Eulogy for Dean Thompson, CEO of Storm Kimonos

Kia ora e te whānau. My name is Chris, and I am the co-founder and CEO of Tango Kilo Mike charitable trust.  I established this organisation to support our military and emergency services personnel across New Zealand.

I’d like to share a story of how I met Dean and how he’s influenced who I am and what I do today. 

A few years ago, I was in a dark place - aimless, broken, and rapidly losing hope that life could ever feel meaningful again. I’d lost my identity after leaving service with the British Army, and with it, my purpose. A friend of mine saw that and invited me to try Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I didn’t know it then, but that invitation was the first step toward healing.

Within just a few sessions, something started to shift. On those mats, I found a community - people from every walk of life, but especially veterans and serving personnel - people who understood a language I thought I'd forgotten. Trust began to return. I was finding Connection and Purpose.

Later, I would come to understand I was living with complex PTSD from my time in service. And when a close friend of mine died by suicide, grief and anger lit something inside me: we need to do more. I need to do more. That’s how Tango Kilo Mike began. It wasn't just about grappling or training. It became about recovery, about creating a place where I and others can heal, too.

I was first drawn to STORM Kimonos by what I saw online - dazzling embroidery, vibrant artwork, and an attention to detail in manufacturing that I hadn’t seen anywhere else. Then I spotted a familiar face - local legend Paulo Sorriso of Alliance Jiu Jitsu - pulling off his best ‘top model’ impression on the site. Knowing Paulo’s reputation, and that he was training with some of the former All Blacks, I figured this wasn’t just any brand. So I reached out. I introduced myself, explained what Tango Kilo Mike was about, and put in what I can only describe as a cheeky request for support.

Honestly, I didn’t expect much back. I didn’t even realise at the time that STORM was a New Zealand company. But to my surprise, Dean responded. Not only that - he invited me to his home. I was buzzing with anticipation. I’ll never forget standing at his front door, ringing the bell, and being greeted by what I can only describe as a monster of a man - taller than me, broader than me, and with a neck and shoulders that would have had Hulk Hogan second-guessing his gym routine. I was nervous, to say the least.

But what I expected to be a quick handshake and polite chat turned into an afternoon of intense kōrero over coffee and being loaded with merch for myself and my children. 

Dean was as sharp as they come - a man with commercial acumen, but also creativity that spilled over into every corner of his home. Everywhere you looked, there was artwork, trinkets, and flair - including a gifted set of mounted kukhri knives from the British Army Gurkha regiment.

That afternoon, he told me about the work he was doing with Warriors Heart in the U.S. - a rehab centre helping veterans struggling with PTSD and addiction. He spoke about his deep connection to the British Army’s Jiu Jitsu team. What struck me most was that he wouldn’t let me leave without asking how he could help.

And help he did. Over the years, Dean became a driving force behind Tango Kilo Mike - offering ideas, challenging us to be bold, and always encouraging us to think bigger. His vision? For us to build something here in Aotearoa that mirrored the healing power of Warriors Heart. A haven for our own veterans. A sanctuary for those still carrying the weight of their service. That dream - his dream - is still alive. And we’re still working toward it.

What stood out most to me - beyond Dean’s generosity, vision, and creativity - was that he never once asked for anything in return. His support for Tango Kilo Mike, for veterans, for the broader jiu jitsu community, came from a place of genuine purpose. He believed in giving, in lifting others, and he never kept score.

In Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, there’s a saying - you leave your ego at the door. Because no matter how good you are, there’s always someone out there stronger, quicker, more experienced. That humility is part of the discipline. And Dean lived it. He exemplified what it means to be both powerful and humble.

I imagine COVID hit him hard - those years were brutal for small businesses, for passion projects, for anyone trying to build something from the ground up. But, if Dean was hurting, he never showed it to me. Instead, he leaned in harder. He lived the brand he created. He wore his struggles with pride, and he never stopped pushing forward. That grit, that refusal to give up - it was unmistakably him.

What Dean and I shared went far beyond business - we were mates. And as mates do, we never really said the big things out loud. I never had the chance to tell him how much I valued him as a person. But Dean helped me regain what we now call in Tango Kilo Mike - my Identity, Purpose, and Belonging.

And honestly, if I’d ever tried to tell him all that straight - how much I respected him, admired him, cared for him - he probably would’ve slapped me and called me a nonce. That was Dean. 

Some things didn’t need to be said to be understood. And I hope, in some way, through all the work we did and those long chats over coffee, he knew he was never alone. Not in life. And certainly not now.

Dean - rest easy, brother. We’ve got it from here.