Butch - "45. Remember that Number"

 

Butch was my oldest brother, about 10 years my senior. He embodied everything one could want in a big brother. 

My earliest memories start in about 1963 or so... when I was about 4 years-old. We lived in Lakewood, California... a few blocks down the street from Artesia High School where all four of my siblings would eventually graduate.

Normally, brothers fight from time to time. Seems to be part of the psychological make-up of males as they grow up. But Butch and I never fought. Maybe it was the 10 year age difference but I'd like to think it was because of my sincere admiration for him and our brotherly love for each other.

Butch was so cool! As a teenager, he had a job, a car, girlfriends and numerous buddies who would come over all the time. They were all cool too... Timmons, Higgy and many others. Sometimes they'd go down the street to the high school and play 'over the line,' a variation of baseball that could be played with as few as two players on each team. Butch would always let me tag along to watch. I thought they were the greatest baseball players ever!

Our landlord, Mr. Buyes, a transplant from Holland with a thick Dutch accent... owned a chicken farm that was right behind our house. It's hard to believe that in Southeast Los Angeles County, during the early 1960's, there were numerous chicken farms, dairy farms, horse corrals and the like... right within city limits, and in residential neighborhoods. Those days are long gone in that area.

Anyway... Butch's first job was at that chicken farm. Every day, after school, Butch would walk through the rows of cages and gather all of the freshly laid eggs and gently lay them in a basket. I would tag along with him every chance I got. 

Part of his job was to report the number of eggs he gathered to Mr. Buyes. Wanting to make me feel like an integral part of the process, one time, after counting the eggs, he told me to remember the number '45.' I squeezed my eyes shut and kept repeating that number... 45, 45, 45, 45.

That night at the dinner table, Butch asked me, "Bart, do you remember that number?"

"45!" I declared proudly, without hesitation. Butch chuckled.

This became a ritual for decades to come. Through our 20's, 30's, 40's, etc., on random occasions, Butch would ask me if I remembered that number and I'd squint... as though I were thinking, smile broadly and say, "45!" Separated by many miles and as recently as last year, I would occasionally text him the number, 45. Nothing else. Just the number. He'd always text back with a laughy face emoji.

Butch graduated from high school in 1967 and immediately began working at LeFiell Manufacturing company in Santa Fe Springs where our dad was a machinist. He would never work any place else. He climbed the ranks of management until he retired nearly 50 years later. He loved that place and that job became a huge part of his identity. I actually think retirement was a very difficult decision for him.

In 1969, our father died of cancer at the age of 46 and that really changed our family dynamic for good. Mom and I moved to Iowa and the rest of the family stayed in California. I missed my big brother desperately. He would come visit us most every summer and I remember counting the days until his arrival. I also remember bragging about him to my friends. I told them he has long hair but he's not a hippie because he takes a bath every day. True story!

Due to circumstances that I won't detail here, Butch came to my rescue when I was 17 and had no place to stay. He let me move in with his family for several years as I graduated high school and started attending college. It was a cramped, tiny house and I was a total slob and yet... he let me stay.

Some of my favorite memories are playing softball together for many years. I played on teams that he coached and he played on teams that I coached. He was a good ballplayer and our bond became deeper.

I got married in 1980 and Butch was my best man... naturally. I think he got a charge out of that. He loved to feel important and he was certainly important to me. I loved him dearly.

I moved my family to Iowa in 1993. Butch would come to Iowa every single Labor Day for the annual celebration in our home town of Madrid. I would always make it a point to spend some time with him. Even after we moved to Ohio in 2008, I'd try and get to Iowa around Labor Day to see my big brother. Especially after consuming a few beers, he'd hug me, repeatedly kiss me on the cheek and tell me that he loved me.

I've been a political junkie since my teen years but Butch never seemed to be too steeped into politics until his later years... and then he made up for lost time. He and I were on polar opposite ends of the political spectrum and in the age of social media, we both had ample opportunity to air our views. I think we both tried to avoid heavy confrontation with each other but we weren't always successful. I always felt bad after we'd have an online tussle and I'm sure he did too.

I think it was early in 2020, Butch was diagnosed with colon cancer. He had surgery to remove the cancer and they took part of his colon. He didn't like to talk about it much but he was hopeful that they got it all.

In November of 2020, I flew out to California for a week. I got to spend some time with Butch. I thoroughly enjoyed our visit. I had wondered how our conversation would go and if I'd detect any residual bitterness about our political differences and to my delight, there was none of that. We found no need or desire to discuss politics. He was the same old Butch. Our brotherly love and affection were still intact. 

Butch told me about his chemo treatments. He hated them! They seemed like torture. But he was optimistic and had an eye on the future.

That was the last time I would ever see my big brother... my hero. After discovery of more cancer and a subsequent surgery, it was determined that there was nothing more they could do. On August 1st, 2021, Butch took his final breath.

I think about him often. I dream about him. Sometimes... I just cannot believe he is gone. But I will see him again... and when I do, I'm going to say, "Hey Butch... 45!"