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Imaginarium Memorium: Tom Peters

Tom Peters at Imaginarium '97 In the spring of 1997, on the last day before the Imaginarium schedule had to be finalized, I was frantic to fill the last slot in the schedule and wishing I knew somebody who could teach an introductory seminar on G.K. Chesterton. No kidding, that very day I ran across a review copy of a book just arrived at the Cornerstone office: Battling for the Modern Mind: A Beginner's Chesterton. I quickly tracked down the author, and extended him an invitation to come speak at Cornerstone, provided he could accept immediately. Tom Peters had no idea who I was, what Cornerstone Festival was, and no real reason to agree to come under such circumstances, but he did. I remember walking with him and fellow Imaginarium staffer Rod Bennett across the central "food court" campus of the fest grounds. A Chestertonian from way back, Rod thought he'd check Tom's mettle by asking him for his favorite quote by GKC. Without hesitation, Tom Peters rattled off:

"I for one have never left off playing, and I wish there were more time to play. I wish we did not have to fritter away on frivolous things, like lectures and literature, the time we might have given to serious, solid and constructive work like cutting out cardboard figures and pasting coloured tinsel upon them."
Rod and I looked at each other; it was as if a stranger had uttered the secret password to our secret club.

Tom Peters in Disguise Tom didn't stay a stranger for long. He returned to the Imaginarium the next year, bringing from their home in Southern California his wife Lynne and son Sam — who first discovered contemporary Christian music at Cornerstone, Tom told me later, with gratitude. We stayed in touch: reading each other's books in manuscript, reading each other's books in rubber monkey masks (Tom, at least).

At some point, Tom let us know that he'd been battling more than just the Modern Mind during this period. This past Spring, he emailed me to let me know that the cancer was back, and that he'd taken disability retirement from the college where he worked. Tom's attitude remained steadfastly Chestertonian: upbeat, intent on living life well, sharing it with family and friends, as long as he could. I returned home from a trip to discover Tom's emails were now being answered for him by Lynne. She soon sent along this word: Tom passed away on May 29, 2001. In her note, Lynne pointed out what I hadn't realized: Tom went to heaven on Chesterton's birthday.

Lynne wrote: "I'm sure that GK was there to greet him with cigars and beer. May we be found faithful as they were. The celebration and the joy will never end."

May we be found so faithful indeed. Remember Lynne and Sam in your prayers, and remember Tom fondly as one who knew the secret password.


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