Tom Kowaleski, a legend in the automotive PR world, died yesterday while hiking in an Arizona desert. I, like many PR folks, worked and learned from Tom. Here’s my favorite story.
Tom and I were in Portland, Oregon in the early 90s, or maybe the late 80s. Whatever. We were getting ready to launch the Eagle Talon and were considering the area for the press preview. It was very early spring and we drove up to Mt. Hood. The roads were perfect to highlight the car’s handling and speed. That is until we got to a road that sported a sign warning it was “out of season — do not enter.” But Tom was undeterred.
As we proceeded, the snow on the road gradually increased from one, then two and finally 12 inches. Our little Eagle Talon went from “the little train that could” to the “holy shit, we are stuck.” Tom and I tried to dig out the car with sticks, to no avail. I was wearing flip flops. After all, it was 70 in the downtown Portland where we had embarked from. But now, at 4:30 p.m. in the mountains, it was mid-thirties. And, the sun was getting ready to say nighty-night.
As we were digging, I constantly was looking over my shoulder. At one point, Tom called me out: “What are you looking at?” he asked. “I’m looking for bears.” Tom just laughed and rolled his eyes. Not a lot of bears in his hometown of Steubenville, Ohio.
After an hour of futility we realized we had to leave on foot. Again, my “foots” were in flip flops. We walked for about five miles; me constantly looking over my shoulder. Finally we came to a shack with lights on. The front lawn was filled with broken-down cars and trucks. Tom was thinking deliverance, as in “we are saved.” I was thinking deliverance as in the Burt Reynolds-Ned Beatty movie.
The “residents” came out the front door to greet us, with shot guns. We told them of our situation and, thankfully, they offered us a ride to the closest ranger station. We climbed in the backseat of their car, pushed aside a couple of shotguns, a five-gallon gas can and at least 100 empty beer cans in a trash bag to make room, and held on for dear life.
When we arrived at the ranger station, Tom told the ranger of our ordeal. He started to laugh when he talked about my paranoia about bears as we tried to dig out the Talon and our subsequent hike to safety. As Tom laughed, the ranger looked at me, then Tom and said, “This Ranger Station is called ‘Seven Bears Station’ for a reason.”
Tom gulped. I think I soiled myself. Rest in peace Tom.
whatdidjesusdrive 
I loved reading this, Jason.
Tom was great by any and every standard of measure I know.
I worked with him at Ford and I could tell he relished his role in nurturing younger people and sharing his wisdom. I am angry that he didn’t get to enjoy his retirement longer. He had a lot to give and share and would have — if given the chance.
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