emotion.

I’ve not been able to pick up this current season, despite a few attempts at trying. The entire arc of Terminus and what the Termites do . . . I just can’t stomach it. I’ve watched enough Talking Dead to give up on it for now, though I dutifully record it just in case.

And I wonder:

This is what we use for entertainment now? Watching people eat each other? It’s not new or unique to this series, but man. Walking Dead pulls zero punches. Zero.

Then I wonder:

Is it all just a matter of degrees?

I’m a huge Buffy fan. I watch it (and re-watch it) for the story. I watch Walking Dead for the story. What’s the difference, if any? Buffy has combat and fighting and the best and the worst that humanity has to offer in its stories. The Walking Dead offers the same thing, but with more gore. So what’s the difference? Is it like the old joke, “I only read Playboy for the articles”?

“I only watch Walking Dead for the story and character.” “I only watch Breaking Bad for the story and the character.”

Really? You’re sure those are the only reasons?

While I enjoy all of these shows—at least, I think it’s enjoyment—I’m left wondering if Walking Dead is simply too accurate. It worries me that, zombies notwithstanding, it’s just pointing out the inevitable future of the human race. Is it showing us the truth about ourselves, and if so . . . is it our fate? I don’t mean a zombie apocalypse (believe it or not), but rather, is it our fate to treat our fellow living human beings the way these characters treat others?

I mean, I cannot envision a time or circumstance in which I would eat human flesh. I can’t eat leftovers from my favorite restaurants!  But then I’ve never been trapped on a mountain hoping for rescue. I’ve never been in a zombie apocalypse. And while I watch the show and condemn the actions of some of its characters (like what Michonne and Rick did-or-rather-didn’t do to the backpacker in season 3, episode 12), I also know that I have a three-year-old. And I know there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that child, much like a certain dad did for a certain son when that son was being threatened. Those of you who watch the show know what scene I’m talking about. I appreciate The Walking Dead for giving me that idea; that if I and my son were ever in a similar situation, now I know what to do. It’s disgusting. It’s inhuman. But I would do it. Would not hesitate.

So then, does the show tell us who we are at our core? In the event of a catastrophe of an apocalypse scale, is this how we would treat each other? The one time we most need to band together, are we capable of doing it?

Because here’s the thing:

The world is in jeopardy right now as I write this. The world, our world, is falling apart. Oh, the planet will be fine—Earth doesn’t need us to keep spinning and creating and sustaining life. It just won’t be our life, the way things are headed.

Even without zombies walkers, we’re at a point where we need to band together. Instead, we kill unarmed people and we crash planes into buildings and we let our neighbors starve or children go to school hungry or our veterans to die alone and frightened on the street after having killed the people we think are responsible for the aforementioned atrocities in the first place . . . can you say “vicious unending cycle”?

I’ve heard—not confirmed, and hard-core (die hard?) fans might know for sure—that the word “zombie” is never used because in the world of the show, there is no George Romero, no cultural history of “zombies” per se. Maybe that’s true.

Or maybe the creators simply know the phrase “walking dead” has many more connotations to it than “zombie” does. I guess it’s that age-old media question: Does our entertainment cause us to become something, or does it merely reflect what it already sees? Probably the answer is Yes. Yes, both.

Maybe we’re already walking dead. Maybe we are already consuming one another’s flash. Nothing new here. Nothing that a thousand online prophets haven’t already endlessly dissected. I guess I just needed to hear myself say it out loud, so to speak.

Can we be better? I know I’m trying. But it’s not easy. Maybe you can help me. Maybe we can help each other.

I’m open to ideas. All’s I know is what I’d like to do if I ever see a Backpacker—apocalypse or no apocalypse. Because that Backpacker is everywhere already.

And you and I might be him someday if we’re not already.

Be Human.

 

Things To Do While Still In High School #1 – Own the Angst

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While everyone else was out drinking, getting high, or, you know, going on dates with actual girls, I was doing this, with apologies in advance to any Depeche Mode fans:

Can you feel the angst? It drips from the ceiling. The story behind this video is not the point (it’s a good story, maybe for later). The point is, you should do this.

