I was 19 when I met Tom Farace.

It was the summer between my junior and senior year at the Business School at UT Austin. I had landed an internship at a wine distribution company, and I was spending my summer days in business casual, shadowing Bridget Gabriel, a fun and lively woman who made the experience of going from restaurant to restaurant and peddling wine fun. There was an ease, a familiarity about how she walked into upscale restaurants, "I have a meeting with Geoff." She didn't seem salesy; it was a relationship, and there was this insider-baseball feel to the whole thing. There was an entire play happening at the restaurant before the doors opened for dinner service, and it was fun and warm, and I wanted to be a part of it.

One of those summer days, we walked into Eddie V's. It was 2002, and it was THE restaurant in town. It was (is) on 5th Street and San Jacinto, close enough to the geographically cool places and far enough away that cool people would patronize it.

Eddie V’s Edgewater Grille, Originally owned by Larry Foles and Guy Villavaso

I walked into Eddie V's, following Bridget, ready to laugh and shake hands, sell wine, and be offered Pellegrino. "Hi, honey!" she said to the hostess, "I'm here to see Tom." "Hi Bridget," the hostess warmly replied, "I'll call him up."

Tom shook my hand, "Hi, welcome, I'm Tom Farace." I shook his hand firmly, looked him in the eye, and replied, "Nice to meet you! My name is Catia Hernandez." And that was the start of a 25-year friendship and mentorship.

My superiors at my the company I was interning for thought I’d be a good fit at Eddie V’s, so they nudged me to apply. “Tom, is Eddie V’s hiring?” "We're always hiring good people," he said, handing me an application.

Tom asked me to come for an interview, and of course, I showed up prepared and on time. I knew I wanted to be part of that team. The restaurant had energy. It was fun, professional, and there was a jazz lounge! And because it was 2002, you could smoke in the jazz lounge!!! I loved it. I know cigarettes kill you, but I've never gotten over how cool it looks and feels to smoke a cigarette.

I wore a skirt suit, black pumps, and a sleeveless, button-down lavender-colored Polo shirt. I walked in confidently with a black leather folio, a legal pad, and a pen. I was ready. I don't remember the interview, but I remember landing the hostess job on the spot, standing up from the table, Tom shaking my hand and saying, "Welcome to the top of the mountain." I was thrilled.

After I had been at "The V" for a while, Tom shared a few reasons I landed the job.

1) He asked if I had a pen, and I did; I was ready.

2) He said I walked past a small piece of trash on the floor on the way to the table where he would interview me, and I picked it up and put it in the nearest trash bin.

3) When I sat down at the table he interviewed me at, I moved the dinner place settings so they wouldn't get dirty, and when the interview was over, I moved them back.

It wasn't because I was at a fancy business school or because I was a pretty college girl; it was because I knew how to be part of a team.

The nights were busy, chaotic, and all with a sense of professionalism. The restaurant held about 300 "covers" (people) at one time, and we'd always overbook and make it work. No one left angry, every customer was happy to be there. And when we did mess up, we owned it. There were hundreds of things Tom taught me over the years, and one of them was to empathize.

He would say, "If someone is mad that their scallops came out cold – your job is to (metaphorically) sit in the booth with them. See if from their point of view, and say so! Say, "Oh man, you came here on your anniversary and we didn't get the scallops right. I get how that can be frustrating. Let me get you scallops just the way you like them, and dessert is on us." Don't defend, see it from their point of view, deliver, and create a relationship.

When I clocked in for a shift, the computer screen read, "It's opening day." He taught us how to work as if every day were opening day. Lights came on at 4:30 pm, curtains opened at 5 pm. I felt so alive every single night. The music, the demands, the patrons. As a hostess, I interacted with prominent politicians, their spouses, mistresses, lobbyists, movie stars, elite athletes, and dignitaries. Seeing Governor Perry, Lt. Gov. Dewhurst be seated in the same dining room as Matthew McCounaghtey, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Sandra Bullock blew my mind. "Hello, Mr. Reeves (Keanu), right this way," "Ms. Witherspoon (Reese), your table is ready." "Mr. Duncan (Tim Duncan), we will seat you now." The staff didn't fumble over themselves or ask for autographs; we were good at our jobs – they were good at theirs, and that was that.

