Remembering Fair Haven’s Jim Butler: The Light Weight in Community Family Matters

Call it luck for some that the smallest of moments carry a ton of weight that embodies a world of light — community light.

Let me tell you about it, with a light heart full of gratitude … The last time I saw forever Fair Havenite and fireman Jim Butler was at his near lifelong friend’s funeral. That was last May.

I thought I’d see him at the fair this summer. I always had. Since I was a little girl. It was just a minute’s encounter on the grounds that I could count on when so many childhood anchors had sailed on. Call it a fair moment. The kind so many others counted on, too — and without realizing its significance. That something, someone we knew would just always be there, reminding us of what home really means.

Jim Butler likely had no idea he did all of that in a minute or two a few years ago, and, once again, he was one of those I should have told. I’ll tell him now, on the day that those who remember him and all those moments will gather to say goodbye. After spending a lifetime in Fair Haven and serving its fire company, Jim Butler passed away “peacefully” on July 3. It makes me sad that I won’t see him at the fair.

Makes me sad that I won’t see him standing, uniformed and smiling, remembering another friend. Makes me sad that so many in Fair Haven have lost what they didn’t even know they had in Jim. Makes me happy that the microcosm, the little thing he did once, and probably many times over for me, my family and many others in this Fair Haven family, is something I will never forget. I should have told him.

Others should have told him, too. He may have gotten the message in his own unassuming way when he did that special something for me one year after that brief, yet ever enduring, fair chat —that big little thing that makes a community family. Listen up, Mr. Butler …

He stopped me on the fair grounds that one year. He always had. This year was different, though. Special. He read the sadness in my smile. He wanted to tell me, with no prompting whatsoever, that he had remembered it was the anniversary of my dad’s death. He knew. He remembered. I didn’t think anyone had.

He wanted me to know my dad was remembered. My wander was a bit more aimless that night, focus of my camera unhomed — until his words, his remembrance, reminded me that this would always be home, and I would always be that little Fair Haven girl, Daddy’s girl, even if so many had forgotten Dad.

So many never even knew him. So much time had passed. I had been a Fair Havenite even longer than he by now. That’s what I was thinking that night. I didn’t say it. Jim Butler heard it, though. He saw it. He didn’t avoid it. He could have walked the other way, ignoring the burden of my memories. But, he didn’t. He walked right into them freely with a smile and a solution that no high-paid shrink could concoct. Conversation. Connection. Gesture.

I told Mr. Butler how much it meant to hear that he remembered Dad and the day. I also mused that as I snapped endless shots of the fair, I had so few of my dad from years ago. He smiled and said, “I do! I’ll get them to you. I’ll drop them off at your house tomorrow.” And he did.

As I reached into the mailbox the next day to get the mail, mixed in was a small envelope with my name scrolled on it. Inside were several photos of my dad in his fair day — as promised, from a family friend, someone who always remembered the moments, the people. He knew that all of it mattered. And it did. Always will. A lot.

That, those gestures, are what it’s all about, after all. Eyes smiling the sadness of the day away, seeing it all, I, too, was reminded, with a nod and small, meaningful acknowledgement that this would always be home, people like Jim Butler would always remember. These things that those unconnected saw as silly, even burdensome, would always matter. The so-called taxing weight of the little memories made us lighter.

This, the weightless snapshots back in time, mattered with weight unscaled. They, all pieced together in a gigantic collage, meant something bigger than all of us, the most dense chunk in our heads, the lightest weight of all on our shoulders. Happily carried for generations — community connections. Cemented with a ton light.

Memories like this weren’t just mine. They were felt by others, written, realized, or not. Then there are those who just don’t get it. And I feel sorry for them, for not realizing the worth, the weighty value in a tiny microcosm of community like Jim Butler and his moments to offer.

Recently, someone scoffed at my memories. Told me that my mind must be overburdened with these little things that I saw as big, that they had deemed burdensome to even hear about, much less remember. That didn’t bother me. It made me feel sad for someone who didn’t get it, who wasn’t lucky enough to carry this ever so light burden of remembering those hefty little things that matter. They are really the light.

