Thomas Bell: December, 17, 1951 – February, 21, 2026

Tom Bell was a free spirit, an independent thinker, and the most genuine, likeable, and humble guy you could ever hope to meet. He was what got all those beat poets excited in the 1950s, personified. He was the real deal.

Born in Indiana, raised in Kansas City. He found his soul roving wild in forests of the Pacific Northwest, harnessed it at local bookstores and mom & pop cafes, and rode that baby up and down Mt. Rainier with nothing but an adventurer’s spirit, a yearn for the outdoors, and good people to share it with.

Dad to Chris and Courtney; Grandpa Tom to Ethan, Tristan, Eava, Corrah, and Marley, and those yet to be born; brother to Brad; Uncle Tom to so many nieces and nephews; Timmus to countless friends, neighbors, and acquaintances.

Whatever you called him, to know him was to love him.

Nothing can put into words how it was to be in this man’s presence. The smell of his sweat from a hard day’s work. The way he’d laugh his ass off at his own jokes. The offer of his hand as he drove with you in the passenger seat (which you’d take, gladly). The feeling that was dad.

The hugs, the giggles, the warmth, the togetherness. And the love, so much love. And the gratitude I have for every second of it.

Some spirits are too great for the bodies they inhabit.

Just between us, if you ever find pancreatic cancer down a dark alley somewhere along your journey, you beat the hell out of that bastard for me. Tell it ol’ Tommy Bell sent you. You’ll have my thanks.

And if anyone happens upon this article and never got the chance to meet the heart of gold that was my dad, let me leave you with this: I’m sorry for your loss.