THOMAS TRYGGVI OLESON

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THOMAS TRYGGVI OLESON Tom Oleson, a Free Press icon who died May 17, 2012, age 66, was an enigma - paradoxically a well-defined public intellectual and provocateur and a private man whose life was so guarded as to be a mystery to most, even to those who were in contact with him on a daily basis. The public Tom has been more than adequately described in the pages of the Free Press since his death. Those columns agreed that his readers were legion, and that a great many were readers who hated to love his work, the irresistible craft and the erudition it confirmed and the fearless conviction with which it was written. To most, he was a brilliant, often playful writer, a master of digression, whose pen eventually cut like a scalpel to the heart of the matter, causing his targets to howl their pain in angry letters that Tom insisted be published, no matter how derisive or condemning. He was always prepared to take as he gave. Newspapers are public forums not private pulpits, he believed. But at the end of the day, he would put on his ancient black trench coat, no matter the heat, sling a satchel over his stooped shoulders, and disappear into the anonymity of the city and the isolation of public transit. To be sure, as often as not, he would wander into haunts downtown, familiar to him, but not to anyone who thought they knew him. Then it was home. Sometimes his public life went home with him. Once he made copies of an e-mail from an outraged reader and scattered them in every room of the house. The e-mailer had been incensed but frustrated that he could not take issue with the specifics of Tom's column because I pissed on it and threw it in the garbage. It was a sign of passion Tom could respect. It also was, as he said, a sign that he was doing his job. Other times the phone would not stop ringing. His daughters remember their dad once losing his patience and saying: Look, call me at work where I get paid to deal with this s***. But usually, his privacy was intact, and usually the first order of business was to cook dinner, to order, for each family member if that was their wish. He loved to cook using the carbon encrusted pans that had been his mother's. He also loved to bake, an open-face apple pie from a secret recipe was a favourite. But then he had a binder of secret recipes, most scratched in code on scraps of paper. His menu was long on comfort food, but he also was a binge eater of pineapple and strawberries, which he first tasted at age 32, thinking until then that they looked weird and that was reason enough to shun them. In fact, he loved and collected really weird stuff - masks, swords, scimitars, spears, knives of any kind, perhaps reflecting his early ambition to be an anthropologist, a bug that he might have caught as a teenager in London where he went almost daily to the British Museum to meet his father, Tryggvi, a professor of medievalism who had taken his family there on a one-year sabbatical. He would take his children out for Halloween every October, insisting they call Halloween apples instead of the more contemporary trick or treat. Christmas was always special. Summer meant a family trip to Gimli for the Icelandic festival during which the children would don costumes and march in the parades. Tom, of course, was as Icelandic as the Huldufolk, the secret elves of Icelandic folklore, with which he shared temperament and stature. Summers also meant stays at Clear Lake, where Tom would never remove his jeans, not even at the beach, probably because he was embarrassed by his psoriasis. That self-consciousness was a life-long trait, and likely comes as a surprise to those who only knew the public provocateur. He apparently was born shy and introverted, and was drawn from the start to reading and writing. Although he showed always the signs of a quick intelligence, he was never a particularly good student (until university) because he was bored by public school and leery of the attention of others. Needless to say, he was not athletic. His daughters Jennifer and Kaitlyn could recall seeing him run only once. It was awkward and strange. He golfed occasionally, and his game, such as it was, spoke volumes about his stoicism and perseverance - he had his gall bladder removed a few days after walking one nine-hole game in brutal heat without complaint. The public Tom presented his family as caricatures. His wife Laurie and his daughters once were in a medical centre. In his column that day he had referred to Laurie as the warden. A woman nearby overheard them talking about it and said, Oh, my God. You must be the Oleson family. There is always some truth to caricature, but the public cartoon obscured the private fact that Tom deeply loved Laurie and his children. They knew it and loved him back with a loyalty and depth that was clear to anyone who attended the gathering to celebrate Tom's life. With Laurie it had been love at first sight. The children heard the story of the first time Tom saw Laurie so often, and told always the same way, that none of the details are lost, not even that the press club door creaked as she stepped through it in a long black dress, I'm looking for Pat, she said. But she found Tom. In some ways they were a perfect fit - Tom loved being cared for and Laurie loved caring. They loved each other unconditionally, the daughters agree. They agree, too, that Laurie's death, after 32 years of marriage and just two years after the accidental death of their son Kristofer, was more than Tom could bear. Medical science can explain the what of death, but not the why. The gathering to celebrate Tom's life was held May 27 at the River Gate Inn on Armstrong Point. It was well attended. Tom had many admirers and close friends, but he rarely socialized and so most were strangers to one another. Tom was predeceased by his father Tryggvi Julius Oleson, his mother Elva (nee Eyford), his son Kristofer, and his wife Laurie (nee Smith) He is survived by his sisters Katherine Lesyk and Signey Oleson-Cormack, and his children Jennifer Oleson, Kaitlyn Oleson, Kristjan Dube, Michael Smith and Michael Hayden. A scholarship fund is being established in Tom Oleson's name. Make cheques payable to Tom Oleson Scholarship, Box 800, Winnipeg Free Press, 1355 Mountain Avenue, Winnipeg, Manitoba, R2X 3B6.
Publish Date: May 26, 2012

THOMAS TRYGGVI OLESON It is with sadness that daughters Jennifer and Kaitlyn announce the passing of their father, Thomas Tryggvi Oleson at Victoria General Hospital on Thursday, May 17, 2012, age 66. A Celebration of Tom's life, loves, foibles, writing, intelligence and courage will be held at River Gate Inn, 186 West Gate, on Wednesday, May 23 from 1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. Full obituary to follow.
Publish Date: May 26, 2012

As published in Winnipeg Free Press on May 26, 2012