I don’t necessarily mean making an angst-ridden video, although I know that happens a lot on YouTube and elsewhere. (Here, I was going to post an example YouTube video, but I got too depressed reading the comments people were leaving. The shit people feel free to say online drives me insane, hence my novel RANDOM, which is inspired by real events and by events you probably have experienced yourself, statistically speaking.)

The reality is adolescent brains are cooking on overtime. You probably know that much. That’s not an excuse to do stupid or dangerous things. Don’t drink and drive, for example. Don’t get pregnant or get anyone pregnant (just trust me on that one, okay? You’ll be glad later if you dodge that).

But while I’m a huge proponent of #stayhere and not doing things your body or mind can’t recover from, I also believe you should be yourself, and experience everything there is to experience right now. Angst is good.  It can be harmful, but it can also be a lot of fun. It’s like, on the one hand, people are always telling you to grow up, and that’s fair; this is your origin story. The decisions you make today will reverb down through the rest of your life. They will. I promise, they will. Good and bad ones, they’ll stick with you. So make good ones.

But on the other hand, don’t grow up too fast, either. See, the other side of this “grow up” mentality that most so-called grown-ups won’t tell you is that this is when you should fail. You should reach for the sky and get knocked down. It’s so much better to do that now than in your twenties, and better in your twenties than your thirties, and so on. (We’ll talk about your twenties some other time. That’s a whole other mess.)

I’m not saying to be irresponsible. On the contrary, you should be exceptionally responsible, because that’ll pay off later. But go up and ask that guy that out! Ask that girl out! Go on adventures. Stay up till the sun rises once in a while. Confide your secrets. Give your heart to someone, and then survive when he or she tosses it casually into a woodchipper. Which he or she will inevitably do.

And when everything goes wrong, make an angsty music video.

Then go dance, sing, lip-synch, whatever. This is your time. Own it. Yes, be careful…but own it all the same. Life will settle down soon enough. Sooner than you can imagine. Don’t rush for it.

Maybe I’m telling you stuff you already know, in which case—good! I’m glad you’re out there kicking metaphorical ass and having a great time.

But if you didn’t know this, if you didn’t realize that this was your time to both shine and suffer, then I encourage you to try both. I’m not advising you this because I regret not doing it myself—I’m advising you this way because I did. We lived up every second of high school, good and bad, diving deep into whatever the moment brought. I got hurt. I hurt others. I regret the second one, but not the first.

I don’t write YA because I didn’t have a great time; I write YA because I did. And I want you to. All of you. All of us.

Anyway. Sermon over. Have a great weekend, huh?

And, P.S. Just in case any friends want to leave snarky comments, remember – I have your videos too. Don’t push me, man. Don’t push me.

 Take care, stay here, say words.

~ Tom

 

Transitional Period

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I’d love to sit here and tell you that Laurie Halse Anderson is a good friend of mine. But that would be disingenuous of me. That’s nothing against her, by the way; ohmygod, if you’re a fan like I am, let me just tell you right now she is exactly as cool and awesome in person as you’d think. But do we hang out regularly at those secret writers’ retreats sipping coffee and discoursing on character development? No. A very sad, sad no. 

laurie halse w fam2

Laurie Halse Anderson – a kick-ass human being.

BUT, having said that, she did give me something when we met a couple years ago that has been a huge help, and that is The Five Year Plan. 

This is–my words, now–basically a way to write down your goals for the next five years, and you update it every year. Everyone’s will be different; mine is mostly focused on my publishing goals, such as “Sell one YA contemporary novel” and/or “Sell one middle-grade adventure.” Things like that. I, personally, also keep track of speaking engagements and whether or not I got paid for them.

Let me tell you … this thing works. The first year I did it, I hit every single one of my goals. I think it’s just because there they were, waiting to be checked off. (I’m a hard-core checker-offer.) I set out to get ten paid speaking engagements; I ended up with twelve. I wanted to sell my next YA novel; did that, too. And so on.

It’s now October 2014, and I’m updating my 5 Year Plan for 2015, looking back at 2014, and I gotta say…eesh! Things did not go according to plan. I mean, big-time.

