TR's Origin Story

A lot of people asked me "Where did TR go?"  I'm finally at liberty to spill the beans.

All superheroes and supervillians have an origin story.  Radioactive spiders, cosmic radiation, gamma radiation ... why so much radiation at Marvel ... aliens from destroyed planets, newly evolved species, you name it.  Here is TR's.

The guy you know as TR isn't really named TR.  Like if you look at his birth certificate it doesn't say "TR."  As opposed to TJ's birth certificate, which say "TJ."  In fact, TR doesn't have a birth certificate.  He was born around 2000 years ago and has roamed the earth ever since.  Essentially immune to the aging process, he appears throughout the artistic record of history.

One of the earliest images of TR is dated around 170 AD, according to Dr. Darryl Butt from the University of Utah.  Dr. Butt analyzed paint from TR's portrait and was "able to determine the purple pigment was synthetic in nature, and not naturally from the glands of the Murex sea snails as most purple dyes were at the time."  Here is the portrait:

Those of you who knew TR circa 1992 will recognize that head of hair immediately and recall his high school nickname "Pubies."

Many years later, he got into a spot of trouble and needed to get out of town quickly, so he took a job on a boat.  Turns out he loved to sail and he did that for many years.  Thanks to his travels, pasta came to Italy.

TR eventually capitalized on his passion for sailing and bedlam and became a pirate.  This portrait nicely captures "The Look" he gets when particularly motivated for mayhem.

He eventually grew tired of the whole piracy thing and became a landlubber.  He somehow stumbled into the oil business and became quite prosperous.  However, one business transaction ended ... poorly ... and once again he had to pick up and move.

Eventually TR merged his interests in seamanship and energy--he became the captain of an oil tanker.  It didn't go as well as he hoped.

Then he went to William & Mary, where he met many of us.  He graduated and moved to New York City where he hung out with a much cooler crowd.  Here is Chuck Close's portrait of him from this period:

He got back into the energy business, but this time from a desk so he didn't have to bludgeon anyone.  That bored him, so now he's out west running a festival clothing company and a food truck.

So the next time you see a scowling bearded man take a close look.  It could be TR, continuing his journey across the world.

Pilgrims and Witches and Peaches and Me

I know this is hard for you to imagine. Today I'm the very model of a modern mild-mannered man. But there was a time in my life when I was an angry young scrapper, full of piss and vinegar and a hair-trigger temper. I broke more than one tennis racket in a fit of pique, multiple golf clubs, too. Wasn't much of a fighter, but I finished what I started (when I was solo, anyway - when around my much larger friends I ran my mouth and they got my back) - my lifetime record in fistfights is 3-0, with all three opponents retiring with blood gushing from their noses. I'm not proud*.

* I kinda am. All three dudes were bigger than me and I dotted their eyes quickly, lest we get into a grapple and I get my puny ass kicked. My Dad saw one of them happen, as it took place in the midst of an indoor lacrosse game he attended to watch his kid play. As the other kid walked out of the building with a towel and ice on his beak, Dad whispered, "nice shot" to me. That's one of my favorite memories.

Dad had a temper of his own, but it never seemed as irrational as mine could be when I was young. And Mom was New England stoic to a fault. Neither was as rabidly competitive as my younger self, either. I never really understood where that came from. But this week gave me a clue.

My mother is a serious student of our family's history. She spends a lot of time researching our genealogy, tracing both sides of the family back to the early 17th century. (Mayflower, y'all - when I asked Mom about our history, she replied via text, "Pilgrims and Witches. LOL". That's the name of my next album.) Earlier this week, she posted a link to a brief biography of a woman named Mary Towne Estey.

Mary Towne Estey had a son named Isaac who had a son named Richard who had a son named Zebulon who had a son named Samuel who had a son named LeBaron who had a daughter named Eva who had a son named Theodore who had a daughter named Nancy who had me. Mrs. Estey is my seventh great-grandmother. (She was also hanged as a witch in Salem, as it turns out. Glad she had Isaac first.)

Mrs. Estey's sixth great-grandson via a different route was none other than Ty Cobb, the Georgia Peach. Notorious for his irascibility, competitive ferocity, and temper. 

When I learned of this familial bond this week, a lot of pieces snapped into place. Me and Ty. Ty and Me. Peas in a pod. Not much of a physical resemblance, but mentally? Hoo boy. A lot of stuff is starting to make sense.

I'll need a few more weeks to process the additional familial connections with Mitt Romney and Amy Grant that flow from Good Witch Mary. Genealogy is cool. As is my new Mitchell and Ness 1912 Tigers jersey.