Tom Houck would say he was writing a book: “Driving Dr. King.”
He was playing off the title of the play/movie “Driving Miss Daisy” – penned by Atlantan Alfred Uhry about a Black man – Hoke Colburn – driving an older Jewish woman Daisy Werthan, loosely based on Uhry’s grandmother.
Tom Houck loved the yin-yang imagery. As a 19-year-old, Tom had been the white driver (chauffeur) for Martin Luther King Jr. and the King family from 1966 to1967.
Unfortunately, Tom Houck never wrote “Driving Dr. King.”
On Oct. 22, Tom Houck, 79, died from pneumonia after a stay in the hospital and rehab. Read this wonderful obituary by Rodney Ho and Ernie Suggs in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution to learn more about his life.
“Such a shame; all those memories gone 😞,” a mutual friend, Kelly Jordan, texted me when he learned of Tom Houck’s death.
(Since this is a personal reflection, I’ll refer to Houck as Tom in this remembrance. That’s just the way I knew him).
My memory of Tom goes back to 1966, when I was only 11 years old witnessing his unique role with the King family. Yolanda King (the eldest child of MLK) and I had become close friends at Spring Street elementary school. Tom would drive me to her home on Sunset Avenue, or he would drive her to our apartment on North Avenue.
Tom and I always had a special bond because we had witnessed a shared history of helping break down the racial barriers of the 1960s in Atlanta.
Ever since then, Tom has been part of my life – a historical touchpoint for me and others who have been touched by the civil rights movement and its larger-than-life leaders.
Although Tom never wrote the book, he shared his memories the rest of the world when he launched the Civil Rights Tours of Atlanta in 2015 – taking people down his journey of memory lane (with some embellishments) and advocating for the preservation of Atlanta’s civil rights landmarks. That was one topic we agreed on.
But to know Tom was to argue with Tom. His dear friend Judie Kenna laughed, saying she and Tom were friends for six months out of the year. Judie said friends often would have to ask Tom: “Are we speaking, or are we not speaking?”
I could relate. When I had a business column in the AJC, Tom would call me a “gossip columnist,” knowing that comment pissed me off. For him, that was part of the fun.
Most of my memories of Tom involved parties, social events or special events in Atlanta’s history.
When I was a teenager staying at my parents’ home on 8thStreet, Tom lived down the hill at 8th and Taft. His parties were notorious with civil rights icons, activists, politicians, social hangers-on, and just about anyone who enjoyed being politically engaged, intellectually challenged and socially connected in Atlanta.
Over the decades, Tom became a media personality using his distinct gruff voice to provide a liberal point of view on radio and appearing on the Georgia Gang. He also wrote a column in Creative Loafing and other alternative newspapers, spreading his own gossip.
Throughout his “career,” Tom remained close to his friends in the civil rights movement, especially U.S. Rep. John Lewis. The two would talk nearly every day. Tom often would have a twinkle in his eye when he shared an inside story or conversations with the congressman.
Tom always was well connected with restauranters and owners of drinking establishments, any place where he could get free drinks or a free meal. He partnered with the Atlanta Press Club to have monthly mixers for the journalists and politicos. As I said, Tom could throw a party – especially those celebrating his birthday. Those parties were special because for that one night, Tom’s friends and enemies would gather in relative harmony.
For many years, Tom would always come to my New Year’s Day party to eat black-eyed peas and collards with the hopes of welcoming the year with good luck and fortune. If I missed a year, he would complain that I was letting him down.
Then there was Tom’s sweet side. My two children were especially fond of Tom because he would treat them as adults. I must admit, I didn’t really want to know the details.
Some of my most pleasant memories of Tom occurred this past decade. An unlikely friendship had developed between Tom and Matt Westmoreland, a city councilman who had been in elementary school with my daughter. Matt, Tom and I started meeting for dinner. Soon we invited former Atlanta Mayor Shirley Franklin to join us – and the multi-generational conversations and diverse opinions always made our dinners extra special.
But I must admit, they also were a source of friction for me.
Tom was perfectly happy to have someone else pick up the check, which Matt would often do without fanfare. Other times, Matt and I would split the check. Finally. I got fed up with Tom not willing to pay for his dinner (and drinks) so I proposed we split the check, Tom glared at me with such anger. I just glared back. Let’s just say, Tom was a generous soul – as long as someone else was paying.
Still, I’m so happy we would meet for dinner every few months. Isaac Farris, MLK’s nephew and a close friend of Tom’s, shared with me how Tom would boast about our dinner group to others before quickly adding they weren’t invited. Our little dinner group had become a high point in our lives.
The last time we all had dinner on Aug. 12 (just before his birthday on Aug. 21), Tom seemed to be in even greater pain than usual. (He regularly complained of several ailments including ongoing issues with his back). Matt would chauffeur Tom to and from dinner. That night, I sensed it could be last time we would be having dinner together because of the trouble Tom had walking down a short flight of stairs.
Reminded me of when Tom turned 60. He told me: “If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.” Yet Tom was not one to easily curb his love of eating, drinking and socializing with friends.
We both shared the same doctor for decades – Dr. Robert Kaufmann. I saw first-hand how hard it was to have Tom as a patient because he wouldn’t follow sound medical advice.
On Sept. 19, a mutual friend called to tell me Tom had been taken to the hospital after having fallen in his apartment. That following week, I went to see him at the hospital. Tom was being an awful patient telling the nurse to get out of his room. I scolded him and asked the nurse to come back in. We calmed him down, and Tom finally allowed the nurse to treat his wounds.
A couple of days later, I went back to see Tom, and he was a changed man. He felt better and looked better. Tom and the nurse he had been rude to had now become fast friends.
Of course, Tom was still grumpy, complaining he couldn’t eat the hospital food. Tom said he really wanted a Philly Cheese Steak. He begged and begged. Finally, I asked the nurse if it would be okay. So, I went to Woody’s and brought Tom a cheesesteak. He was so happy you would have thought I had given him a million dollars.
“I’ll love you forever,” Tom told me. Those were his last words to me. Right back atcha, Tom.
Photos of our special dinner gatherings over the years:
