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    September 28

    Tom again, this time from Delrose.

    Because Tom was always regarded as being so extremely untalkative, I thought the nephew might be interested to know this little bit of info about Tom's later years - probably the early to mid 1960s.
     
    For some unknown reason Tom had a particular poem printed out, and he handed it out to a select few of girls, usually in or just outside the post office, along with an explanation that was very difficult to understand partly because he spoke so softly and partly because he mumbled.   However, I thought he said he'd written the poem himself, but as I mentioned, he was speaking very quietly so I could easily have misunderstood.
     
    In any case, I'm pretty sure he also gave Mary-Lou Vaydik a copy, and Carol-Ann Halliday, and me.  (He must have liked we brunette teenagers!!)  I was actually pretty flattered, as I too had known him all my life, but had never ever exchanged any conversation beyond "Hello" with him.
     
    Another aside.. as to how he seemed to appear out of nowhere, part of the "folklore" when I was growing up was that he had bought up many many tiny little shacks all over Yellowknife and would then rent them out.  Whenever they were empty, he would temporarily crash in them until they were again rented.  All this land, which increased enormously in value over the years, was how he "really" amassed his fortune! 
     
    Here's Tom's poem if you want to pass it along:
     

    "Oft in the Stilly Night"

     

    Oft in the stilly night,
    E'er slumber's chain has bound me,
    Fond mem'ry brings the light
    Of other days around me:
    The smiles and tears
    of boyhood's years
    The worlds of love then spoken
    The eye that shone
    Now dimmed and gone
    The cheerful hear now broken.
    When I remember all The friends
    so link'd together
    I've seen around me fall
    Like leaves in wintry weather,
    I feel like one
    Who treads alone
    Some banquet-hall deserted
    Whose lights are fled
    Whose garlands dead
    And all but he departed.
    Thus oft in the stilly night."

     

    - Thomas Moore;  1779 - 1852

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