Tim Cronin: A Rocker’s Legacy of Connection & the Life Celebration to Come

Gathering for Tim Cronin on June 22
Photo/Susan Culbert

It was just over two weeks ago that a capacity crowd gathered at The Whitechapel Projects in Long Branch to honor 63-year-old iconic rocker Tim Cronin, of Ribeye Brothers, Monster Magnet and Jack’s Music Shoppe fame, and raise funds to help ease any hardships in his battle with ALS.

The countless photos told an artistic love story for all to see and emulate. A collage of inspiration. You didn’t have to know Tim Cronin to feel the love and be touched by it from a dreamlike distance — more like resuscitated by it with its sledge hammer to the hardest of hearts.

Smiles. Hugs. Dance. Art. Song. Hugs. Love. The pictured scene was a tsunami of it all, swallowing up so many to cradle, not drown. It’s what people saw and felt deeply — even if they weren’t there. Even if they didn’t know Tim. Call it a stranger haunting of the best kind.

Cronin’s reach, to say the least, was a far one, a simple gesture seemingly always at his electric fingertips, lighting those he touched with a smile — connection. He was, by all accounts, the thing from which the simplest, most profound lessons of an artist’s underestimated generosity of joyous links are made — just like those endless ’60s gum wrapper necklaces. And the nostalgic scent was just as sweet.

The cradling tsunami of it all didn’t crash, but rolled gently ashore on Tuesday, links floating intact, when Cronin died, leaving a legacy of creativity and connection lapping, still reaching as the reaper’s tide took him away.

No, you didn’t have to know Tim Cronin to add your own link to the sweet, gummy art of the chain. It’s always growing, never breaking.

Now, not long after a gathering symbolizing survival, Cronin’s passing and survival of spirit will be celebrated. Legacy. Showing up. Savoring every life morsel. It’s what he did, those who knew him made known.

Now, once again, for a second time within a month, all will show up to remember him on Monday, July 14, from 4 to 8 p.m. at John E. Day Funeral Home, Red Bank. A special service is set to start at 7:15 the same evening.

Showing up. That’s how Cronin’s stepdaughter, Maggie Chesek, someone who did know him well, put it in his obituary …

“My heart breaks to share that Tim passed away this morning (Tuesday). Until his very last moments, he remained the most kind, generous and hilarious person I have ever met.

“The amount of lives that he touched and changed for the better number in the thousands. He was known as the Center of the Universe, and right now we’ve all lost our center.

“For me, he was my beloved stepdad, who unconditionally cared for and supported me as his own and raised me on the coolest possible artists and artifacts; and the most loving and devoted husband to my mom, Carrie, that anyone could ever dream of — when you think of soulmates, you think of Tim and Carrie. Their love anchored not only our little family but a whole community.

“Grief is the price we pay for love and, man, was our big guy loved. It is an incomprehensible void that he is leaving in our lives, but I know this much — he wants us to go forth. To make art, to play music, to be endlessly generous and show up for the people in our life.

“To tell each other about a rare B-side or a cool old book or a so-bad-it’s-good movie. To go to a diner and make our friends laugh until their sides hurt. Tim, you left this world an undeniably better, cooler place by being in it. I hope your next cosmic adventure is just as epic. I love you. Let’s Go Mets ❤️

No. I didn’t know Tim. But, I felt the connection and his place in this world from far away, yet close, to me, as many did, I’d bet. My particular feeling of connection to Tim, from a distance, a time warp, has to do with Jack’s Music Shoppe.

My mom, as many others before and after her, worked there when it was Anderson’s Music Store. She worked for Jack’s father, Bev, and loved every minute of it. She was a dear friend of the family — considered part of it, really. She knew Jack as a child. When his shop, Jack’s, was opened, my dad used to take me there to buy a 45 when I was good or there was something to celebrate. Jack would spin tunes for me on the record player behind the counter so I could decide which I wanted.

I still have that collection. My mom had her own collection of vinyl records that I have kept with me, safeguarding her happy time at Anderson’s that she passed on to me and many others she smiled at and chatted with in the store, spinning her own happiness and tunes, just like Tim. Many of my friends did know Tim from his own Jack’s time and beyond.

I had a dream the night he died that I was with those at the end of his fundraiser, reconnecting, laughing and waiting … maybe for another gum wrapper. I think I’ll spin some Beatles and Herb Alpert.

No, I didn’t even know Tim. But, somehow, I can vividly see him shaking my young mom’s hand, smiling, her red lipstick and raven hair back just so. She’s happy to see him in person, having always hovered as a Jack’s ghost checking out the guy who took her happy ’50s and ’60s post.

Yes, we are all connected. The wrapper chain hasn’t broken yet. Got gum, anyone?