Thomas Loomis
Thomas Hart Loomis loved life. He lived unapologetically, and squeezed joy and gratitude out of every experience
much like he would squeeze the last remaining drops of juice from his favorite, a freshly picked ruby red grapefruit.
His smile would light up a room; his laugh was contagious. He left adventure-filled memories in his wake as he
traveled by car to and from South Dakota to the east coast and west coast.
His fun-loving antics gifted his large extended family and friends with memories, laughs and legend-worthy stories
that will last for generations. His beloved adopted nephew said, when asked what his favorite Uncle Tommy memory
was, “it wasn’t a memory, it was an experience.” It was, it always was.
From Massachusetts to South Dakota, Kansas City to Captiva Island, Tom hated flying (and “the rip-off airlines!”)
so he drove — and drove — and drove between destinations for years, first listening to 8track tapes of Johnny Cash
and later, books on tape picked up at the Cracker Barrel.
Tom would stop in along the way to visit with friends and family (and crash on the sofa). He would always bring a
six-pack, a Pizza Hut pizza and a laugh, often leaving his hosts with humongous hangovers as he departed. He could
party with the best of them.
His trusty steeds, often purchased from Bair Ford in Martin, South Dakota, ranged from a Thunderbird with suicide
doors, a Ford Fiesta (“great gas mileage!”), an old Blue Chevy he won in a poker game, an Audi (“piece of crap!”),
a brown van with a bed in the back (“think of the money I’m saving on hotel rooms!”) and an F250 pickup with a
secret - and illegal - large gas tank covered in plywood painted gray in the back (for when he truly found the
cheapest gas). The pickup was fondly nicknamed the Enola Gay after a WW2 fighter plane, by his dear dear life-
long friend Charles Taylor.
Tom knew where the best gas prices were from coast-to-coast, well before the internet existed, and he refused to pay
more. In his early years, Tom had a CB radio and would talk to the truckers who would not only tell him where the
cheap gas was, but also how to avoid the radar traps and the “smokies” (police) as he might have been speeding with
a beer between his thighs.
When Tom hit the road, he wore a cowboy hat and carried nothing but a small brown suede duffle bag containing a
fresh shirt, a pair of boxers, a toothbrush, UltraBright tooth paste, a razor, a black plastic comb, and occasionally,
some after-shave. He carried cash.
Tom was also a good supportive friend, cousin, father and brother who would show up at the right times to help
someone who was in pain from loss, divorce or heartache. He was there for you and would pick up the phone. He
could usually get you laughing and offer wisdoms fitting the situation, which was sometimes “who cares!” or “move
on!”
Tom did have a quiet, some times darker, reclusive side that smoldered. As he aged and the world started going in a
direction that didn’t suit him, he retreated more and more to his beloved little red farm house eleven miles east of
Martin. It was forever his sanctuary with abundant propane tanks, freezers stocked with steaks to grill, and as of
2021, fully off the grid. He slept with the windows wide open and a pistol hanging from the bed post.
He found his beloved South Dakota in the 70s while working to improve conditions on the Wanblee Reservation.
Appalled at what he saw, Tom worked for change, starting an arrow factory which he later gifted to the Tribe.
Over the years, he became “South D's” biggest one-man tourist office (at least to his large extended family) as he
espoused its beauty, simplicity, and bragged - truly believing - that he lived in the banana belt of the Midwest.
Then came email, and as many of us joked, he probably shouldn’t have gotten involved. His crazy jokes flowed for
years, some hilarious, some shocking. No one knew how big his e-mail list was as you only saw his group name
AAA-undisclosed recipients in the To line. His feelings were hurt when you didn’t reply; you couldn’t unsubscribe.
Financially stable, Tom shunned “the big look” believing in the riches of experiences which he delivered with
abundance to his kids, nieces, nephews, family and friends. From lying down in a large pasture at night staring up at
the stars (afraid you were going to be trampled by cows), to camping, fishing, rodeos, powwows, secret sun dances,
skinny dipping in fenced reservoirs, safaris in Africa, house hunting in New Zealand, property shopping in
Nicaragua, dancing in the sand on a small island in the Caribbean, and finally soaking in a big hot tub on his deck
watching the sunset on the soft rolling hills in a small town in the middle of South Dakota, Tom delivered, and
embraced the fun.
Tom was known to have said if you have your health, you are the richest person in the world. He was right.
Long on stock tips, sometimes short on patience (unless fishing), Tom was a giver. He wanted to see people succeed
and empowered many of those around him in Martin or Florida to become businessmen and entrepreneurs. He freely
gave of his money and advice if he saw an opportunity that would financially benefit those he cared about. Some
took it, some didn’t. Most of those who did, have benefited.
If you had the pleasure of dining with Tom, you knew he liked his steaks rare (“knock its horns off, wipe its ass, and
send it in!”) and his beer cold. He always paid.
Fervent in his beliefs later in his life, he sometimes allowed that to eclipse his love, and he pushed away even some
of his biggest fans. In the end it all was rooted in his deep deep caring and his unequivocal convictions.
While most of us are starting to wind down around 70, Tom hit his stride. He found and married the love of his life,
Sharon, and adopted her three children. He enjoyed being "retired" but more often than not was found in “the Pit” a
small tornado shelter that doubled as a basement. Here, he dabbled in day trading, sent out his infamous emails and
who knows what else, all the while happily surrounded by photos, awards, letters, and other memories which he had
scotch taped all over the walls.
Few have the clarity and conviction of where they want to be for the rest of their lives. Tom Loomis knew where
and how he wanted to live and how he wanted to die — and he did it. Thanks to the loving care provided by his wife
Sharon and the help of caring thoughtful friends, Tom was able to live his final days exactly where he wanted to be,
in his beloved red farm house, sitting in his chair in the sun, looking out over the plains of his beloved state. To
Tom, South Dakota was his favorite place in the entire world and there was no place he would rather be.
At the end of his life, when asked by his eldest daughter why he loved Martin so, he replied with tears in his eyes
“the people here” he said, “they are such good people.”
Tom was born in Hartford, Connecticut and died in Martin, South Dakota on a sunny day in February ten days
before his 83rd birthday. He wasn't ready to go; he was so so so sad. He wasn't ready, but he knew what a wonderful
life he'd had and how blessed he was— and he kept telling us. How blessed we all are for having known him and
being a part of his lifelong adventure. We will miss his light so much.
He leaves behind wife, Sharon Loomis, his three siblings Virginia Parker (Mt. Dora, FL), Pete Loomis (Monmouth,
IL), Jim Loomis (Maui, HI) his children, Jennifer Loomis (Seattle, WA), Elizabeth Loomis (Palm Springs, CA),
Christine Loomis (Rapid City, SD), Sam Loomis (St. Louis, MO), Aspen Loomis (Martin, SD), his grandson,
Morrison Hart Loomis-Jonas (Seattle, WA), and countless nieces, nephews, cousins, friends, enemies and fans.
A service will be held graveside at Martin Cemetery at 1 on Friday 2/18.