The 9 Lives of Thomas Elliott July was a hard month for the community in many ways. We lost several members of our Farm family, each one taken too soon. Below, I share with you one story, a man whose contributions to The Farm will live on long beyond his years on earth.
Thomas, a dynamic member of the community, transitioned recently, and I thought it might help you get a deeper insight into our community, by learning some of his story.
Thomas came to the community in 1973, pretty much at the same time I arrived. Raised on a farm, Thomas was one of the few among us who knew how to operate a farm and work with heavy equipment.
We had a very nice service down by the Swimming Hole, his true labor of love. Many stories were shared by his wife Barbara, the family and friends, and I wrote some of it down to share.
Thomas suffered a stroke back in March that was caused by a stage 3 tumor in his lungs, hiding behind his heart. Chemo treatment was unsuccessful, and he chose to stay at home surrounded by his loving family.
Thomas was raised by his dad, a single father and a dairy farmer in upstate New York. Living on a farm meant they were introduced to hard work at a very early age, as there are many, many chores to do on a dairy farm. His wife Barbara described the dad‘s approach to healthcare was, “You don’t go to a doctor unless you’re about to die. If you’re about to die, what’s the point in going to a doctor?”
At the age of 10, Thomas fell off the back of a truck hauling hay driving down the highway, hitting his head on the pavement. He got a concussion, was unconscious and stayed in the hospital a couple of days.
Sometime after, Thomas and his brother were sent down to dispose of some spoiled hay by throwing it into a flooded river to be washed away. Thomas lost his balance and fell into the raging torrent, and was washed downstream, weighed down by his heavy winter clothes and boots. His brother watched as Thomas’ red hat bobbed up through the water so he could tell where he was. Thomas was able to catch onto a tree near the bank, and with great effort, his brother pulled him out of the water. Thomas and his brother trudged uphill through the winter cold quite some distance, soaked to the bone.
Thomas received yet another concussion as the quarterback on his high school football team.
Many of us remember the day that Thomas lost his scalp in a tragic combine accident in 1974. Just a few days ago, the only other person at the scene of the accident, Eric, a young teenager at the time and Thomas’ helper, called the family to check in with Thomas as they had not spoken in a while, not knowing anything about his illness. Eric was at our service and told his story.
Far away from the community, on a neighbor’s land deep in their back 40, somehow Thomas’ ponytail became caught in the mechanisms of the combine, and in an instant, it ripped off his scalp. There were no screams, no howls of pain. Thomas calmly came out from under the combine and told Eric to go for help.
Eric found the farmer, who was out hunting on his land, driving in a modified pick up with a front seat and a gun turret mounted in the back of the truck bed. When they found Thomas, he was holding his scalp, which he had carefully removed from the combine.
Eric and Thomas rode in the back of the pickup is it sped through the bumpy dirt back road, and he had to hold on tightly to keep himself and Thomas from bouncing out of the back. Thomas calmly stated to Eric that no settler had ever survived a scalping by Indians. Eric kept telling Thomas, “you’re gonna make it.“
When they got to the Hohenwald hospital, the doctor said there was nothing he could do. Eric said no, you’ve got to do something. You’ve got to save him. At Eric’s insistence, the doctor called a colleague from out of state who gave him instructions over the phone and how to sew the scalp back on.
Joel, a founding member of the community, said to Eric before the crowd, “We owe you a debt of gratitude for giving us another 45 years of Thomas. You are a hero.”
Many stories of Thomas followed. What ran through them all was Thomas’ dedication to hard work and doing things right the first time. Through it all, he never complained, right to the end.
When we think about what we do in this life, what impact we have, and what we leave behind, we see The Farm that Thomas built… every inch of its roads…the huge and beautiful solar array… 
Installation of the 60 KW array along The Farm’s main road …
Over 20 years managing the soy dairy. His son Mike recalled Thomas saying “I don’t do it for money. I like tofu.”
We are grateful to Thomas for these and so many other projects. And perhaps more than anything else, the beautiful swimming hole, which has brought joy to countless numbers over the years and will remain as an icon to this man who did big things.
Thomas and his backhoe had excavated numerous graves in the Farm cemetery. It was perhaps for this reason, that he chose to be cremated and have his ashes scattered on land near the original family farm, land he had recently purchased and leased for the development of wind farms. Thomas, fly like the wind. we will miss your wry smile and steadfast spirit.
Tom Elliott was one of the most wonderful people I have ever met . We lived together at this commune in Tulsa before he found the farm and did so much with wife Barbara and all their children. As you celebrate his life know that there are many all across this country who were touched by his love, kindness and knowledge. RIP dear friend.
Thank you for the tribute to Tom on the Farm friends page. I so regret never making it to Tennessee to visit Tom & Barbara and their family but both of them did visit me in Ojai California and once I saw them off from LAX right after the 2001 airport shutdowns. I first met Tom when he was a wild & crazy college student in Brockport NY where I graduated from high school. A few years later on our way to California we stopped in Tulsa and there was Tom , long hair, peaceful and wise beyond his years.
I decided to stay and work and Tom & I ran a sand dredge on the Arkansas River for Empire Construction. We all lived together in a house on the river owned by the company whose owner had met Tom hitchhiking and was so captivated he hired him and Ron Risto that day.
Over the next few years a number of us hippies worked for Al Frampton’s company along with some hard working Cherokee men and some oakies. I left for California but returned again to work and live with Tom at a couple of different houses we rented.
He was one of the most wonderful men I have ever met. I remember reading Gurdjieff’s “Meetings with Remarkable Men” and telling Tom how come I haven’t met such people?” Now I realize I was talking to one.
Thank you. And may you be lucky to meet more men like Tom.
John Brooks