Tom Martin: Part 1
Tom Martin’s burn lot in Butte Creek Canyon just sold. His house burned down in the Camp Fire, and Tom passed away a year and a half later. Here’s Part One of a remembrance:
Tom Martin was referred to by some people in the Canyon as The Hermit. Other people referred to him as a jerk. Or a weirdo. Some people knew him as an incredible artist. I knew him as one of my first
clients in Real Estate, back in the eighties.
Tom responded to a mailer I sent out to property owners in the Canyon offering a Market Analysis for their property, letting them know that I, too, am a Canyon dweller who loves selling Canyon Real Estate. Tom called me on the phone. “Hello,” he said softly. He chuckled, “Huh-huh,” perhaps nervously. “Uh, I built this place my way. The Building Department doesn’t like it. Can you sell it? Huh-huh.” I told him I would like to come take a look and offered potential appointment times. “I’m picking rocks, so I’m gone a lot,” he said. “Huhhuh. But if you show up, I’ll be here.” I showed up the next morning. On my daily Canyon drive, I had driven past his place hundreds of times. It was on a straightaway, on the downslope from the road. The house was shrouded in trees, behind a wobbly fence made of wood and wire with scraggly brush growing through it. I drove right past the dirt driveway opening, barely visible, also shrouded in trees. I turned around and pulled in. No signs of life. I stood in awe, taking in the exterior walls of the house, constructed of stacked rocks. But not just rocks.
Boulders. Inset among the boulders were windows and doors handmade of redwood. Beam-work framed the walls, with protruding rafter ends above, giving the massive heft of the general construction a refined, almost delicate appearance.
Tom appeared from behind a group of trees and brush, soundlessly. I jumped. He walked over to the house, reached out a lanky and lean
arm, and put his hand on the bouldered wall. Smiling impishly, he went into a conversational stream of consciousness that left little room for return banter. He spoke about the rocks gathered from the hills above our canyon walls and their placement in the walls of this house. Their placement and position are determined by the emotion expressed by each rock. The emotion in each rock, each boulder, and each piece of wood, makes the house grow into a living being. The living being knows who it can live with.
The interior was impressive, too. Tom made all the cabinets, milled the wood, and did the finish work throughout the house in a craftsman style all his own. Rock and wood intersected in wainscoting and shelving in unique ways I had never seen. I loved the work and told
him so, not sure if he was hearing me, because he disappeared and reappeared randomly and silently throughout my walkthrough. I did find out he had another rock creation, his shop, on the lot next door which he also owned.
Tom listed the house with me to sell. He went into a steady narrative about corporate contracts he didn’t like, but he would sign my Listing Contract if he didn’t have to read it.
This was a tough sale. My Real Estate sign by the driveway would disappear and reappear. More than one Agent called me saying something like, “That Seller of yours is a complete jerk! He ran us off!” A few others said something along the lines of, “We got there, and the place was locked up. With nobody around. Weird. We had an appointment, right? That’s a long drive for nothing!” The most common comment was something like, “Your Seller creeped us out. He’s dangerous. You should cancel that listing.”
Tom called me early on a Saturday morning. “Huh-huh, can you come over?” I live just a couple miles up the road, so I was there in minutes. Tom was sitting in the living room with a young guy with longish blonde hair. They were engaged in a quiet conversation. Tom talked about the emotions in the rocks and the house as a living
being, knowing who it can live with.
The young blonde guy, a computer programmer named Jim it turns out, said, “Cool.”
Jim bought that house and they lived together quite well.
Part 2 next week: more on Tom Martin.