Meeting Tom By Jamie Kirkpatrick

I’ll try to keep this long story reasonably short: a few days ago, my wife and I found ourselves soaking in a pool of warm mineral water with ten other people we had never met before and will probably never see again. The day was chilly, but the water was deliciously warm (one degree above body temperature), and the lights were dim. Ahhh…finally some peas and carrots.

Now I don’t consider myself antisocial, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not very good at making small talk. My wife, however, wrote the book on small talk, so over the years, I’ve learned to let her steer the conversation while I ride along in the passenger seat. However, on this particular occasion, once we got in that soothing water, she was uncharacteristically quiet, so I closed my eyes and just let go. I think I might have and drifted off…

Wait; I need to back up. My wife and I have had an unusually peripatetic few weeks: in August, we visited friends on the Jersey shore. In September, we were off to Cape Cod to spend another few days with dear friends there. Now, it’s October, and here we were at The Homestead, a rambling, historic resort tucked into the Virginia slopes of the Allegheny Mountains. Why? Because my wife is a busy realtor, and busy realtors need an occasional recharge. This year, her company chose The Homestead as the site of its annual conference, so when my wife asked me if I wanted to join her, I decided to tag along. Good decision! 

We wound our way across the Blue Ridge Mountains and up into the Alleghenies. On the day we arrived at The Homestead, the foliage was just beginning to turn, the sky was azure blue, and that night, we had our first freeze warning of the season. I guess that was what put us in the mood for a good, warm soak in the resort’s historic mineral waters, but first things first: before my wife and I and all our other fellow-soakers could even put a toe in the soothing clear water, we were given a brief history lesson about the place. That’s when I learned that Thomas Jefferson used to come here often to “take the waters” because he felt bathing in them eased the aches and pains and inflammation in his joints, a medical condition that later became known as rheumatoid arthritis. Maybe that was the last image in my mind as I floated off in the steaming pool because when I opened my eyes a few minutes later, there he was staring straight at me—“Long Tom,” the Sage of Monticello himself.

We were alone; just Tom and me. I readily admit was I was a bit star-struck—wouldn’t you be?— and it seemed strange that suddenly, it was just the two of us in that pool. Where was my wife? Where was everyone else? Fortunately, I had enough sense to introduce myself. Tom was most gracious, but when I reached out to shake his hand, I found I couldn’t quite grasp it; it felt like nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Nevertheless, we chatted amiably for a few minutes about many things: the price of tobacco and cotton, about the amazing discoveries of Captains Lewis and Clark, about his ideas for a great public university, about Sally Hemings, and even about The Declaration of Independence. “That was quite an opening line,” I told him. 

Tom was forthcoming—charming, even— but I sensed he was curious, and that there was a question he wanted to ask me. I didn’t have long to wait. “Forgive me, Sir,” he said, “but I’m of the impression you are perhaps not from around here, nor, for that matter, from this time.”  

I nodded. “It’s now 2025.”

For an instant, he seemed startled, but he quickly became thoughtful. “So, tell me, friend: is America still a democracy?”

I hesitated, and in that moment, he seemed to understand everything I—we—are going through. He was silent for several minutes, and in the stillness, I became aware of thousands of tiny bubbles emanating up from a deep underground source, of the pungent smell of sulphur, and of an extraordinary mind that could make sense out of senselessness.

When Tom finally spoke, he said “Think on this, friend: when the people fear the government, there is tyranny, but when the government fears the people, there is liberty. It is all up to you…”

I felt a hand on my shoulder—my wife’s gentle touch. “It’s time to go,” she said.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and reviews have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores. His newest novel, “The People Game,” hits the market in February, 2026. His website is musingjamie.net.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and reviews have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores. His newest novel, “The People Game,” hits the market in February, 2026. His website is musingjamie.net.