I listened, watched, and learned from Tom every night. How he motivated staff, made it fun, and brought us together. How he connected from everyone to Shorty (our chief bus person), to Rambo (a line cook), to Steve (our Chef), and to me, a college kid who worked 15 hours a week and got paid an hourly wage - I was always amazed. We all worked FOR Tom, and he worked with us. He was our captain.

I worked at Eddie V's until I graduated from UT and went off to the University of Houston to get a masters in Hotel and Restaurant Management. Tom wrote one of my letters of recommendation. I still have it.

While I lived and studied and bartended my way through graduate school in Houston, Tom and I stayed in touch. We always knew I'd go back and manage Eddie V's.

At 21, I graduated with a master's in hospitality and went right back to Austin. There was no interview; there was only a contract. Tom hired me to manage Eddie V's Downtown. I signed my contract, got handed the keys to a multi-million-dollar business, and we were off to the races.

I made friends, ran shifts, hired and fired, bought supplies, showed up early, stayed late, and swirled in fun – every single night. I adored my job. I made the best friends, made inappropriate jokes that I would only ever say to my restaurant people, and stayed up late every night.

I walked through downtown like it was my playground. I had social currency. I ran the best restaurant in town – and I knew it. Tom taught me how to lead, speak with staff, and maintain high standards. We would eat oranges and pizza and drink coffee together. He would say, "Catia, to be good, you have to learn how to run faster and jump higher. The staff will only follow you if you lead by example," and so I did.

I was on the management team at Eddie V's; it was the jewel in the crown of downtown, and I was at the center of it, in huge part, because Tom trusted me. He trusted me to keep it thriving, and I took that trust seriously.

I was a manager, but I was also a patron. My family spent every birthday and milestone at Eddie V's – because the energy was infectious. Everyone in the building WANTED to be there.

I managed for a few years, met someone, fell in love, and decided to move away from Austin, which meant leaving Eddie V's. This was heart-wrenching for me, but at the time, I thought it was the right move. I talked about it with Tom, and he wrote me a letter.

Here's a snippet:

“Things work out. You’ll always have me to come work for. It’s time to go.”

Tom and I, of course, remained friends through it all. When the relationship wasn't unfolding like I thought it would, I called him and said, "I'm not sure what to do," and he said, "Oh, Catia, relationships are like hats – you tried it – it didn't work. Set it down and try something else." So I did, I set it down and decided to move back to Austin. "Tom, I'm going to move back to Austin." And without skipping a beat, he said, "Great, you'll come work for me at ACL-Live." No interview, no contract, just a phone call.

In May 2011, I showed up at ACL-Live to work for Tom for a 3rd time.

In 2011, ACL-Live had just opened adjacent to The W Hotel in downtown Austin. It was a music venue that sat 2,700 guests, and I was in charge of the bars. There were 3 floors, 12 bars, and 40 bartenders – every show. It was a dream. Tom and I shared an office, a desk, and the biggest belly laughs. The way we laughed, my gosh. We laughed EVERY SINGLE DAY.

He never doubted me, always believed in me, and always gave me space to be creative and fly. And in return, I showed up in excellence. I was excellent, professional, kind, thoughtful, and detail-oriented with all aspects of his business. He was the owner, and I was the manager – and I did exactly as I was supposed to. I was always running faster and jumping higher. We set audacious sales goals and crossed them off our list. We hired and fired, we danced, we laughed, and we shook hands and kissed babies. We hosted people and made them feel like royalty – and they felt welcome and good every moment they were in the venue.

