Tom was born in Union City, New Jersey in 1924 to Ann Conway and Edward Kyle. Life was contentious at home and Tom spent most of his free time at his mother’s family house in Hoboken where her two brothers and two sisters lived. The Conway family matriarch was a fireman and Tom always referred to him as the original Archie Bunker in both attitude and demeanor. Most of Tom’s attitudes and values were learned from John Conway at a kitchen table in Hoboken, NJ.

Tom met his best friend Pete in Hoboken and together they shared many adventures; only a few have survived the ages. They both spent an afternoon gathering frogs in the Meadowlands then left the bag open as they exited the streetcar to the screams of everyone left in the car.

Tom just wanted to play Basketball. At 6-foot 1 inch, he was not tall. He still played. He was on the Freshman Basketball team playing for Lehigh University when he was drafted into World War 2. He went to war a 19 boy and like all those who survived came back a wounded man with scars visible and not.  

By the time I was old enough to understand him, he worked all day and drank beer at night and watched TV. He liked watching Bill Bradley (probably because he was white and short) play for the New York Knicks and encouraged his sons to play and watch basketball. We did and we didn’t. We played basketball, my permanently broken right pinky is testament to that. But none of Tom’s three sons liked sports. He never mentioned it, but he continued to buy us Basketballs.

The only time I saw my Dad cry was when he hugged me and whispered while sobbing “The bastards killed your brother”. I hugged him back. My older brother Tom Jr. had also gone off to war at 19. He just wasn’t as lucky as Tom Sr..

While he never actually said the words, I know my Dad loves me. I love him.

Happy Birthday, Dad     Your loving Son, Kevin