Mr. Butch
Boston has changed a lot since the late 90’s. I went to Boston University between 1995 and 1999. On the afternoon I had free, I went for a long run from the center of town out to Alston. I started at Park Street Church, the church I used to go to on Sunday nights. I ran through Boston Common, up Newbury Street, up Beacon Street, through Kenmore Square, past Fenway Park, up Commonwealth Avenue, through the length of the BU campus, and to the house in Alston that I rented with a group of 6 guys during our last year in school. Kenmore Square is the most changed area I ran through. Kenmore Square is the giant intersection of Beacon St. and Commonwealth Ave (plus several other streets). In 1995, the place was a dump. Today it sparkles with new hotels and clean sidewalks. Kenmore has always been the primary T stop for Fenway Park, and the unofficial beginning of the BU campus. Cleaning up the area was inevitable. But I miss the way it was. There was a 24-hour IHOP — a great place to go and talk with a girl friend or a buddy for hours over a bottomless cup of coffee. There was a gnarly late-night pizza place called Nemo’s — we’d hit it after a night of partying or working. There was a punk bar/venue called the Ratskellar — the interior walls were covered with giant rubber rats with glowing red eyes, and a metal door that was alway guarded by the biggest skinhead doorman you’ve ever seen. And a local homeless guy named Mr. Butch called this corner of Kenmore his home — Mr. Butch was a 7 foot tall Rastafarian with huge dreadlocks, deep black blood-shot eyes, and an electric guitar. He was the friendliest homeless guy you’d ever meet. He’d say the craziest things, usually speaking in rhymes. I’m not joking. He would have a nonsensical, obscene conversation with you in expletive-filled, rhyming verse. He had this husky, forced voice, and he would sometimes drift in and out of singing whatever words he was saying. If you got close to him, he’d try to shake your hand, so you had to be quick if you wanted to avoid touching his huge, calloused, dirty hands. I knew I wanted to write about Mr. Butch today, so I decided to Google him, and sure enough, there he is on Wikipedia and YouTube. I am sad to read that he died this past Summer, 2 months before I was there and might have had a chance to see him again. Check him out if you like (click on the links at the bottom to see videos or real news articles). Mr. Butch, this one’s for you.