Elbert Thomas Stone. We just called him "Tommy". My uncle, youngest of Ma's kin. Red-haired, like a banty rooster, 5'7" maybe, scotsman more to the appearance than any of the crew. 150 pounds soaking wet, and one king-hell wrecking machine. Baritone voice like a radio announcer. He died of cancer some 8 years back, and I seem to miss him now more than I did then. I sort of fit myself after 2 people: my older brother, the iconoclastic biker reject, and Tommy, the ne'er-do-well blue collar american. Tom and I fit, both being suspicious of anything in a suit. I couldn't match his ferocity....hell, no one could. Even my ex-marine biker brother admitted there'd be one man he'd want at his back in a showdown. I came in second, Tommy was #1. I had to agree. I guess I'm thinking of him now because I was pondering what matters most in life, and honesty hit me. Tom would always tell you what he thought. Like it or not. You can tell a lie to save some feelings sometimes, and yep, he'd do that, but if you wanted an unvarnished opinion, just say, "Hey, tell me"... he'd fire away. It might get uncomfortable, but he'd take a long pull off his brew and explain, straight up and personal. No meanness, no rancor. Just the facts. Might be a habit of old Navy men, I don't know. What I do know is he had a far greater impact on me than I ever had on him, and I will never forget that man, to the end of my days. Truthfully, he had more impact on my life than my Dad, since he was around a lot longer. He actually wanted to be there. Pops had other things to do. Tom took my side more often than I can count, and although it hurt so bad to see him silent, awaiting the rest: he felt no pain. Finally. He slept peacefully. The sailor went home to the sea. He gave his children, my cousins, his worldly goods, little as they were. He gave me his fire, his passion, his unbroken spirit. He gave me his view of life, and trust me: you have to see it to believe it. :)