Most everybody in Boston knows about the passing of Harold Madison, Jr., better known as the homeless hero Mister Butch. The memorial service is tonight at the International Community Church in Allston, starting at 6:30 PM. Lynne had some encounter with him but is smart enough to realize that it's likely to be a three-ring circus. I'll be at All Asia tonight for a performance that was scheduled weeks ago and therefore will miss it, but I'm posting some words here.
I lived in Boston for four years before having heard of him. It was 1999 when the Weekly Dig was still publishing it's monthly Shovel magazine supplement (Shovel being the Dig's prior incarnation before it was converted to be part of the still going weekly vehicle, only to be discarded entirely). My massive essay on the Church of Euthanasia (see this bar's side bar link, "Purity Is For Losers") was published in one of the last issues, which included a story on Mr. Butch himself. What amazed me the most was not the too brief story itself, but the fact that when I showed the paper around to others, the name (on top of the front page) was instantly recognizable by a number of people from all walks of life. I began to feel proud that my work shared equal billing with him, so to speak.
The Kenmore that many nostalgic scenesters talk about today was fading fast, the last remnant being the Deli Haus. I went through Kenmore enough times walking home to Brookline to know that that Mr. Butch wasn't around. Three years later, roommate situations caused me to head for the hills in Allston, his newly adopted "home." My job and girlfriend and ongoing personal problems caused me to be away from Allston 90% of the time, limiting my meetings with him to one, and it was during a time I ended up losing my wallet in a McDonald's trash can (you did not want to know me in 2002). I just remember him trying to be a calming force and me not going with it for reasons to numerous to get into. A missed opportunity.
In a better world (and better state of mind), I would have gotten to know him, maybe even interviewed him the way I interviewed a lot of people on the fringe. Still, I think it's enough that I knew of him and what he stood for.
One of the few sources that made me aware of Kenmore Square's history was the Weekly Dig, which was partly formed because it's then editor, while working for The Phoenix, had stories about the Boston area's gentrification killed. The Dig was the closet thing the city had to a paper that was truly counterculture, touching on the death of Boston's scene and the political frustrations of 2000 in a very direct way, going in directions the Phoenix didn't.
(A disclaimer: I ended up writing for them for a short time, quitting only when life situations caused me to stop. I consider my short time there to have produced some of my best journalistic work under the former editor.)
Just a few years later, the Dig seems to be a shadow of it's former self, with no other reserve than to dis it's rival for being older (and rest assured, that will come back to bite them on the backside if they're in the game for even a third as long as the Phoenix.) The fact that it's a week later and still no obit in the Dig's page for the man they gave a story and cover copy to nearly six years ago makes me sad.
Whether he meant to be or not, Mr. Butch was a working historian and a living symbol to a lost time in Boston. With the only remnant of Kenmore Square being a continuous river of Red Sox lemmings, it was cool Mr. Butch stood against it just by way of existing.
I lived in Boston for four years before having heard of him. It was 1999 when the Weekly Dig was still publishing it's monthly Shovel magazine supplement (Shovel being the Dig's prior incarnation before it was converted to be part of the still going weekly vehicle, only to be discarded entirely). My massive essay on the Church of Euthanasia (see this bar's side bar link, "Purity Is For Losers") was published in one of the last issues, which included a story on Mr. Butch himself. What amazed me the most was not the too brief story itself, but the fact that when I showed the paper around to others, the name (on top of the front page) was instantly recognizable by a number of people from all walks of life. I began to feel proud that my work shared equal billing with him, so to speak.
The Kenmore that many nostalgic scenesters talk about today was fading fast, the last remnant being the Deli Haus. I went through Kenmore enough times walking home to Brookline to know that that Mr. Butch wasn't around. Three years later, roommate situations caused me to head for the hills in Allston, his newly adopted "home." My job and girlfriend and ongoing personal problems caused me to be away from Allston 90% of the time, limiting my meetings with him to one, and it was during a time I ended up losing my wallet in a McDonald's trash can (you did not want to know me in 2002). I just remember him trying to be a calming force and me not going with it for reasons to numerous to get into. A missed opportunity.
In a better world (and better state of mind), I would have gotten to know him, maybe even interviewed him the way I interviewed a lot of people on the fringe. Still, I think it's enough that I knew of him and what he stood for.
One of the few sources that made me aware of Kenmore Square's history was the Weekly Dig, which was partly formed because it's then editor, while working for The Phoenix, had stories about the Boston area's gentrification killed. The Dig was the closet thing the city had to a paper that was truly counterculture, touching on the death of Boston's scene and the political frustrations of 2000 in a very direct way, going in directions the Phoenix didn't.
(A disclaimer: I ended up writing for them for a short time, quitting only when life situations caused me to stop. I consider my short time there to have produced some of my best journalistic work under the former editor.)
Just a few years later, the Dig seems to be a shadow of it's former self, with no other reserve than to dis it's rival for being older (and rest assured, that will come back to bite them on the backside if they're in the game for even a third as long as the Phoenix.) The fact that it's a week later and still no obit in the Dig's page for the man they gave a story and cover copy to nearly six years ago makes me sad.
Whether he meant to be or not, Mr. Butch was a working historian and a living symbol to a lost time in Boston. With the only remnant of Kenmore Square being a continuous river of Red Sox lemmings, it was cool Mr. Butch stood against it just by way of existing.
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