Okay. That’s what the 5 Year Plan is for, at least the way I use it. I was able to track exactly where I went off the rails, and where exactly I want to go in 2015.

 

So what’s on your 5 Year Plan? The keyword there is your. Look out a bit, what do you see? Who do you want to be next year, or in five? Write it down, brothers and sisters. Write it down. You can do anything.

No, you really can.

Take care, and say words.

Random Pulp Fiction quote of the day that’s running through my head: “Normally, both your asses would be dead as f***ing fried chicken, but you happen to pull this shit while I’m in a transitional period so I don’t wanna kill you, I wanna help you.” ~ Jules 

 

 

Best Of Phoenix, and the Transformers Soundtrack

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This is partly another Behind The Music post. So this is #3 right? Maybe it’s #4. I dunno. Anyway.

This, as they say, happened today:

http://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/bestof/2014/award/best-ya-author-4455444/

The New Times Best of Phoenix issue is sort of a state treasure. Not one person in New York publishing could care less that New Times gave me this honor (most likely, and that’s okay, I don’t read their fancyass publications either), but around my home town, this is the shit. I don’t think it means free drinks at British Open Pub or anything, but it means . . . it means you earned it. That’s the thing about New Times. This is the same publication that began a review for one of my shows with “Get the hook!” If and when the New Times says you’re legit, you earned it. They don’t pass this stuff around easily. They don’t screw around with this issue. I stopped caring what Kirkus and Horn Book had to say about me about four years ago; and in a sense, they will never matter now, because New Times vetted me. Coupled with the Best New Local Author 2012 from Phoenix magazine, I gotta say, I love my hometown critics! And, as happens so often, this nod came at a great time, neatly erasing – or at least shoving aside for the moment – lingering and ongoing doubts about my usefulness as a, you know, human. <wink!>

But seriously, New Times . . . this makes my year.

+++

270px-TFTM_Soundtrack

So Toby discovered my Transformers: The Movie soundtrack this morning. Nah nah nah, hold on, we’re talking the real movie starring Judd Nelson and Orson Welles. (Let that sink in for a minute. Orson Welles and Bender were in a movie together. This is a great card to play during any Six Degrees game.) This is the album with the bad-ass metal version of the Transformers theme song.

The thing that struck me this morning driving Tobes to preschool was this: I still know most of the words to most of the songs. And most of the lyrics are full of these standard 1980’s power anthems (not unlike “You’re the BEST/Arooooound!/Nothin’s gonna ever KEEP you DOWN!” from The Karate Kid.)

I mean, check this out:

You never bend, you never break
You seem to know just what it takes
You’re a fighter

It’s in the blood, it’s in the will
It’s in the mighty hands of steel
When you’re standin’ your ground (The Touch, Stan Bush)

Dude! That is some fist-pumping, Decepticon-ass-kicking shit right there! Or this, from Spectre General (aka Kickaxe) from a cover by John Farnham)

We won’t be denied
We know that time is on our side
We’ve got the passion and the pride
We won’t be denied

This generations
With fire in our eyes
Strong are the ties that bind us
We don’t need no alibis

Nothing’s gonna stand in our way

This is the stuff I was listening too when I was 10, 11, 12 years old. Over and over. As we drove this morning, I couldn’t help wondering…did lyrics like this actually get into my head, and into my soul? I know, I know; I’m a bona fide nerd, but even this crosses the line, right?

Still. I happen to be someone who is, shall we say, ambitious; not for money or power or prestige, but rather just for getting things done in my life that I want to get done. There are very few things I’ve wanted and not gotten, eventually. Again – not talking about an expensive new car or huge house on the mountain. I’m talking about things like, say, “I want to direct this play.” Done. “I want to publish the novel.” Done.  “I want to play out with a band.” Done. “I want to make this movie.” Done. (The movie, Endgame, aired exactly once on a Phoenix public access channel.  The band played one gig to a house of about 15 people. See what I mean? It wasn’t about prestige, it was about doing the thing you set out to do. Just, you know…’cause!)

