Dad taught me to change the oil when I was nine. He stood back and let me get it wrong twice before he said a word. That was how he taught everything.

Tom was born in Dayton, the second of four boys, and spent most of his childhood taking apart whatever his father left on the porch. He served two years in the Army, came home, and went to work at Miller Precision, where he stayed for thirty-four years and trained more apprentices than anyone bothered to count.
He married Linda in 1975. They raised Mark, Sarah, and David in the house on Elm Street, where the garage door was always up and somebody's lawnmower was always on the bench. He coached Little League for twelve seasons and never once yelled at a kid.
Most summer mornings he was on Lake Erie by five. He'd come back with a cooler of perch, clean them in the driveway, and fry them for whoever wandered over.
He is survived by Linda; his children and their spouses; six grandchildren; and his brothers Jim and Ray.
Tell us the one you keep thinking about.
Dad taught me to change the oil when I was nine. He stood back and let me get it wrong twice before he said a word. That was how he taught everything.
Tom trained me at Miller in 1988. Thirty-some years later I still hear him every time I pick up a micrometer: "Measure it again. Humor me."
Twelve seasons and I never saw him raise his voice at a kid. He would crouch down to their height and talk to them like they mattered, because to him they did.