After all, they, the moments, the memories are who we have become after all those Fair Haven years — who we all will always be. It has meant something. Something perhaps too small for some to see. They should look harder, take on some weight. We, the ones with that joyous burden to carry, are the lucky ones.

All of us being together in this teensy corner, this fair haven, of this mammoth universe have long had a tremendous weight of meaning in our lives called connection. It wasn’t the heavy burden some thought it was — carrying around all those memories that connected our dots in the universe. After all, isn’t that what why we’re all here?

Yes, the last time I saw Jim Butler was at a funeral. His dear friend’s funeral. Our friend. Family. He was smiling and with his Fair Haven family. I snapped a photo, smiled, said “Hello” remembering that time when he remembered. Seeing him there with the others, lined up, in uniform. It was a comfort. I snapped another photo, smiled, opened the door to go back into the church and cried.

I should have told him. I should have reminded him what that one gesture, that one fair night, meant. That picture, the one of him smiling with his friends on a somber day. That picture, the one of him chatting with me on the fair grounds. That picture, the one that I didn’t see, but can imagine, of him dropping those photos into my mailbox. All these pictures are ones we should all try to focus on.

When I heard that Jim Butler passed away, I opened the wooden box of my dad’s memorabilia. I saw the envelope with those photos, my name carefully hand-written on top. A bit crumpled, I opened the envelope, thumbed through the photos, smiled, remembered and said, “Thank you, Mr. Butler, for taking the time to remember. I will always carry these with me. I will never toss that envelope.” After all, they are weightless, they are the light you gave to this little Fair Haven Daddy’s girl once upon a fair time.

Rest In Peace, Mr. Butler. See you at the fair, where you will always be — in all of our Fair Haven hearts.

Jim Butler’s services begin this evening. Here is more about Mr. Butler in his obituary, prepared by family to which I offer my heartfelt condolences …

James F. Butler, Jr. passed away peacefully, surrounded by his family on July 3, 2022. He was a lifelong resident of Fair Haven, recently relocating to Rumson. Jim was a second generation Fair Havenite whose grandparents settled there in the 1890’s.

He was a proud “Casey” graduating from Red Bank Catholic in 1954. He served in the Army Reserves in the late 1950s. In 1961, Jim married Josephine “Jo” Phillips of Red Bank and raised their three children in Fair Haven. Jim was employed by the Red Bank Register where he worked in the press room and after retiring, started his own painting business.

“Jim’s dedication to Fair Haven was demonstrated in many ways throughout out his life. He served on the Recreation Commission, coached baseball for many years, volunteered at the annual 6^th Grade Stokes trip and ushered at The Church of the Nativity for over 40 years. He was most proud to be part of the Fair Haven Fire Company, where he was a member for 56 years and was given the distinguished honor of being named a Life Member. He held many offices including past President, President of the Relief Association, Chairman of then Fireman’s Fair personnel and many other committees. Jim enjoyed being with his family and often would be found attending his grandchildren’s sporting activities, graduations and concerts. He loved reading, traveling, watching the Mets, Jets or a good round of golf.”

Jim was predeceased by: his parents, James and Beatrice Butler; his wife, Jo of 44 years; brother, Jack; and sister, Eileen.

He is survived by: his three children, Jo Heath (husband Bill), Jill Evarts (husband Scott), Jim Butler (wife Dawn); his four grandsons, Kyle (fiancé Katie), Gavin (fiancé Kacie), Colin (wife Danielle), Derek and step grandson Creston Evarts.

Jim was fortunate to have met Beverly Davis and spent the last 15 years with her and considered her children Rob and Christina, and grandson Ryan as family.

Visitation will be Friday, July 8, from 5 to 8 p.m. at Thompson Memorial Home, Red Bank. A mass of christian burial will be celebrated on Saturday, July 9 at noon at the Church of the Nativity, Fair Haven. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made to: Maren’s Fierce Fighters, honoring Jim’s great-niece Maren who passed away from leukemia. Maren’s Fierce Fighters was created to help support families fighting childhood leukemia. www.marensfiercefighters.org.

— Photos of Jim Butler/Elaine Van Develde