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Eulogy to a Friend
Robert Terry Green Jr.
February 6, 1967-May 27, 1996
Many of you don’t know me but I’ve been friends with Butchy
since we first met in the second grade, 1974 -75. I’ve been away
in the Army for about eleven years but we always kept in touch. I
would send him postcards and letters from around the world and
Butchy would return with letters of entertaining local news and his
latest discoveries, theories, philosophies. He had an uncanny
ability to make me laugh and smile from afar. I always made a
point of seeing him when I was home on leave. I was proud of my
friend and brought fellow travelers, buddies and girlfriends, to
meet him. In no time at all, whether they liked it or not, he would
have his arm around them like old pals. He was very hospitable.
It is a great honor to be able to stand up here for my friend today. I’
ve had some experience at public speaking but no amount of
practice can prepare you for something like this. I started jotting
down notes on the flight back here and found that writing about
Butch came easily though. I could go on and on, I’ve had to
shorten this a good bit; it may still be a little lengthy but its Butchy’
s day, let’s hear him out.
Butch would have preferred a drunken Irish style wake or a Viking
type funeral pyre on the Potomac. If he were to walk in here now
he would probably call us all wimps and tell us to stop sniveling
and to get all these silly flowers away from him.
Butchy exemplified the phrase you can’t judge a book by its
cover. I think our dear friend Bill put it best when he said
“Underneath all of that he had a heart as big as the great
outdoors”. Its true, underneath that sometimes brooding, glaring
hulk was a benevolent giant full of life and magic. He was the
sunny eye of the storms that often surrounded him.
Butchy believed in God. He could quote scriptures with the best
of them. I’m reminded of the time he had a confrontation with a
door to door bible thumper who strayed onto his porch. His
opponent was forced to retreat and return with some companions
for back up. I often consulted Butch on spiritual matters and he
sometimes did research for me. He also was an accomplished
magician, a wizard. Though he stayed on the side of
righteousness, he was very knowledgeable and well versed on
other disciplines, other ways.
He was a storehouse of local legends, history, myths. Its a little
known fact that he was a regular patron of the library. He was a
master of the art of story telling; he brought new meaning to the
word embellishment. He was a talented chess player. On the rare
occasions I beat him he would retort with “I only let you win”. He
also was a skillful fisherman, like a modern Tom Sawyer of the
Potomac. He was known to mentor neighborhood kids, fix their
bikes, take them fishing, play softball with them.
Butchy was taken away from us because God or Jesus had a
mission for him or needed company. If for nothing else I’m sure he
got into Heaven on entertainment value. He was no saint, but his
virtues outweighed his faults. I’m reminded of a TV commercial I
saw recently where a renegade angel is flying around at night with
a supercharged Timex Indiglo watch shining it in bedroom
windows and waking people up. That’s the type of assignment
Butchy would be good at, keeping us on our toes.
I’m sure we all have fond and treasured memories of him, I have a
few stories I’d like to share with you today.
One of my favorite activities in school was to simply not go. It was
much funner and enriching to bum around town and down by the
river and canal. On one such occasion I was with Butchy at his
Mom’s house on Salisbury street. His sister was home that day
too. Butch and me were upstairs and heard the doorbell ring. I
called down to Khriste, “If that’s my mom tell her I ain’t here.” It
was too late, the door was already open and Mom was in full
earshot.
Another vivid memory of playing hooky was when we did a full
scale caving expedition into West Virginia. We gathered what
gear we could, like packs, flashlights and food then crossed via
the old railroad bridge down river. We hitch-hiked back from
Falling Waters. On another event we rode bicycles to Fort
Frederick and back in one day.
He loved retelling the story of how one day, in our Middle School
years, we had the whole town after us. It was during a parade, I
think Flag Day, and it wasn’t exactly the whole town. But we did
manage, in a short period of time, and for various reasons, to
have in our pursuit the police, the Clear Spring Band directors, a
preacher and Dane Scott (who was older and badder than us).
Mrs. Green, I was not present when your garage got burnt down.
Butchy knew the river intimately. He swore that he had more than
once spotted the mythical Snallywag creature of local lore. He
said they were scaly, slimy, greenish, monkey shaped beings half
the size of a man. He blamed them for various mischievous acts
such as stealing fish from stringers, stealing bait from fish hooks,
snagging lures, stealing beer from coolers and taunting him with
stone pelting and hissing noises. He had analyzed that they were
only spotted on land at night on damp evenings at temperatures
within a certain range. From this he surmised that they live in
caves accessed under the river bank. He always told me that if he
caught one he would send its head to me in a jar of alcohol. He
said he would not publicize it because the “men in black” would
come and collect the evidence. He was himself reputed to have
been spotted crawling through the mud and weeds along the bank
at dusk, half naked, camouflaged, hair in a mohawk and dagger in
mouth. (The Snallywags probably moved away after that.)
