Story: Buddy Martin
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my decades around people with big vision, it’s this: Never tell the Tom Ingrams they cannot. Because odds are, they’ll spend the rest of their life proving you wrong – probably with a smile, and maybe barefoot on the water.
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Tom has always defied easy definition. A banker, yes, but not the kind who hides behind balance sheets and buzzwords. No, Tom brought something rare to banking: Imagination. Creativity. Heart. He turned his bank into a stage for community art and conversation, where local painters once hung their work beside loan documents and talk radio hosts set up their microphones in the lobby. The man somehow managed to make finance feel human, and even fun.
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Though he was born just north of Ocala, Tom WAS Ocala. He loved the town and poured himself into it – fiercely protective of its roots, yet always pushing for innovation. He was a leader who honored history while helping to build the next chapter. When Tom wasn’t in a boardroom or hosting a local event, you could find him skimming across Lake Weir, barefoot behind a boat, wind in his hair and joy in his voice. Water was his element. A former Cypress Gardens pro skier, Tom didn’t just play on the lake, he danced on it; sometimes alongside his neighbor and friend Ron Zook, who summed him up best: “Tom is a world-class athlete.” Until one day, he wasn’t. A tumor on his upper spine threatened not only his ability to walk, but his life itself. Sixty-three, active, healthy, living full throttle – then suddenly flat on his back in a sterile hospital room.
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Doctors told him he’d never walk again. For most people, that would’ve been the period at the end of the sentence. For Tom Ingram, it was just a comma. What came next was a battle of belief, endurance, and what I can only call divine stubbornness. He’s writing about it now in a forthcoming book that tracks his journey from total paralysis to something close to a miracle. I suggested he call it “Flat on My Back: Starting Over in Life,” because that’s what it is – a story of new beginnings disguised as endings.
His words are raw and reflective. “The world stopped moving,” he writes, recalling the day he first heard the diagnosis. “And I was the only one who knew it.” He describes the fear, the shock, the months of grueling rehab where every inch gained felt like a mile, every twitch of movement a victory parade.
The book isn’t just about learning to walk again. It’s about learning what really matters. His wife, Jennifer, never left his side – feeding hope when strength ran low. His children became his motivation; his faith, the unbreakable thread holding it all together. The man who once powered his way through water learned to move through pain with grace.
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Today, nearly two years later, Tom walks – “awkwardly but independently,” he says – with a grin that tells you everything else you need to know. Each step is a sermon. Each movement a small rebellion against what he was told was impossible.
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I’ve known Tom for several decades as a fellow traveler through life’s rough stretches. There’s a quiet strength in Tom and Jen that words can only partially capture. Faith and love have always been their true currency.
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So when I see Tom walking now – slowly, carefully, each step hard-earned – I don’t see a man who lost anything. I see a man who found something few ever do: What it really means to stand tall. That’s Tom Ingram for you. Creative, courageous, faithful, and proof that sometimes, the most powerful words you can hear are the ones that tell you what you can’t do. Because that’s when Tom starts showing you how.
