Saputo

A little more than two weeks ago, my friend and former colleague, Tom Saputo passed away. 

That's Tom and me pictured while freelancing at TBWA Chiat/Day about a dozen years ago. 

We were gleefully horsing around, shooting the shit, and goofing off while "earning" an exorbitant day rate. Look at us, working hard trying to make Tostitos-sharing moments go viral, adding useless hashtags to Infiniti social media, or repositioning Pepsi to better align with their multi-million dollar logo refresh, which stands as a living testament to the awesomeness inherent to the makers of carbonated, brown sugar water.

We happened to be similarly attired that day, and agreed to a quick photo. Though Tom's impeccable sense of style and design (one of the industry's best) makes mine come across like a shabby Trump NFT trading card. His impeccable work never failed to impress, whether it was a brochure for Lexus or a series of logos for hand crafted beer. Saputo had a signature look.

He fought bravely against an extremely rare lung disease that necessitated two lung transplants. I cannot imagine how painful and traumatic those operations can be, nor the toll it takes on the human body. 

With the exception of Tom's heart.

That was always strong. 

And gentle. 

And even rarer than the disease that consumed him.

I have never heard a foul word about Tom. Because, there were none that he merited. And trust me, I run around with a brutal rhetorical crowd of bitter, cynical and jaded ad folks. 

Last year, during a rare night off giving full time care to my late wife, Deb, I ventured in the car and headed to Northridge, CA.  I met up with Tom and our friend Jean Robaire, at Brent's Deli. In a city that sports a sizable representation of people with Hebraic Seasonings, LA is stunningly deficient in the way of good delis; where they serve tongue, carp heads and slippery creamed herring that is best eaten with a spoon.

We got seated in a big booth, the only way one can truly enjoy the deli eating experience. And Tom was looking better than we had ever seen him since learning of the respiratory nightmare.

This photo was taken after we had scarfed up three monstrously huge pastrami sandwiches. 

We Kibitzed. 

Kvelled about our kids. 

And Kvetched about the various medical afflictions that go with growing older. Oh and we laughed. 

We laughed hard enough to forget the soup was cold. The waitress was rude. And the cole slaw was excessively wet.  

The next day, Robaire (who sadly lost his 99 year old father last week, may his memory also be a blessing) and I spoke about Saputo. By the way, that's the New York part of me that never went away: referring to friends, particularly the ones I love, by their last name. 

We agreed that Saputo was looking better. And we both knocked on wood that his continued weight gain and recapturing of his strength and even his voice were signs of improvement and cause for optimism.

But that's just not the way the world always works, is it? And it's decidedly not fair. And it is maddening.

I will miss you Tom. 

And to your menschy credit, so will many others, too.