Caring for Mr. Butch: 'We consider him ours'

If you spent any time in Kenmore Square from the 1970s through the mid-1990s, you remember Mr. Butch. Back then, the skinny homeless guy with dreadlocks was a constant presence, an articulate, urban pirate with a knack for befriending college students and musicians who dubbed him ''Mayor of Kenmore Square."

Usually, you'd find Mr. Butch on the sidewalk in front of The Rathskellar (The Rat), with his electric guitar and a tiny amp cranked up, singing little rhyming ditties over screechy distorted guitar riffs for coins. He'd often stop to greet familiar faces or perhaps accept a slice from the Pizza Pad.

After the Rat closed in 1997 and the luxury hotels and upscale retailers took over the square, friends say Mr. Butch packed up his guitar and decamped for Allston Village, where he's been entertaining -- and sometimes annoying -- merchants, neighbors, and police.

Lately, times have been tough for Mr. Butch.

For the last month, he has been in custody at the Mass. Substance Abuse and Alcohol Program in Bridgewater after an arrest March 24. Police charged Mr. Butch (a.k.a. Harold Madison Jr., 54), with public drunkenness after they picked him up outside Marty's Liquor store at the corner of Commonwealth and Harvard avenues, according to a police report.

Police say he was drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon about 11 a.m. while attempting to direct traffic as he helped an elderly woman cross the street. He was also seen dancing in the road and playing air guitar, said Officer Michael McCarthy, a Boston Police Department spokesman. Mr. Butch bragged to police that he hadn't bathed in a year, said McCarthy.

He is set to be released on Wednesday, according to David Procopio, press secretary for the Suffolk district attorney's office.

News of Mr. Butch's arrest saddened neighborhood friends such as Sue Jeiven, 34, co-owner of Regeneration Records, a punk record store and tattoo parlor on Harvard Avenue.

Jeiven and other friends of Mr. Butch say they want to find him a home, a small apartment, or a room in a house, anywhere but the city parks, parking lots, and ATM vestibules. ''He's still going to drink, but having a safe place to live would keep him from getting arrested. I don't think he can take another New England winter," said Jeiven.

Toni Fanning, who runs Ritual Arts, a shop that sells supplies for mediums and mystical gifts, said Mr. Butch is generally well-liked in Allston.

''We consider him ours," said Fanning. ''Nobody wants anything to happen to him. I think people can see he's just a good person who wants to be drunk."

Jeiven said it's been difficult to get Mr. Butch into either state- or privately funded housing because he refuses to go to detox.

''I'm just gonna live off the streets. Whatever comes to me comes from the street. I've been doing this so long. I can't break the habit now," Mr. Butch declared in a 2002 short film by director S.G. Collins, titled ''Searching for Mr. Butch."

''He's got that celebrity status. He does have a cult following," said Brooke Corey, 38, who with Jeiven has helped care for Mr. Butch over the last several years.

Indeed, beyond the 2002 film, there's a myspace.com page invoking Mr. Butch's name in semi-ironic tribute; a page dedicated to him on wikipedia.com; and a website called the Mr.ButchShow.com created by Bill T. Miller, a local musician.

His face even peeks out from a mural on the side of a building on Harvard Avenue.

''A lot of people think they're friends with Mr. Butch, but they don't want to go out of their way to help him," said Corey. ''He's a hard case. He's drunk all the time, and it's an easy thing to not want to help him."

''Everyone knows who he is," agrees Jeiven, ''but no one wants him in their house."

About five years ago, Corey ran Flyrabbit, an offbeat gift store on Harvard Avenue where Mr. Butch often used to stop by to say hello, warm up, and convert his collected change into dollar bills.

One day, Mr. Butch told Corey he was trying to apply for Social Security and asked if he could list the store's address as his own. Corey agreed, but it wasn't long, she said, before she noticed denial letters for him.

Because Mr. Butch won't use a telephone, Corey said she called his caseworker to find out about the rejections and was told that Mr. Butch was a drunk who didn't deserve Social Security.

Outraged, Corey filed an appeal on his behalf, later agreeing to serve as Mr. Butch's payee and helping him open a bank account.

Since then, she and Jeiven have been able to get him MassHealth insurance coverage, take him for medical treatment for malnutrition and lice infestation, and make sure he takes his medications. They also, with Fanning, help manage his money.

''If we give it all at once, he goes to Foxwoods and blows it," said Jeiven of his monthly checks. Or, Mr. Butch will try and give his money away or buy people sandwiches, she added.

''The thing is, Mr. Butch is a pretty gentle guy. He doesn't do hard drugs" and isn't violent, said Jeiven. Mr. Butch is a college-educated vegetarian who grew up in the Worcester area, enjoys green tea, and sometimes enjoys videos at the local library, she said.

''I can relate to him," said the heavily tattooed, multipierced Jeiven. ''I have more in common with him than I ever thought I would. He loves music and he loves the punks."

''I respect the fact that he's managed to remain an open, friendly guy that doesn't steal. He's kept his morals and values after 30 years being homeless," she said.

''I feel like we have to hold onto him, as cheesy as that sounds," Jeiven said. ''He tells the best stories about old Boston and bands. We don't really have any of that left."

Christina Pazzanesecan be reached at cpazzanese@globe.com.