On one visit he couldn’t wait to show me his latest pet. In the
back of his combat-style old blazer was a monstrous snapping
turtle. It looked like something from Jurassic park. It had a greater
circumference than a large auto tire. Later that evening we took
his truck to party at my cousin Jeff’s place in Clear Spring. We
had forgotten all about the extra passenger until it decided it
wanted to be up front too. I fought the thing back in the dark with
half a baseball bat while Butch just put his feet up on the dash
and continued driving while laughing maniacally.
I was fortunate enough to be home for one of his bouts in the
amateur boxing “Tough Guy” contest. Most participants were
introduced in the traditional sense like “weighing in at 250, a steel
worker from Bethlehem, Bob “the Bomber” McGee.” Butchy’s
introduction went like this: “from Williamsport, Maryland,
homemaker and father of two, Butch “Mister Mom” Green.” He
pummeled his opponent who threw in the towel.
Karla just gave me a postcard that he had not yet got around to
sending me. He wrote that he had reached a bench press of 520
pounds this year. A favorite thrill of mine at the tavern when
encountering him for the first time in a while was to approach him
with insults and threats. People who didn’t know we were friends
would back up in horror thinking “who is this little fool ?” He
would shock them further by coming back with something like “Its
cool man, I don’t want no trouble with you.”
Once I was home on convalescent leave for “blowing myself up”. I
was staying in a camper in my folks yard out in Kemps Mill and
had brought my dog Boogarwolf along with me. She was your
classic little, scrappy, Benji type mutt. Butch and her took an
immediate liking of each other. One day he came to drag me out
on some adventure but I was in drug induced grogginess and
managed a rare refusal to his normal, adamant, insistent
usherings. I crawled out of bed sometime later to find my dog
missing. An extensive dog hunt was launched in the
neighborhood with no results. That night at the Third Base I told
Butch the bad news. He busted up laughing and I realized the
obvious. Later on that night he wanted to take off on some new
debacle that I just wasn’t up for, but he was holding my dog
ransom. I had to sneak out of the bar, run to his house and
rescue Boogarwolf then sneak out of town and back home on
foot.
I’m really gonna miss times like that…..
Butchy lives on in all our memories……, he lives on too in his
children. Karla, Grammas, and family, you’re gonna have your
hands full. The rest of us too have a responsibility, a duty to
share with them a little attention, guidance, and love.
I was on temporary duty in Colorado when I got the call and flew
home from there. My uniform was at my home-base in Arizona. I
got in touch with another of my dear friends there to send it to me.
With it he sent this card. Inside he wrote: “I only wish I could
have met this mythical warrior you described him as.” The legend
of Butchy lives on far and wide….
On the front the card reads:
TO HEAL THE HEART. Inside each of us resides the memories
that comfort, the recollections that soothe, the remembrances we
treasure. May these heal and mend the soul now and
forevermore.
See you later Butch, we love you man……..
Post Script, 27 May 97
Dear family and friends,
This written version, you’ll notice, is not exactly as was given at
the funeral. I delivered the original from a handwritten outline. I
have intended for some time now to record it in writing. On this,
the anniversary of Butchy’s parting, in honor and respect for his
continued place in my life, I have done so. I have remained true in
content to the original as best as my memory and notes will allow.
I have added to it the account of the “Dam Incident”. I felt it was
too lengthy and perhaps even out of place to be told the day of
the service. There are a few other minor details that I felt needed
inserted; things that didn’t hit me that day or didn’t fit in that day,
but for Butchy’s sake, should be saved.
Many people genuinely do not wish to be
saints, and it is probable that some who
achieve or aspire to sainthood have never felt
much temptation to be human beings.
-George Orwell
The gods can never leave a man in the
world who is privy to their secrets. They
cannot have a spy here. -Thoreau
Sincerely,
Darren Wayne Jessop
This page is my way of saying thank you to my Brother, Who left
us to soon. But still keeps his eye on us. If you had the previlage
of knowing him you would understand. Thanks
Reptile crib. All rights reserved.
