ED

James Edwards (“Ed”) Hutcherson.

There it was in my hands. An obituary of James Edwards Hutcherson printed on a funeral program. The picture on it was a formal looking man, and it said a number of nice things about Ed.

Ed. That is what they called him. Everybody called him “Ed.” Yet some how, the write-up left something to be desired. It was unsatisfying. You know what I mean. Like drinking skim milk instead of the real thing or eating sugar free ice cream. Some how the obituary left the sugar out.

Yes, it talked about his wonderful wife, Burnell, who had been with him as long as I had been alive, and even longer. It mentioned his children and grandchildren, his great love for his local Baptist church and Hawaii Baptist Academy where he had served on the Mainland Advisory Council for a number of years. It talked about his service to his community, his contributions to Baylor University and his real estate and insurance practice.

But all that being said, it missed something. The program had omitted to mention the wonderful twinkle in his eye, and the mischievous grin. Inside an 85 year old man, burdened with the pain of arthritis. was a very funny little boy, an impish lad, who had lived there as long as I could remember.

No mention was made of the young man from the oil field who would drop by and bang his hard hat on the concrete to make our dog Mike come yapping.

And what about all the camping involving our family and others out at Tyler State Park where Ed and my father put up tarps strung to trees and all the families slept on cots, trying to keep the mosquitoes away and woke up with the dew of morning on them.

There was the Ed who took all the local kids sledding when it snowed in that now long-gone town of Pickton, Texas. Ed got his car and tied sleds and plywood behind the auto and pulled the kids through the snow. I remember. And I never had so much fun as that. Now over a half century later, I still remember that day and that winter. It was my favorite.

Our families were close. Ed and Burnell’s kids were close to us. Sylvia, Sharon and Jimmy. I remember them well. They were family. They knew me by my nickname. I had one back then. It was “Butch” and the Hutcherson family always called me by my nickname. I can still hear Ed and Burnell call me “Butchie.”

That knowledge and family relationship took some explaining. Many years after I had left Winnsboro, I had also left the Butchie name behind as though it was one of the small toys of my youth; like the die cast cars left under concrete pillars of our woodframe Pickton home. I was mature now. Married, with a daughter, and in law school. My wife is out in the front yard when Sylvia happens to come by (who my wife had never met). Sylvia throws her arms around me and squeals out “Butchie”-a name for me that my wife has never heard. Sylvia had known me since we were both children and our families were connected, closer than relatives. Now having a strange woman call you by a name your wife has never heard takes some explaining .

Scripture says somewhere, that a friend close at hand is better than a relative far away. And I guess that it is the way it was. The Hutchersons and Jetts were friends, real friends. Not acquaintances, not neighbors, not school chums, but friends—the kind that people get to be when they go through war together and have depended on each other and then even live close together.

But Ed was not short on friends and neither was Burnell. These are friendly outgoing people. Generous to a fault, willing to give you the shirts off their backs. At least that is how I remember it.

Dad had come out of the army and Ed out of the navy. I know that because I remember seeing pictures of Ed in his Navy garb. Dad worked as an accountant for an oil company and Ed worked in the oil field. They both were Baptists, both were deacons and they hit it off.

But getting back to that funeral program. It did not get the glint in Ed’s eye. Now I have said it. That is what really troubled me about it. Ed later on would leave the oil patch, he went into insurance and real estate and made some money—but somehow, he never lost touch with the common man. And he never lost the twinkle in his eye.

Ed was outrageous. I remember him getting a CB before anybody but the truckers had them. We were on a trip to Colorado and Ed would make signals to the truckers and they would blow there big truck horns in response. He decided on that trip to make snow cones out of ice on the mountain top and got cups and sugary snow cone syrup and make snow cones for both families. We all loved it-- parents and children alike. We laughed and took pictures and talked about it for years. It was a great day and a great vacation. Somehow in Ed was an elfish glee. And Ed winked at us, and warned us not to eat the yellow snow.

When I went to Baylor football games, Ed and Burnell were always there. I remember going and standing by their mobile home parked in the street so they and all of their good friends (and they had only good friends) could have bathroom privileges and snacks. That is the kind of people they are.

Our family later on moved away from Pickton and Winnsboro to Houston and then to New Orleans. Even there we not too distant from Ed’s jokes and humor. I remember it well. Our home was more elegant then. In the living room our furniture was beautiful and the carpet was white. We had moved up somewhat economically since the Pickton days. The Hutcherson family had come to visit. All of a sudden, I hear Ed holler: Teeny (my mothers nickname that no one calls her except Dad and the very close relatives), Teeny, you better come look at this.” My mother is horrified to see that a dog has done its business behind the couch on her nice white carpet. However, Ed tells her that he will take care of it. He then picks up this dog poop cast in stone and begins to laugh as does every one else including my mother. Ed has done it again. The stone poop goes down in as one of many Hutcherson pranks somewhere North of the whoopee cushions that he would sometimes bring.

And although I searched the program carefully that they used at the funeral I could find no mention of the yellow snow or the stone poop or other pranks and jokes that brought joy to our heart through this most humorous and delightful father, husband and Baptist deacon. The twinkle had been edited out.

One of his best jokes involved a cow that had wandered into the road and had been killed by our car in North Louisiana. One day my father got a call from a farmer who tried to get my father to pay for the cow. The call went on for a long while. You can probably guess the upshot. Yes, Ed had gotten a friend and they had called my father and tried to talk him into compensating them for killing the cow.

Now Ed and Burnell were on the Mainland Advisory Council “MAC”of Hawaii Baptist Academy and were associated with them for well over 20 years. In fact, little Jimmy is not so little anymore and is a well known pastor and teacher there. Mom and Dad also loved the MAC and together with Ed and Burnell often went to MAC meetings in Honolulu and then spent an extra week in the Islands after the meeting. You might say that they had “Big MAC attacks.” They all love the MAC and contributed regularly. We would also visit from time to time.

Ed was the organizer of the Hawaii visits. He would get one vehicle like a van and pack as many people in it as he could and drive. The more the merrier. He made the itinerary and he handled the transportation. He got more people in that van than you see clowns getting out of the clown car at the circus. It was great fun for all involved.

I guess Ed’s story is a little like what John wrote about Jesus—at least I think it was the Apostle John that said that if all the stories about Jesus were written down there would be world enough for the books. So it was with Ed. I suppose that if all the stories about Ed were written down, there would be no end of books about him.

It also says in the Bible that God loves one with a merry heart. And Ed had a merry heart. And God loved him very much.

In conclusion, I think there is much to be said for a man who lived with a twinkle in his eye. And Ed had that twinkle.

Butchie