Maybe those cheesy, cornball lyrics from the 80’s actually did make an impression. Maybe it’s why people still listen to that music in the gym. 

So yeah, my kid will be a geek like me – if I do my job right. If those sappy lyrics and hard-drivin’ synths are just one more tool in his arsenal to deal with whatever life throws at him, with whatever he wants to make of it, then I’ll take it.

Nothin’s gonna stand in your way, Tobes. 

 

That Thing You Do

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Just in case you didn’t hear me the first time, let me reiterate and post it for all the world to see:

That thing you do? That thing that actually gets you excited to wake up on certain mornings? That thing that makes you lose track of time in the best possible way?

You get to do it. You deserve to do it. Provided it’s not a three-state killing spree or some similar hobby that breaks the laws of man and gods…you get to do it.

Particularly if you live in the U.S., or any other industrialized nation. Obviously there are people struggling — trust me, I know — but the vast majority of us have roofs, food, and clothing. If basic survival is not a daily issue for you (and if you really take stock, it really probably isn’t), then you have time to do that Thing You Do.

Do not listen to anyone who tells you it’s stupid. Or you can’t. Or you suck. Do it anyway.

The trick is to work with the people in your life to whom you are “beholden.” A spouse and/or kids, for example. Your Thing may not get to come first on the week’s agenda. That’s okay. But work with those people and carve out that time. That Thing You Do makes you who you are, and you’re no good to those other people if you’re not the best You that you can be. (Someone told me that once. It helped a lot.)

Writing poetry, writing fiction, playing guitar, kicking the ball around, gardening, walking the dog, meditation, martial arts, knitting, cooking…anything that makes you the best person you can be, you deserve to do it. All people do…we just happen to live in a nation where it’s largely possible, and the only things really keeping us back are our own fears or resistance to talking to our loved one about it.

It might be an hour a week, it might be an hour a month. But you deserve it. (So do those other people!) Talk to them, keep talking to them, work something out.

You’re only going around once. Do Your Thing. When you do, it makes the world a better place.

I for one could use the world to be a better place. How about you?

 

#stayhere

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So I’m 40 today.

No, seriously. It’s true. Damn!

I was burning this old videotape to my hard drive yesterday, a video from when I was 21 or so. Know what? I look better now.

There was lot I wanted to say today, but I’ll keep it short instead:

I’m here.

This video was—and I am not kidding—a video journal, in which I was bemoaning the loss of a girlfriend. Did you know that I will never love anyone ever again? Fact! And that I will never get over what she did to me? Fact!

Yeah…except for the part where those things aren’t true.

Trust me, I am the last guy to dismiss a young person’s trauma, drama, and emotional pain. Have you read my novels? That would be pretty inconsiderate of me, to say the least. Problems and pain and angst . . . these are real at the time. Watching that video, you could see the stress and strain. You or someone you know is going through difficulty right now. Right this very moment.

Life is simply never, ever, ever going to get better.

Or so it seems. Yet somehow, it can. It does. I know it’s hard to wait a week, or a month, or a year . . . or almost twenty . . . but if I’d given up then as I very much wanted to do, if I hadn’t ended up asking for the help I obviously needed, there’s no Party. There’s no Random.

 Worst of all, there’s no Toby. C’mon, look at that! DSC_0053

I’ve done a lot of things the past twenty years: Marriage and a son, awards and talks, travel and adventures, meeting new people and making new friends. 

 …Walking the earth like Caine in Kung Fu. (Well, maybe not that part yet.)

 If I’d done to myself what I felt like doing back then, none of that happens. None of it. It’s one thing to want the pain to stop; I get that. Trust me, I do. It’s another thing to end any opportunity to see what happens later.

 I’m thrilled to be here. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m glad I stayed.

 You should, too.

 #stayhere.

 Take care,

~ Tom

“Thanks for watching!”

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My heroes.

My heroes.

