Tom was a teacher. Tom was a hippie. Tom was a restaurateur. Tom was a husband. Tom was a father. Tom was a friend. Tom was a best friend. Tom was a grandfather. Tom was an author. Tom was a youth worker. Tom was a clown. Tom was a builder – a creator. Big American Tom. The crazy Yank. The Great White Blunder— I mean, Wonder. Tom was magic, an alien, a bridge over troubled water.
Tom Backora changed my life. Not only that, he probably saved it. Tom was there for me during the darkest of days, showing up with nourishment for my ailing soul when I needed it most. He helped me to regain some focus and tutored me when I lost interest in school following the sudden death of my mother. When I was 16, and clashing with my alcoholic father, he encouraged me to join a gym and even paid some of my membership fees.
Around the same time, he assured me that Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey simply had to be viewed on a big screen and when the Nerve Centre in Derry held a special screening, he duly took me to see it. He was right. Years later, I wrote my master’s thesis on Stanley Kubrick. The exotic world of Southern cuisine was opened up to me by the creations of Tom and his wife Pat, who served up delicious meatloaf dishes and outrageously tasty treats such as pumpkin pie, always with a generous dollop of sweet cream on the side.
His visits would lift my spirit and my day would be made when he’d arrive early in the morning, singing salient lines from The Supremes or some other band he’d heard on the radio. “Is it real, is it fake, is this game of life a mistake?” Thank the gods, Tom is here!
Tom lived in awe of the Cosmos and saw magic in everything. “Isn’t that amazing?!” he’d inevitably exclaim when relating something random or seemingly trivial that tickled his brain. He had a playful sense of humour and urged people to fill their lives with fun.
He shared wonderfully unusual stories of his past adventures in places like Australia, the Netherlands and back in the USA. He’d regale us with marvellous tales of teaching physics in Sydney as a young man living in opulent Point Piper, opening the Great American Railroad Eat House in the beautiful walled city of Amersfoort and his dicey encounter with an FBI agent in Hawaii. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
My young and stunted Derry mind was always skeptical of Tom’s tall tales. All those worldly experiences and somehow he decided to settle in Derry at the tail-end of the Troubles? He’d just laugh at my incredulity and branded me a Doubting Thomas.
I wasn’t the only person Tom helped. He was also there for my brother Paddy, who suffered similar negligence, and cousin Mark too. He helped Shane become a professional footballer, cheering him on at countless Foyle Harps matches and supplying a bottle of Lucozade Sport afterwards.
He lent a hand to my friends in Strathfoyle and there are dozens of others in Derry alone who will attest to Tom’s lasting, positive influence on their lives. Anywhere he went in the world, he helped strangers and forged meaningful, life-long relationships along the way. He gave absolutely everything of himself to others and lifted people out of the mire, all while insisting that “life is great!”
No doubt there were plenty of people out there who tried to use Tom and take advantage of his altruistic nature, but he spotted them a mile off. “I’m easy, but I’m no fool,” he’d quip. Even in death, Tom’s message was a cheerful one focused on helping and giving to others. The closing line of the poem he wanted people to read is: “When all that’s left of me is love, give me away!” A model of consistency.
I have so much more to say about Tom and what he meant – and means – to me and I will probably do so for the rest of my life, but suffice to say Tom was the father figure I desperately needed when everything was falling apart. He taught me how to cook and about the power of your word – when Tom said something would be done, it was a cast-iron guarantee. He constantly counselled me on my value when my self-worth was crumbling and celebrated my achievements, no matter how small. Most importantly, he taught me what it means to be a man.
During one of the worst periods of my life, Tom shared the Simon and Garfunkel song, ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ with me and told me “I will lay me down”.
For anyone who doesn’t know the song, the lines go, “When darkness comes/And pain is all around/Like a bridge over troubled water/I will lay me down”. After the soulful opening comes a stirring and hopeful verse: “Sail on, silver girl/Sail on by/Your time has come to shine/All your dreams are on their way/ See how they shine/Oh if you need a friend/I’m sailing right behind…”
That’s a man. That’s Tom. I’m going to miss him. Requiescat in pace.
Nothing is written 