A Letter to Our SonEd Chapin, February 21, 1998 – read at Thomas’ memorial service, Hartford, CT

Dear Thomas,

Back in 1956, we had two beautiful children and wanted another to round out our family. What a roller coaster ride we started with that decision! After an appendectomy and several other health problems your life began. But, typically, after nine long and difficult months, you stubbornly refused to be born. The doctor suggested that birth be induced on March 9th. That was our wedding anniversary and I had planned a dinner out to celebrate the occasion. It was just the first of the many changes you precipitated in our life together.

We should have known you would grow up to be a musician. Your grandfather was a musician, and you and he had such an unusual rapport at a tender age. I remember coming home to find mother in tears many times after a trying day with you. Banging on pots and pans in the kitchen was one of your favorite sports, and you have been experimenting with sound ever since. What a relief when you headed off to school and mother could consider returning to the working world. But you needed a lot of attention. So before long she returned to that all-important job as homemaker. She felt that taking care of a husband and three children was a full-time and rewarding job.

About that time, before you could read, you pleaded for piano lessons like your big brother and sister were having. We innocently gave in. In the fifth grade you started playing the flute. One day the school nurse called to say your heart had started beating extremely fast and we rushed you to the doctor. This was the start of many such crises. We feared the day when one of these events would prove fatal, but modern medicine kept you going.

You loved the great outdoors. Remember our camping trips in our VW beetle. We had our luggage on top, including a 12 foot boat, an outboard motor under the hood, and you snuggled in that little spot behind the back seat where Ted and Sally sat? Then we bought our own 60 acre camp-site in Vermont. How you loved to run around those hills, examining everything in sight.

Then there were your collections! Hats, electrical insulators, stamps, currency, military articles, what have you! You were always full of curiosity, always making your own way, always experimenting. Remember all the cats we had – the one you threw into the bathtub that ran out the front door, never to be seen again. How you loved CATS! There was Impy, Mittens, Felicia and many others. We named our catboat after Felicia.

Then came junior high and Mr. Macoluso’s marching band, and the many hours of practice. Off to school before seven many mornings. He was a hard taskmaster, but you became a master at the flute. More lessons down at Ray Beller’s music store as well. I still shiver when I remember that frigid day at U-Conn watching the Bennet Junior High Band strut their stuff. He inquired for you just yesterday.

Then it was off to Andover for four years. Brother Ted and I both had fond memories of our years there. You were a member of the Massachusetts Youth Ensemble of the New England Conservatory of Music and went to Boston every Friday for practice. We followed you to many concerts around the state. Remember the concert tour to Helsinki and Moscow and that military belt buckle you smuggled out? Then, as usual, you started to experiment. You started to play the saxophone, and reveled in the freedom of improvisation. Anybody can follow the printed score. You wanted to compose as you played. You had decided upon a career in music and we were doubtful about this. It could be a tough life. Mother grew up with a musician father. You and Arthur Kell spent a summer at Berklee School of Music to test your resolve and music won. That was the start of a beautiful personal friendship.

After four years of what you recently told me were the happiest days of your life, it was time to move on. But first, a little more excitement. You graduated on the day of my 35th reunion. We missed you at dinner. It seems that you went out to celebrate with the boys. We were awakened at 3 a.m. by a policeman who wanted to take us to the hospital. You had fallen 35 feet from the fire escape outside your room, landing on hard ground and rocks. After four days in the hospital, you were pronounced unharmed. I used to say that the only lasting effect was your decision to become a jazz musician. I guess God gave you 23 more years to make the world more beautiful.

Then there was one term at the University of Miami which you found so “plastic” with Muzak machines playing everywhere you went. You spent two and one half years with Paul Jeffrey and Jackie McLean at Hartt, followed by a year at Rutgers with your mentor, Paul. Then it was off to the big city to make your way. The following January you joined Lionel Hampton’s Band as soloist, and later, band director. We were so proud of you as you traveled all over the world and every state. It was a tough life however. The pay was barely minimal. I remember the tales of three men sharing a bed crossways to save money. Lionel didn’t pay for such luxuries as food and hotels!

The rest is history as they say. You appeared many times at the 880 Club, and the Hillside in Waterbury. I think it was about then that you met Mario Pavone, your great bassist. I think he produced your first record, “Bell of the Heart”. We heard you whenever you were within 50 miles. We were often critical of your offbeat appearance, long hair, etc. To our untrained ear your music was a bit difficult for us. Mother always preferred the softer flute over that raucous sax. But I was always fascinated by your consummate skill. We were so proud of you and your various groups, particularly the Thomas Chapin Trio. You traveled the world over to be in all the major festivals. And if that didn’t satisfy your wanderlust, you headed for Morocco, Namibia, South Africa.

Unknown to us was your battle with alcohol. You beat that with your fantastic determination and strength, the same strength that has maintained you over this last difficult year. Only recently have we realized the depth of friendships you have developed through the years. How Terri has cared for you over these last 12 long months culminating with your marriage after 10 long years. We will always remember Arthur Kell, who went out to be with you in Tanzania, the trip with him to Morocco, his caring way. And we thank Victoria, a perfect stranger six months ago, who saw your beauty through music and was compelled to spend so many days and hours helping you and Terri through these last months. And the Sunday prayer groups. How much you were loved!

And you weren’t just a musician! You have created some beautiful collages. Your photography is magnificent, particularly that picture on the cover of your latest CD “Sky Piece”. And then that beautiful poem inside which so expresses your deep love of nature and music.

Thank you for being, Tom. We love you so much.
Love, Dad and Mom
Ed & Marjorie Chapin