Thomas Michael Malone

            I worked with Tom for almost ten years before ANR closed up shop in the Renaissance Center, and the Malone family moved to Texas.   Tom worked on the litigation side; I worked on the contracts side.  We joked that Tom’s job was to clean up after us when my side fell down on the job.  I have so many memories of Tom in those days.   Lunch time trips to Windsor for dim sum; to Mexican Village for Xochimilco.   Tom in my office, hitting a long drive on an imaginary golf ball. 

            My favorite memory (as anyone who was there must know) is the Christmas party where Tom did The Hustle.   Times had been stressful at the office; relations between the personnel were a bit strained.  But almost everyone showed up at that evening at someone’s condo clubhouse, and one of the secretaries offered to teach us all how to do the Hustle.  Tom was not a dancer, but Tom was a little lubricated, and Tom was going to try.  There were about 10 of us out on the floor, the rest of the staff watching in gales of laughter.  Tom went left when he should’ve gone right.  Tom pirouetted, and that’s NOT in the Hustle.  Tom had two left feet.  I think maybe Tom had three left feet.  Renee came out to help him (Renee IS a dancer!) without significant success.  Tom was laughing too hard to pay attention.

            Tom never did learn to do the Hustle that night, but he was game.  That was Tom:  He was always game.

     I met Tom over 40 years ago when first dating my wife of 43 years, Vicki (Witkowski)  --- Tom was a classmate and best friends with Chris Witkowski. Being a couple of years older than Tom, it was a great experience observing and interacting with Tom and watch him mature  into a great attorney and even greater Husband, Father, and family man. 
     Having had the pleasure to be involved in a couple of major cases with Tom, I can confirm that his personal qualities of incisive intelligence, never ending perserverance, amazingly quick wit,  and overall practical common sense resulted in a great legal synergy on behalf of his clients.  
     Over the years I can never remember an occasion when Tom's entrance into a room did not crackle it with energy and wit;  whenever Tom would speak to an issue, you never had to wonder what his true feelings and opinions were. Likewise, his sparkling eyes would always telegraph a "zinger" coming back your way.   
     We were absolutely delighted that Tom and Renee were able to visit us for a couple of days in the Summer of 2010 on Burt Lake, and we were able to catch up on old times, old stories and share new laughs. His stories of barbecuing on football Saturdays/Sundays in Texas with his children made our stomachs hungry !     
     Having known Tom when he was a teenager, it was a wonderful experience being friends with Tom and seeing the "final product" --- a  mature, confident, wise,  and compassionate man who made a mark upon everyone that he interacted with.  
     Tom was the consummate family man, and it was a rare conversation that did not circle around to his love of Renee, family, and friends, and home. Tom will be deeply missed by all --- our memories and love for Tom  live on.   Godspeed, Tom !

"Malone" as I and many other office girls in the early years of Driggers, Schultz, Herbst & Patterson lovingly referred to him.  Always a smile, a hello, a joke even if it was at my expense.  It was just Tom being good-natured Tom and I knew he could take it, as well as, dish it out-which I did at every opportunity!  I was going through a divorce in 1983 with no practical office experience and 2 young children to take care of when I noticed a help wanted ad in the newspaper for a receptionist in a law firm; experience preferred, send resume' to (address in Troy), do not call, etc. etc.  Hmmmm... just a few obstacles to overcome but I needed a job now.  Track down the law firm at that address, obtain phone number, call and ask who I should make my appointment with for an interview.  "Tom Malone," the kind young lady said. "Great!  Schedule me at his earliest convenience" was my reply.  "But, today is the last day to accept applications!" she added.  "Really?  But he 'wants' me to come in..." I lied.   After flunking the typing test and delivering my sob story I was relying on Tom's perceived good nature and kindness to give me a chance in spite of myself.  He did and I am forever grateful to him.  He could do no wrong during my years at DSH&P!  Then there was the time I hosted a hayride at my home in the country!  "Who's that riding bareback at a full gallop across the pasture on my ornery mare?" I asked.  Malone, in all his glory arms flailing at the end of the reins yelling "WHOA!!" to no avail.  The watching guests suggestion of "JUMP!!" went unheeded before Tom's inevitable arrival at a stout 5' high oak fence.  Ahhh... it's such a shame you ripped such a fine new suede jacket...and, your jeans... and, by the way is your head okay from hitting the fence?  No problem.  Party on!  The mental picture of Tom on that horse is one of my favorite memories of him.  A fearless soul taking on the world with a hearty laugh.  If there were only more like you but, it's Heaven's gain and our loss.  It was a priviledge to know you, Tom.  God bless and save us a place on that hayride in the sky!  Nancy (Stocks) 1983 D, S, H & P

You won’t recognize the name at the bottom of the page and that’s OK. I was a classmate of Tom’s, one of the members of 1A, our freshman class at UD High. Tom and I were never true “buddies;” no reason in particular—we just hung with different people. But that class was close. That year was like going away to college---many of us travelled several miles to a strange part of the city (I lived 10 miles away; several boys in that class came from Plymouth—more like 20 miles) and we were lucky if we knew one or two other people there. We stayed together as a class the entire day and came to know each other like brothers. On top of that the Jesuits pushed us to our limits—and somewhat beyond. It was a kind of boot camp. People always asked me if 1A (one of the “smart” classes) was just a bunch of nerds. Whenever someone asked me that (and they asked often) I would always think of Tom—very smart, a smart ass (a highly prized talent at The High), a gifted athlete, a font of sports knowledge (I’m sure he had other talents as well) and I’d assure them it was just the opposite. Tom was placed in charge of dividing intramural basketball players (I use the term loosely) in our class into two teams, one each for each of the two leagues: the Red League for better players and the White League for the, uh, less gifted players. He put me in the White League and I gave him grief forever after. As a matter of fact, the first thing he said to me when he saw me at the reunion last year was, “Smythe, I’m not taking any more s*** about the White League! You were TERRIBLE!!” And then he laughed that great laugh of his. Truth be told, his choice of teams resulted in BOTH 1A teams winning their respective championships. Not bad for a bunch of nerds. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that a lot of people you don’t know are hurting right now. I’m one of them.

Paul Smythe

1A, Class of ’71, The High