“DID YOU KNOW…?!” ~ The Wizard

 State Fair, early nineties. The Gin Blossoms – local boys make good! – are riding a wave of popularity rivaling the entire grunge movement of the day.  But it’s hot. Phoenix hot. And half a dozen friends and I are crammed into this indoor venue with thousands of other hot and cranky young adults. Tempers are flaring. Yeah yeah, we’re here for the band, shut up. Things are getting tense. Where the hell are the Blossoms, anyway? God but it’s hot in here.

Then this music starts. Only it’s not the Blossoms. What the hell, man? This is like…like some kind of jangly pop thing they’re piping in over the sound system, a happy dirge, if there be such a thing. Is that . . . is that a flute? What is going on here?

Then it dawns on us all. We know this song. We can sing this song. Simplest, best chorus ever:

Ho ho, ha ha, hee hee, ha ha.

Everyone’s looking around at everyone else. If this is some kind of joke, it’s in bad taste. The Gin Blossoms are from Tempe, man, they should know better than to play the theme song to the TV show every single last damn one of us grew up with. This is tacky. Tacky.

Until . . .

No way.

No way!

Down on the stage, the first thing we see is the tall gray top hat. Before we even see his face, we know who this is.

Ladmo.

“Hi, everybody!” our hero cries, and man . . . we lose it. We cheer ourselves hoarse, the roof damn near collapses. It’s Ladmo.

Then comes the greatest sentence ever spoken on God’s green earth, as far as we are concerned:

“I have a seating chart!”

I’ve seen Pink Floyd live, from the sixth row. I’ve seen Social D more times than I can remember, and loved every second of every show. I even saw them on a double bill with the Ramones once. But Ladmo’s got a seating chart, and me and thousands of other guys and girls just like me are completely and utterly losing our shit. A seating chart can only mean one thing:

Someone’s getting a Ladmo Bag.

Ladmo Bags are paper sacks filled with Twinkies, candy, coupons for Slurpees . . . everything a growing boy needs. I never got one myself – one of my great life disappointments – but not long from this night, I won’t mind so much, because history is being made right in front of me.

It’s the last public appearance Ladmo will ever make. He passed away not long after. And it hurt. It hurt hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of us here in Arizona.

This was some twenty years ago. It was just a few month ago that I got one of The Wallace & Ladmo Show triumvirate’s autographs on an 8 x 10 black and white: Pat McMahon. It was years ago that I got to meet Wallace, the other third of this uniquely Arizonan trinity. Arizona makes headlines a lot on The Daily Show, and with good reason, but we got one thing absolutely, perfectly right: We got The Wallace & Ladmo Show.

This children’s show lasted some thirty-five years in the Valley of the Sun, and made television history along the way. My feeling has always been that if there’s a Heaven, Ladmo will be easy to find in it because that’s where all the world’s children are going to flock. And if he’s not there, then I don’t want to go anyway.

Now the show can start up again in whatever Heaven there may be. I just found out we lost Wallace. I can’t – yeah, I can’t write this without goddam bawling because these three guys – Wallboy, Ladmo, and Pat a.k.a. Gerald and a dozen other characters – they raised me. They raised a lot of us. A lot. If I want to come up with happy memories of my dad, they start with Wallace & Ladmo.

When I met Pat McMahon a few months ago, I got to tell him (and I hope he heard me) that I get to talk to young people now as part of my job, and I hope I can do at least half as good a job as he and Wallace and Ladmo did during all those years. I hope I can love those students as much as the three of them all loved all of us; kids, adults, black white and brown, smart and not so smart, rich and not so rich. Wallace and Ladmo leveled the field in a singular way, a way I’m afraid will never be seen again in my or anyone’s lifetime.

But I’m sure going to try. It’s the least I can do. It’s the only way I can really say thanks.

Thank you, Wallace.

Thank you, Ladmo.

We sure could use you around here. Now more than ever.

 

Thanks for tuning in.

 

(If you’re not a native, please take a look at this article from the Arizona Republic, which does a better job with the history than I’m doing here. To give you an idea of how big a deal this guys are, their parody band Hub Kapp & The Wheels outsold the Beatles…only in Phoenix. http://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/arizona/2014/07/23/wallace-ladmo-bill-thompson-dies/13016035/)