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Obituary by Robin Butler
JOHN FRANCIS BUTLER January 6, 1927 - September 11, 1998
My dad died September 11th--he had a metastasis in his liver of the cancer of the pharynx that was successfully treated two years ago. Initially, we thought this tumor would be as easily treated as the earlier one. But, Dad was more ill than the doctors realized. In his last few weeks, he became weak and unable to fight, but thankfully, was not in pain. Dad was born in Rockville Centre, NY and spent his childhood there. His family later moved to Newport, NH where he attended high school. He attended Loomis-Chaffee for his junior year but completed high school in Newport because of family needs. Even in high school, he must have made quite an impressions--he was voted Wittiest, Most Artistic, and Most Popular. After high school graduation, Dad entered the Army Special Reserve Training Program during World War II and attended University of Maine and North Carolina State college, studying Engineering. As a 17-year-old student taking Chemistry at U-Maine, Dad met my mother, Florence Palmer, who was working through college handing out beakers in the Chemistry stock room. After serving in the Army, Dad entered Amherst College and spent his last two years there majoring in English. By then, Mom was working on a Master's degree at Smith College. Dad graduated from Amherst in 1949. After receiving an MA in English from Brown University in 1952, Dad started work on a PhD Although he finished the coursework and started a dissertation, he quickly became so enthralled by teaching that he never wanted to stop long enough to complete the PhD. Some have felt that the lack of a PhD ultimately held Dad back from prestigious teaching positions. But Dad never expressed regret in the path he chose. Dad's teaching career was long and satisfying: Instructor-University of Kansas 1952-53, Instructor-Amherst College 1953-58, Assistant Professor-Amherst College 1958-59, Visiting Asst Professor-Williams College 1959-61, Lecturer and Director of Freshman English-Middlebury College 1961-66, Assoc. Prof. and Director of Freshman English-Wichita State Univ. 1966-70, Professor-Drexel Univ. (Philadelphia) 1970-72, and Professor and Director of Freshman English-Peabody College for Teachers (Nashville) 1972-79. In semi-retirement, Dad taught occasional literature classes at Rhode Island College and Stonehill (MA) College. He specialized and found great rewards in teaching freshman writing courses and 18th century English Literature. One source of great enjoyment and pride for Dad was his involvement in special summer institutes teaching teachers how to teach English. He loved those small focused seminars and perhaps did his best teaching in those settings. To Dad, the world was not only a stage, but a classroom. Dad approached every encounter as an opportunity to teach something. Whether you wanted to learn or not! Conversations were not just dialogs--they were lessons with the lesson plan evolving in Dad's head with each thought. Many of his friends and family will long remember Dad for his love of writing. When I was at Amherst College, I received a hand-written 2-3 page letter almost every day. He kept up his letter writing virtually his entire adult life--most of the time without reciprocal efforts of response. He once told me that he enjoyed knowing that someone else would experience the thrill of finding a letter in their mailbox. He didn't expect others to find the ease and joy of writing letters that he did. His letters reflected daily experiences, memories, thoughts, opinions, and humor. Occasionally they also contained special surprises--a $1, $5, or, if he was feeling especially flush, a $20. Dad loved to spread joy through unexpected behavior and he thrilled in imagining the recipient's surprised reaction. In 1981, my parents moved to Rhode Island--Dad in retirement while Mom continued her career as a research chemist. In retirement, Dad had more time to become involved in my mom's infamous construction projects (a swimming pool, fish pond, addition to the house, etc.). Dad, unlike many men of his generation, was never threatened by Mom's talents in traditionally male-dominated areas. Instead, her accomplishments were a source of great pride for him. And somehow he always made himself out as the buffoon in Mom's elaborate projects. Dad's humor is his legacy. The funeral service and gathering afterwards were full of stories and laughter--stories of jokes that he played on others and those he played on himself, his favorite sight gags, his slapstick pranks, and his magic tricks. Dad always laughed the loudest when the joke was turned around on him. In his later years, Dad soaked up every opportunity to play--he was known as "The Magic Man" to his young friends, becoming the center of attention at every gathering with kids. As he grew older, it became easier (and less expensive) to buy presents for Dad. Pretty much anything labeled "Ages 4-12" was a big hit. His toy collection is the envy of all the neighborhood kids! On the kitchen message board, a 12-year-old friend of Dad's left an insightful note describing Dad: "John is very funny when it comes to common knowledge. He exaggerates a lot and can't seem to help it." During those teenage years when many parents seem to conspire to embarrass their children and can't seem to do anything right, my Dad was a source of pride--he was funny, understanding, and entertaining and my friends thought he was really cool. He taught us much about approaching life with a sense of humor, about what a waste of time anger and worry are, and how a lifetime of learning is time well-spent. He raised his children with unwavering trust, support, and undoubted love--there was never a question that something that we might do would make him not love us. I think that feeling is something that grows people that have self-confidence and self-esteem...and over the years, I've come to realize that many people do not grow up with those feelings and that we were very lucky. Although he was not active in reunion activities over the years, Dad's feelings for Amherst College ran very deep. His experiences at Amherst as a student of inspiring English professors and as a teacher during development of an innovative freshman writing program were carried with him throughout his career and his life. He was very proud and excited that I chose to attend Amherst and felt that no other college could surpass the education and life experiences offered at Amherst. John F. Butler leaves behind wife Florence P. Butler of Smithfield, RI, children David M. Butler of Philadelphia, Nancy P. Butler of Portland, OR, and Robin A. Butler of Fawnskin, CA, and a grandson Leo Richards of Portland, OR.
Robin Butler, Amherst '81
The following is an excerpt from a letter Dad sent me my first week of college, dated September 11, 1977....21 years exactly before he died. A man goes through life pulling a wagon. For many years, there's nothing on the wagon. Then a wife jumps up on the wagon; then some kids; then a car; then his father dies and leaves him a farm, and that goes onto the wagon. By now there are other things on the wagon: a refrigerator, a vacuum cleaner, cribs, blankets, many clocks, power tools, radios, and TVs, furniture, hamsters, cats, dogs, a house, 3 flashlights, a pile of books, plants, fish, quail, pheasants, a garden, another garden, a tractor, a lawnmower, a power saw, a washing machine, a daily newspaper, 26 magazines, three telephones, and on and on. That wagon keeps getting heavier and heavier, but the poor guy pulling it gets stronger and stronger. I have reached a point where I can pull a tremendous load, though I have had to ask Bugso [mom] to jump off the wagon and help me pull. Bugso jumped off many years ago. In fact, I think she sat on that wagon for only a few weeks. In fact, I'm not sure she ever sat on that wagon, until much later when she climbed on briefly to put a baby on it. Then she'd jump right off and start pulling again. Huff, huff, puff, puff. Can you imagine pulling a wagon with a '67 Cutlass on it and 350 fish, 25 snails, 20 frogs, several water-skates, 6 water lilies, a dozen or more ferns, 85 houseplants, 200 trees, a volleyball court, 7 blueberry bushes, a grapevine, and 3 bathrooms?! Man, that is a LOAD.
Do You Have Something to Add? If you'd like to comment on this Obituary by Robin -- and I hope you will -- please visit the JFB Memorial Guestbook. Or you may send email
to Dave Butler at Beginning of Remembering Dad Pages
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