My Dad's Eulogy - by his younger brother
The Magic Man
He was the Magic Man. From my first memories of him, he was something special. My brother, Carroll Edmondson, was 18 years old when I was born. I’m sure he was embarrassed when I first came along. Somehow you just don’t understand how your parents could do this to you. But they dropped a new sibling on him, and thus began a friendship that will never end.
He was the Magic Man. In my early years, I didn’t quite understand who was ‘Butch’, who was ‘Junior’, and who was ‘Carroll.’ Probably about third grade, I came to find out they were all the same person. And my oldest brother became even more important to me. He was a coal miner whom everyone seemed to know. He would light up a room as soon as he entered. Whether it was performing a sleight of hand trick or telling one of his many jokes, he would brighten anyone’s day.
He was the Magic Man. When my church needed someone to take over the boys’ youth group, my brother stepped forward, and trust me, our youth group was never the same. He basically took the Bible and explained it in terms 12 year olds could understand. I’m still amazed that he explained to us that if Jesus had ridden a motorcycle, he would have saved the souls of many more people because he could have covered a lot more ground. I still have friends who remember the youth fishing trip to Uniontown. We had all piled in an old station wagon for the journey home. My brother backed the car up in Uniontown . . . and never stopped backing up until we made it to Sturgis. It was just something he did that we would remember for a lifetime . . . and we have.
He was the Magic Man . . . raising three children to respect God and be compassionate. Always being there for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They all knew him as ‘Pappaw.’ They all seem to have inherited that twinkle he had in his eyes. And I’m sure he amazed them along the way with his card tricks or by pulling a coin from their ears. As for his siblings, we could not have asked for a better brother. He was always there for us no matter what . . . and today, we are here for him.
He was the Magic Man. His mischievous smile broke more than a few ladies’ hearts. His whimsical demeanor made him a lot of friends. His choice of magic tricks to enthrall was never greater than on a trip he and I took to Louisville one day for a gun show. On the way home, we came upon an accident. There was a woman and her three small children. The woman had a broken leg and several cuts. Luckily for the children, seat belts had done their jobs. But when you’re seven or five or four, you don’t understand why your mom is hurt. As I tended to the woman’s injuries, the crying of the children stopped. As I turned, Butch was already into his magic show, and the children’s minds were now focused on a piece of tissue that kept disappearing.
He was the Magic Man. Even as time and the severity of his illness began to rob him of his faculties, he fought hard to maintain his candor. The tricks became a little more obvious and the jokes were retold. But the sparkle in his eye was still there. On February 2, 2009, with his family at his side, Butch made his own decision to go home and be with Jesus Christ. I’m sure my brother Roger was waiting on him, so they could surprise my parents together. And probably about this time, he’s sitting with Jesus Christ telling him to ‘. . . pick a card . . . any card.’ After all, he was the Magic Man.
