Mr. Butch, 1951-2007

Harold Madison, Jr., the mostly benign homeless man known as "Mr. Butch," has died in a scooter accident. He was 56.

Friends and family say he was killed when the scooter he was driving hit a pole, which is strange because it seemed to me his preferred method of travel was a drunken stumble.

You could usually find Mr. Butch in Allston, at least when he wasn't in state custody. Mr. Butch fans of another generation remember him as the King of Kenmore Square, where he smoke, drank and played air guitar before cops hassled him so much he moved up Comm. Ave.

His iconic leather jacket is hanging in an Allston storefront. There's a memorial Monday night.

SEEN: Mr. Butch

I wrote a few weeks back that Allston denizen Mr. Butch was incarcerated, so I was pleased to spot him earlier today in his old stomping ground, in his full dreadlocked-glory. He was jaywalking with a friend when I spied him. It was around 11 a.m., so I can only assume he was staking out his spot outside Blanchard's Liquors in time for its opening.

He remains very tall. He has a new jacket that says "Mr. Butch" three times across the back in red, white and blue. Very stylish, and patriotic.

Mr. Butch Lives

Whither Mr. Butch, dreadlocked fixture of Allston, air guitar hero, drunken stalwart?

The answer comes in Sunday's Globe: State custody.

I'll save you the slog through the story, though, by hitting the highlights. Arrested for public drunkenness last month, he's been in detox treatment and is set to be released Wednesday.

There were a few enjoyable nuggets in the newspaper, including Mr. Butch's real name (Harold Madison Jr.), his age (54), and that he likes to go to Foxwoods. I can only wonder -- how does he get there?

Mr. Butch remembered

It was just about a year ago that a homeless fixture of Allston-Brighton, Harold "Mr. Butch" Madison Jr., died in a scooter accident in the neighborhood he called home.

I snapped this picture of a guy remembering him last week on Brighton Avenue, at a memorial near the spot where he died.


The composition is okay, but I wish I hadn't cut off his feet. Oh well. It was on a camera phone, from a car at a stoplight.

What's up with those creepy dolls, I wonder.