Uncle Butch was unique in many ways. He walked to the beat of his own drum. Even when he had no drumsticks. He was playful, funny, and fun to be around. Quick with a cheeky grin, and witty quip, he saw humor in situations and in life. His smile was contagious, his laughter irresistible.
Uncle Butch always made me feel welcome, with warmth of spirit and generosity of heart. He genuinely could not be happier to see you. On a moment’s notice, he would provide a roof over my head, the keys to more than one car, paid work if I needed, and an empty refrigerator.
“Greg, make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever you need’’ he would say with that sly grin. ‘’No seriously, help yourself, like if you want anything you will have to go out and get it. Do you have the keys to the Subaru? Still remember how to get to Kroger? While you’re there, could you grab some microwave popcorn, and maybe a tub of choc mint…… no wait, make that berry…….’’
To me Frank exemplified a laissez-faire or “leave alone” style and approach to living (literal translation "let you do"). He believed everything would work out, one way or another. For decades Frank left the Northville house unlocked. His keys and wallet were usually outside in one of his unlocked cars. Amy and my wife Kellie found this somewhat disconcerting.
Some people find comfort in having a car with a full tank of gas. Others want to know how far the car can travel after the fuel gauge is on empty, and there is only one way to find that out. In Frank’s world, the fuel warning light flashing was a suggestion, not a command.
Frank was friendly, charming, and most warmed to him quickly. One notable exception, his cantankerous next-door neighbor at Kings Mill, whose antics perplexed and amused Frank. He once cleared the snow from everyone’s front walk, except Frank’s. He also made a formal complaint to the Kings Mill Co-op that “Frank’s mole’’ was digging up the lawn. Frank was unaware he owned a mole.
Frank was adept at engaging others in conversation. He was curious, especially when it came to people. He regularly practiced the increasingly rare art of listening. He sought first to understand and was authentic in inquiry. He was willing to accept others, suspend judgement and embrace novel offerings in the first instance.
Frank was generous and sincere in praise and encouragement. He was able to make others feel good about who they are, in the moment, without the need to be anything more. He could see the good in others, the upside in most situations, and offered hope and comfort in counsel. He could be selfless and present in the moment.
Frank loved the freedom of being self-employed. He worked smart. He did only that which was required. He practiced Just-in-Time management long before it was popular in management literature. He built a lucrative business and sustained a profitable concern through changing times, technologies, and fortunes. It is easy to discount this success because of the nature of the work. That is a mistake. If you haven’t run your own business, you likely won’t understand the challenges and complexity involved in reliably and profitably “getting it done”. Frank’s business was managing relationships, and he did that extremely well.
I worked for him, on many occasions, over several decades. I enjoyed the work, driving in the stillness and solitude of the early morning, watching sunrises through the changing seasons. Strange as it may sound, the work held a real connect with nature and the community. We shared this appreciation. I enjoyed watching him in good-natured banter with colleagues around the depot. He was well-liked.
Frank loved numbers and playing games. He was clever, creative and could put together a deal when he wanted. I remember he once bought a brand-new car on a GM rewards credit card. After assembling an impressive jigsaw of points using numerous loyalty and reward schemes, the balance due on the car was around $5000. On the back end of the deal, he amassed enough frequent flyer points for a return trip to Australia! He didn't even need the car; it was just too sweet a deal to say no to.
Frank could derive the greatest joy from the simplest of meals. Real disappointment was also a possibility. Easily enticed, his culinary curiosity could be short-lived. One bite was often all Frank required to make an immediate and committed judgment, either for or against. One night, ready for bed in suitable sleeping attire, his attention was taken by a TV advert for a new fast food offering of bite sized desserts with a hot dipping sauce. They looked good, he wanted to try them, and he did not care to wait till the morrow. So, with haste, he grabbed his wallet, keys, put a hoodie over his PJs, and bravely ventured off into the night. On return, he had a look of disappointment; the dessert's reality had not matched its promise. Only two bites were required. There was also a degree of frustration; with hot dipping sauce spilt over the passenger seat.
If you cooked a meal for him, it was deemed to be made with love. It was exempt from immediate judgement and appreciation was shown. For a few bites at least.
I learnt a lot from Uncle Butch. He was humble in his wisdom, but could carefully, skillfully, plant seeds of knowledge and understanding in others. In fertile ground, these seeds will continue to emerge, grow, and evolve, as the seasons and generations come and go.
We often lost track of the hours whilst engaged in philosophical discussion on topics from metaphysics, theology, epistemology, logic, ethics, and politics. I loved those conversations. I don’t think Frank ever studied formal logic, but he understood the requisites and enjoyed the pursuit of intellectual rigor. He held me to task on knowledge claims made. Sometimes he was curious; fascinated by a topic, wanting to explore, investigate and know more. Other times, he was playing devil’s advocate; enjoying the sport and competition of debate.
Frank was unpretentious, open, and sincere. He had modest expectations and was grateful for simple blessings. He loved family, life, people, music, and food. Most of all, he loved Amy and time spent with his grandchildren.
I always felt a deep connect with Uncle Butch. It was intuitive, tacit, experiential; a shared sense of knowledge and knowing that is silent and unspoken. The depth of influence he had on my life and development will remain unknowable to me. There are obvious parallels to be drawn. I hold deep gratitude for time spent together, the bond we shared, and the joy, love, and laughter he brought to my world. I loved him dearly.
It seems fitting to end this reflection with a light sprinkle of humor. Below is a link to a senseless comedy skit that brought us both many tears of laughter.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jtd3GR38wo