By Chip Scanlan
Senior Faculty
From 1989 until 2003, a snowy-haired gentleman
with the map of Ireland on his face was often the first person
employees and visitors encountered when they walked in the front door
of The Poynter Institute.
Officially, Tommy Carden was a security guard. But for those of us
who were lucky enough to work at Poynter, as well as the thousands of
journalists who came to study or teach here, he was also a beacon of
cheer who brought the “lilt of Irish laughter” into our lives every day.
Tommy Carden died yesterday, at the age of 82. If lions guard the
gates of the New York Public Library, Tommy was a lamb at our door,
especially to faculty offspring who viewed him as a surrogate
grandfather. He treated our kids to a steady supply of hugs and candy,
and no matter how many times their parents tried to stop him, with
dollar bills peeled from his money clip.
To be sure, Tommy was a vigilant defender of the house that Nelson
Poynter built. Hobbled as he was by a high school football injury
and in his final years dependent on a walker to make his way around the
building, he was still quick to challenge strangers.
Seminar participants will probably best remember Tommy, dapper in
his uniform blue pants, white shirt, and black tie, belting out a
medley of songs that filled the high-ceilinged space of the Institute’s
Great Hall. Very few gatherings, or St. Patrick’s Days, went by without
Tommy performing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling,” “God Bless America,”
and, if we were lucky, a lyrical rendition of “When That Old Wedding
Ring Was New,” a nostalgic song that celebrated the love of his life,
Jean Hale.
Tommy and Jean’s romance and devotion to each other is celebrated in Roy Peter Clark’s story, “Her Picture in His Wallet.”
In it, you can read the story of this child of the Depression, the boy
from Youngstown, Ohio who survived the Battle of the Bulge and
worshiped Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the Democratic party, and his
white Saturn, in that order.
Tommy’s bum knee forced an end to his career as a security guard in
2001. Poynter immediately named him the Institute’s official Greeter;
that kept him with us until his retirement on Dec. 12, 2003, his 80th
birthday. Two years ago, Tommy suffered a stroke that made speaking a
challenge, but which spared his ability to sing. He joined us for a
holiday barbecue last December, but was eager to return home to Jean.
Tommy protected us. He sang for us. He shared his stories that were
as much history lessons as anecdotes. He shared his ups and downs,
freely admitting an alcoholic past but proud of his several decades of
sobriety. He loved us and we loved him.
“So many of my Poynter memories through the years center around
Tommy,” veteran editor and Poynter teacher Gregory Favre e-mailed his
colleagues. “And I know that is true for hundreds and hundreds of
others. Few leave a mark in the sand of time. He did.”
After his death Tuesday afternoon, Jean Hale’s daughter spoke with
our colleague, Scott Libin. “Tommy was adamant about there being no
memorial service,” Scott reported. “But she said she's sure he would
heartily approve of our singing in his memory this morning or
anytime.”
Shortly before noon Wednesday, the
Poynter staff gathered in the Great Hall. The first time around, our
rendition of “When Irish Eyes are Smiling,” was tentative. More oomph,
Roy Peter Clark urged from the piano.
"Tommy will hear you in heaven, and he'll be dancing,” Jean Hales’s
daughter had promised. “And his knee won't be giving him a bit of
trouble."
This time, our voices filled the cavernous space. Tommy would have sung better, but this time we were singing for him.
Please sign Tommy's guestbook at Legacy.com.
