Tom was a natural storyteller—take this excerpt from a December 2003 message he sent to his email list describing an upcoming "Somebody Else's Troubles Sundays" concert.    —BK

Something I discovered this past summer is that one can recover from a surgery as easily in an inflatable boat as on a couch. It wasn't even that difficult to drag the big balloon to the shore. After a momentary trepidation in regard to the result of allowing myself to fall down backward in my condition, I considered the alternative: drag myself back upstairs where my choice of distraction was Judge Judy or Springer. Realizing there are many things worse than death (and we don't even have cable) I surrendered myself spread-eagle and my old Sevylor 2-man welcomed me like an ancient leather smoking chair in an English library. And I was off.

A mile up the shore Pat Hall loomed above me. I had rowed to the Jarvis breakwater and he had stopped to peruse the inland sea where years ago he had occupation in guarding the lives of swimmers in tranquil waters; waters that could turn perilous faster than the devil changes mood. Probably unbeknownst to his lakefront cohorts in those days was his burgeoning talent as a barrel house rhythm piano player.

In the final years of Somebody Else's Troubles, Pat and his partner, Dave Grier, performed as a duo calling themselves "A Coupla Fat Guys."

They were the house act sometimes playing seven nights a week while waiting for The Earl. In that time they had developed a cult of followers for their boogie and blues, and deservedly so. But the real show was the ongoing rapport between them, although mostly Pat, and Earl. Clashing like cheap cymbals in a high school marching band, on a good night they made the Stooges look like a support group.

Ever since I started hosting SETS, I've wanted to have Pat bring his "Fat Guy Band" in for a show. (Dave has since retired from playing music publicly: the group now consists of a guitarist and two ladies, one being Micki Croisant). I have however hesitated making that contact, not knowing how the relationship ended between the entertainer and the proprietor. Spontaniously from the boat I asked Pat if he'd have any interest in returning to the old stage on Lincoln. Slowly the back of his head began to rise and his chin receded as if being reeled up from behind. As he glared from the tops of his eyes he asked, "Is Earl gonna be there?" His personality had changed as in a horror movie. Supposing the opportunity had passed, I said that there was a good chance of that. After a timeless moment, with ever darkening countenance he said, 'Let's do it' and rode off on his bike like Brian Urlacher leaving the locker room to go face the Packers.