Tom and I were part of the team that hosted Bruce Springsteen, Jay Z, Aretha Franklin, Florence and the Machine, Imagine Dragons, Jack White, John Legend – hundreds of artists. We handled crisis together (a stage hand having a heart attack, a staff member passing away from cirrhosis of the liver, his mom passing away), and we also pet donkies and horses that were part of shows, talked to Gary Clark and his parents, rode bikes inside the empty venue, tap danced after work shifts – and always – the jokes. The jokes were tippy top.

*Tom riding inside! These are all pictures of pictures since it was 2011 and back ups weren’t as prevalent then.*

I worked with Tom for two years at ACL-Live, fell in love with my now-husband, and eventually gave my notice at ACL-Live. It’s hard to start a family when you go to work at 3pm and get home at 3am. And when my last day came, it was so hard to say goodbye.

From 2013 on, Tom and I remained incredibly close. He wrote me letters and cheered me on as I became a mom and a therapist. And, I cheered him on as he grew his business and loved his growing family well. He became a business titan in his own right, commanding respect and giving love wherever he went. Everyone LOVED Tom. Tom was the boss in any and every room. One time, he saw Tommy Lee (rock and roll) smoking where he wasn't supposed to: "Hey, Guns and Roses, put the cigarette out!" Tommy Lee listened.

*Mr. and Mrs. Farace, me - Company Christmas party*

Tom and I wrote letters, texted, and talked on the phone. We'd see each other here and there as he was working, but not very much. Our relationship became one of loving friendship through phone calls and voice notes. We always shared pictures of our families back and forth, marveling at the goodness of each of our lives. Tom became a grandpa of 5.

He adored his wife, his boys, his daughter-in-law, and his grandkids. He was the consummate grandpa – playing with them, cooking for them, and cheering them on. When I would ask how the family was, he would say, "Life is Grand." That was his favorite saying. "Young lady, life is grand."

I have hundreds, maybe thousands, of texts where he tells me how proud he is of me and how I should try this or that. He's the one who gave me the idea for a radio show, now – Couch Time with Cat. He said, "I like to listen to your 'Hey friends!' on Instagram, but maybe you could do a longer format where I could listen in one chunk.”

Done.

Now I have a show.

—

A few months ago, I got a call from a former colleague and friend, Steve, and he said, "Cat, Tom is sick and he has cancer." My heart sank. Steve said, "I asked Tom what he wanted me to do with the information, and he said, Don't let the news get out, but tell Cat." Only Steve and I knew.

I was honored, touched, and heartbroken all at the same time. Tom was private and kept his family life and work life separate, and I was touched that he would trust me with such life-altering information, that he would let me in – in that way.

So in September, I knew Tom's days were numbered. I knew he was in and out of the hospital, so I left him a lengthy voice memo and told him how much I loved him and that I would move heaven and earth to do anything and everything he would need or want me to do for him or his family. He replied with a text, "Catia, thanks for the note. I'll reach out soon.”

And I replied, "Okay, I love you."

And that was it.

Tom died on Monday, October 27th. He was 68.

When I learned the news, my heart broke, as thousands of others did too. He was a giant. He was a father figure. He was a guiding light in my life for 25 years. He was the definition of secure love. He stayed steady, offering me a mentor-like love and a job whenever and wherever I needed it. I knew I always had Tom. And he knew he always had me.

I mourned deeply for a few weeks. (I will write about this another time.) And will continue to mourn and love him in the best ways I know how.

I'm writing this in part to mourn, to honor, and to present to my corner of the world this grand human being who helped shape me and who helped make the world a fun and safe place for me, to share this rare friendship filled with love, respect, and mentorship.

He was an Italian from Brooklyn, a cook, a Chef, and a manager, a regional manager, a leader, a funny guy, a dancer, a pickleball player, a philosopher, a devoted husband, dad, and grandpa.

We were not the likeliest of relationships, an Italian from Brooklyn, a Mexican from the Rio Grande Valley, but our relationship worked, and it mattered. I'll always be grateful for his love, guidance, and presence.

I honor him by running faster, jumping higher, and remembering that life is grand.

You can find his obituary here.

Tom Farace, A Tribute

Intention For The Week