Eulogy

We memorialized Tom Cauchon last night at the Griffin Museum in Winchester. The remembrance was very ably organized by Tom's girlfriend, Mary, and his dearest friend, Tony.

The gathering was well attended, befitting the life of a man who touched the lives of so many people. 45 years is far too short a time to be with your friends and loved ones on this earth. But as so many people said last night, Tom made the most of those years, doing what made him happy, trying new things, improving the lives of those around him. He was mourned so deeply because he will be missed so much.

I was able to offer some words about Tom's life with all of us on Baboon Heart. In terms of the team's history, growth, and culture, he was a giant. For all of my half-hearted efforts to make the team into a Nationals-caliber squad, Baboon Heart is very much molded in Tom's image: we value our friendships over victories, and we are more social club than athletic team. I know he will be on all of our minds when we put on our cleats in a couple months.

My feelings remain deeply conflicted about the final few months of Tom's life. He lived very close, but I seldom saw him. I was happy that his life seemed to be turning a corner--but I wish that he had told me more of this good news. I am disappointed in myself for not finding more time to get all four of our boys together. Schedules are tough, plans are made, broken, and then something tragic happens, rendering all good intentions null and void. Time is a luxury. It is spent down on the routine aspects of life, and leaves only regret once its supply has been exhausted.

All of those feelings, though, do not detract from the good times that we did have, and my fond memories of our time together on summer evenings playing ultimate and drinking at the bar afterwards. He will be missed. But our lives goes on and the team will continue, richer for his being part of it for so long.

My words from last night are reprinted below.

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I have the difficult responsibility of conveying how much Tom meant to all of us on Baboon Heart, his frisbee team. Tom was the team's founder, long-time captain, and, as he had recently entered semi-retired status, captain emeritus. He was also the team's biggest fan. Ultimate meant a lot to Tom, but I think Baboon Heart meant even more.

I will begin by offering some words about Tom from many of my teammates, as expressed in emails that have been circulating the past two weeks.

"Tom was awesome at bringing people together," wrote Liz. "I had the privilege of having Tom be a big part of my life for a time. He introduced me to this awesome world of BH and Frisbee. He was one of the first guys that taught me to be more confident and look at the world in a more positive light."

Andy recalled some trips that they had taken together. "I traveled to Argentina with him, and would have loved to have done more trips together. We kayaked in Acadia, and unknowingly camped on an island during the tail end of hurricane Katrina. We awoke to dense fog, and I followed him closely from island to island as we tried to navigate home with maps and compasses. I always just felt comfortable in his presence."

Eric Smith, who founded the team with Tom, told a story about helping his kids distinguish between Tom Cauchon and another Tom on the field. "They became known as Tom and Big Tom. Tom Cauchon since then and forever will be known, at least in our house as Big Tom. In more ways than one that sums him up. Big heart, Big appetite, Big fun, Big Tom."

There were many more stories, and they all followed similar themes. Tom was always willing to lend a hand. He excelled at welcoming people onto the team and would make them feel like family after only a single practice. He was even a matchmaker, introducing some people to the future loves of their lives.

The stories kept coming, one after another, talking about a man who was kind, generous with his time, a friend to many, a big brother to some. A man who believed in your talents even more than you did. A decent man. A man who could always pick out the silver linings in even the darkest clouds. We knew Tom through ultimate, but he touched out lives in so many ways beyond the field. Our hearts are broken that we will never see him again.

I met Tom back in 1997 after my junior year in college. I happened to hear about an informal pickup game that took place every Sunday at the Esplanade, and decided to check it out. That pick-up game was actually Baboon Heart practice, and once I started, I stayed.

Upon meeting Tom, I remember thinking "he seems like a nice guy." This thought was followed closely by "this guy looks really awkward when he plays ultimate."

In the 15 years we played together, this never really changed. Tom was never the quickest guy on the field, and I admit to holding my breath on many occasions when he would throw the disc into a tight space. But he did contribute to some of our signature wins over the decade and a half that we played together, and was known for his seemingly-impossible skyhook catches.

I loved playing with him. He never got too low after a loss or too high after a win. To Tom, it seemed that those results were inconsequential outcomes of a couple hours spent running around with friends, chasing a plastic disc, having a laugh, celebrating life.

And in truth, the games were only a prelude to the real business of Baboon Heart: getting a drink away from the field. In the days when the team played at Magazine Beach in Cambridge, Tom would rally all of us to join him at T's pub afterwards, where, after reviewing the entire menu, he would inevitably order steak tips and a diet coke. In July he would often invite the team to Cotuit for a weekend of disc golf and grilling. This was one of the highlights of the entire ultimate season. He also began the team's tradition of a December wine and cheese party, perhaps trying to stave off the doldrums of a winter without ultimate. He was always a gracious host.

I had the great pleasure of captaining the team with Tom for five years. We complemented each other well. I was the fiery tactician and field general; he was the calm team leader, scheduling games and making sure everybody was actually having a good time.

Those who know me will not be surprised to know that on several occasions I got into heated situations with members of the opposition. As I headed to the sidelines, Tom was the first to greet me. "Hey, Ace, how we doing?" he would ask. "You ok?" I would often mumble something profane and brush past him. But deep down I knew that if Tom was saying something to me, then I had been out of line, and that I needed to remember the real reasons why we were all out there on a hot summer night--becuase we loved to play and because we loved each other. I learned a lot about the spirit of ultimate from him.

I remember his pride as he entered his 10th year of captaining the team. He loved talking about the history of the team, from its informal beginnings to all the players who had once put on the orange and black. One of his dreams was to compile all of this rich history into some sort of compendium so that future generations of players--since Baboon Heart would surely never disband--could learn the team's creation myths.

To celebrate his milestone, we bought him a directors chair emblazoned with the team's logo. Naturally, he loved it. What better gift for the man who presided over the team?

This summer will be difficult for all of us. Though Tom did not play as much as he used to, none of us believed he had played his last game for Baboon Heart. He loved ultimate too much for this to have been the case. And when tournament time rolls around this coming year, it will sadden me not to receive an email from him to the team, reminding us to play hard, to play spirited, and to have fun, captaining to the last. He will be missed, and he will be remembered always.

These colors don't run.