… to draw a smiley face on your burger. Of course the big icy Pepsi or better yet, the mug of beer was just waiting there on the side half empty by now because it was always delivered first thing.

The juke box was never intrusive and had music you hadn’t heard in awhile, Otis Redding, James Taylor, even John Denver. It had a feature that turned the volume up for the first few bars to let you know your song was on, and then drifted back into the background so as not to interrupt anyone’s conversation.

I still remember when they put in the windows. Tom said if he had known what a difference it would make in his business he would have done it a decade before. But I liked the dark tavern look of the ’70s and early ’80s just as well.

There was something illicit and daring about walking out of the noonday sunshine, through that big heavy door with its tiny tinted square window and suddenly finding yourself in a different world. “Honey, sugar, sweetie, what can I get ya?” As if there were really any options. We all loved it, the big heavy booths; a few regulars at the bar under that lamp with the Budweiser Clydesdales circling forever; the huge old ionizer sparking away about every two minutes; and those burgers, those just right, juicy, drippy perfect burgers.

We already missed Tom, he’s been gone since May. Now we’re going to miss his restaurant. We went the last week Tom’s was open to eat that final Tom’s burger and pay tribute to a great man and the great corner of Boulder that he created. We even put up an angel tree in his honor, but we’ll never tell where it is.

Here’s to you Tom, and here’s to Tom’s.