By America Meredith
Mercury Rising #11, August 1995
The last time I saw my brother before his fatal accident, he was riding down 2nd Street. He had just built a new Bridgestone. He was taking up banjo and talking about his plan to buy land in Northern California. He was very much alive.
On Tuesday, the 27th of September, 1994 around 4pm, a speeding Muni bus overtook Thomas at 2nd and Market and dragged him several meters. He took all impact of the accident to his brain - it swelled and could not be operated on. His friend Mikey Mitchell was with him under that bus, as Thomas slipped into a coma.
At SF General about twenty of us were in and out. Thomas was in a coma for four hours and then died at 8pm. If it weren't for our mutual friends lending their support, I wouldn't have made it.
The next day, messengers blocked Montgomery Street and 15 people were arrested. For weeks flowers were laid at the accident site. Thomas’ death was all over the news most of the information was distorted or concocted. About 150 people showed up at the wake at South Park; which continued to Mission Rock in messenger tradition, where my mother and I threw a bike basket filled with flowers into the bay. Maria Barry and the Prez led a candlelight ceremony and sang, Will the Circle Be Unbroken. Critical Mass was dedicated to his memory and had 1,200 participants.
In Oklahoma at the memorial service, our bishop played Robert Johnson's Come Into My Kitchen, reflecting Thomas' love of the delta blues. His body was buried in Chelsea, OK, among six generations of our family.
Not long afterward my feather, a professor of logic and Native American studies, had a day vision. My brother appeared to him, bathed in light. Thomas comforted my father and assured him that all was as is meant to be.
In his short life, Thomas went through many struggles and transformations. He was born Thomas Marshall Rogers Meredith in Owensboro, KY on 17 December, 1967. We always bought our Christmas trees on his birthday. My first memory of him is on Christmas, when he was six and I was two. We both had chicken pox and he was dressed up like Batman.
Thomas grew up in Manhattan, NYC and Oklahoma. He was always incredibly intelligent, a trait he tried to cover up with a thick Okie accent. As a kid he wanted to be an oceanographer, play war games, draw heraldry. We used to fight each other with Japanese practice swords, take horse riding lessons, terrorize our little sister Lee, play Dungeons and Dragons, acolyte at church, and later steal each other’s hard core albums.
Thomas graduated from Kemper Military Academy in Missouri. He played baritone and coronet for band company and had the highest grades of his class.
He messengered several different times in several different places. Back in the 80’s, he had a metallic blue double mohawk, carried an axe in his Zo bag, camped under Golden Gate Bridge and then lived in a school bus on 3rd Street. In Washington, D.C., he worked at Pronto and had the nickname MC 900 Foot Jesus, for his characteristic sandals and beard. When he came back to SF, he became the first guy ever to work at Lickety Split Delivery.
Tai Chi was a lifelong inspiration. He first took lessons in third grade, then in Austin where he said it saved his life, and finally under Sifu Fong Ha. He taught me how do chi gung as a means of reviving oneself when passing out at parties.
As children we were all exposed to our own Native American spiritual traditions through stomp dances and ceremonials. Living in Austin, Thomas began incorporating traditions into his daily life. Every morning he would wake at dawn, face the sun rising in the east, make a tobacco offering to the four directions and give thanks for the new day. He would go out to the woods and play his wooden flute and animals would creep closer to hear him.
Thomas assisted Charles Van Tuyle in writing a book on the Cherokee verb in the attempt to revitalize our language. He met and hung out with Chief Skyhawk of the Natchez Cherokee, whom Thomas said he could relate to better than any other person.
When Paul Littell died working For SFDS, they had been room mates at Moss Street. They used to jam together back in Norman. They were both working on an all-comic issue of "Mercury Rising." Thomas just accepted Paul’s death, saying he had accomplished all he needed to do in this life. When he played guitar, Thomas said he could sense Paul there helping him.
Paul’s death helped me prepare for Thomas' death. Just before the accident Thomas was trying to get his life together so he could move on from messengering. He had premonitions that being a messenger would kill him. And he said many times he never wanted to work at SFDS, blaming them for Paul’s death. Thomas didn't want to die; witness testimonies describe how he struggled not to get crushed by the bus.
Everything happens for a reason. Thomas is now dealing with reality in a much more profound and immediate way than possible in our realm. The hardest thing to do for those of us left behind is: let go. Take the love and respect you had for those that pass on and offer it to the people still with you. As much as we may glorify the messenger world, for many of us poverty, depression, chemical abuse, and homelessness are real threats to our survival, without even worrying about traffic. All we really have is our own inner strength and each other.
Again, if it hadn't been for all of our mutual friends helping me out, I wouldn't have made it. Thank you, everyone who offered rides, information about witnesses, half-tones, prayers, and words of support. Especially the people who told me what it was like to lose their own brother or sister or child.
I'm not going to be a hypocrite and tell anyone to be careful. Taking risks is inherent to all of our natures or we wouldn't be riding a bike in the first place. I don't want to live forever and I don't know anyone who does. Instead, what I have learned is to give thanks for every day that I do live to appreciate every opportunity I have and the people in my life. Thomas taught me a lot throughout my life. It was a privilege to have known him and an honor to share what I’ve learned from him.
With gladness
in my heart,
America Meredith
click here for a list of messenger zines
If you have comments or suggestions, email me at messvilleto@yahoo.com