WetLeather Motorcycle Rider Information

My phone rang this evening, my brother David on the other end of the line. This is unusual in a couple of ways. First, I rarely get phone calls from anyone. Second, I’ve only talked to my brother twice in the last ten years. In his typically strange way of cutting to the chase, David told me he was calling to tell me what a great visit he’d had when he and his wife Kay came through Eugene two months ago. “Ok” I say, while wondering what the real purpose for the call was, “Thanks, we had a nice visit too.” Then he dropped the bombshell, “Uncle ‘Benny’ died today.”

Crap.

My Mothers brother, one of the best men I’ve ever known, Glen Eugene Battson, died today, following a stroke early last week, and subsequent pneumonia over the last three days. I am grateful that he didn't linger.

This is a monumental event to me. My Uncle Benny was one of the most influential men in my life. He taught me about motorcycles. He taught me about the importance of making good decisions. He taught me about what it means to be a person who cares. He taught me…everything.

The first words that come to mind as I contemplate what kind of man he was are – ‘a man of true integrity’.

Benny demonstrated with actions, not words, the importance of hard work, hard play and reasoned discipline.

He could tell a joke like a pro, even the rare off-color joke he’d sneak past my ever vigilant Aunt Happy.  He told jokes in character. If the joke was about a Norwegian and a Swede, you'd get one of each, with the proper accent. His repertoire of jokes was impossibly large, I will always stand in awe of the depth and subject matter his jokes could cover.

Benny wasn’t afraid of giving a hug when one was needed. If you messed up and weren’t forthright about it, he would deliver an appropriate punishment with skill, and strangely enough, compassion. He didn’t bluster or carry on. What Benny said was concise; his words rang with clarity and truth. If he told you that climbing the cherry tree would result in punishment it would, and did.

Benny wore many hats during his life. As a devoted husband he was married to the same woman for all of his adult life. As a devoted father he nurtured to a resemblance of adulthood, a brood of 4 of his own children. As a talented and giving Uncle, he nurtured his extended family of 13 nieces and nephews.

You’ll have to forgive me if I have that number wrong. We had a big family and when we would get together it was always a celebration. Unfortunately ‘counting heads’ wasn’t one of the family games we played.

I can recall one afternoon when I was at his home near Green Lake in Seattle. (I think I may have walked there on my way home from school, which would make me about 8 or so when this happened.) Something amazing occurred. My Uncle pulled up in a City of Seattle car (a dark green Dodge Dart with the official Seal of the City emblazoned on the door), and got out wearing…a SUIT! I’d never seen him dressed in anything but jeans and a work shirt before. Seeing him all dressed up, stopped me in my tracks. It was like a stranger had appeared in front of me. Who are you and what did you do with my Uncle?

Benny worked for the City of Seattle in what is now known as the Department of Construction and Land Use. In those days we simply called it the Building Department. He was a building inspector, later he was a supervisor and later still a manager. At the time, I had no idea what that meant. I’m not sure if his work was focused specifically on residential or commercial construction. From the stories he told I’m inclined to believe it was commercial and industrial for the most part. My memory is failing me on this detail. What I’m certain of is the care and integrity he devoted to his family, he devoted to his work. No shortcuts, no cheating allowed, no matter who you are or how connected you may be. In his book, there was only one way to do a job and that way is the right way.

Benny was a firm believer in finding creative solutions to difficult problems. But, there were never any shortcuts taken that could have jeopardized the end result. It was always a matter of the job having been done right the first time. A solid eight foot high concrete block fence solved the problem of the intrusive Skurski family next door. A huge cement platform on the beach ended the discussion of beach erosion caused by the footings of the stairs from his summer house to the beach below. (I think that one may have resulted in a fine from the government.)

During World War II, Benny served in the US Navy as a Sea-Bee. I don’t know the details of where he served. What I do know, is that his time in service was spent mainly in the South Pacific. I can assume that meant he was one of the men who were first on the beach like most Sea-bees were. Watching recently released movies about the battles at Iwo Jima and reading books that describe the other battles in the Pacific has brought home to me the ferocity of that conflict and made me admire even more the emotional strength and integrity of my Uncle. Not only did he survive, he came home and flourished as a productive and healthy member of the community.

What I cherish most about my Uncle Benny is how he was always available to lend an ear, or offer a hand up. He taught me the importance and benefit of charity. Benny was never a man who gave hand outs, but through gifts of motivation and demonstrations of caring about people through deeds, he would and could make a huge difference in thousands of lives.

Keystone Congregational Church in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle, the church he attended through his adult life, was largely built by his hands. He is the one who saw a need to expand the small chapel. Because of his fund raising efforts and through hard work with his own hands and the hands of his sons, the building size was substantially increased. I know how large the space he created is; I’ve been to family reunions in the “Glen E Battson Meeting Room”. I have a big family, we all fit with room to spare.

One example of his charitable spirit is his use of rummage sales to raise building funds for what he considered ‘his’ church. Today people would have a garage sale and personally profit. My Uncle would never consider such a thing. If an item was no longer of use to him or his family, he’d donate it to the church, so they could benefit from it. To me, that is true charity. I carry that lesson with me to this day.

Another example of his charity is more personal. I briefly mentioned it earlier. As a child I was for all intents abandoned by my father. I wasn’t alone though. My father also abandoned my two brothers and my sister. My Uncle Benny stepped up and filled every aspect of the role of father for all of us. He was a mentor, a stabilizing influence in our lives when all around us was unraveling. He cared deeply about us and he let us be ourselves, not judging us for who we would go on to be as adults.

My childhood memories are full of his presence. I spent many Saturdays with my Uncle Benny. Usually there was a work task involved, and then we’d play or just hang out while he tinkered. There was always something that needed to be done or fixed or built. Benny was a firm believer in never sitting around and doing nothing. His influence on me continues to this day. All you have to do is look in my garage or my studio to see it.

We had holiday celebrations that went on for hours in his living room. We had birthday parties in the kitchen and on the side lawn. We would spend hours working side-by-side in the yard or walking on the beach or in the woods at his property on the Olympic Peninsula.

Without notice, Benny would stop on his way to his summer house and snatch all of us kids up. We’d pile into the huge old Plymouth station wagon among the canoe paddles or the back-packs or whatever gear was required to create an adventure, and off we’d go. Anacortes, Port Angeles, Port Townsend, Fort Casey, Mount Vernon; the list of places visited in the company of my Uncle is long and varied. I suspect a large part of my own wanderlust was instilled by his love of the journey. Detours weren't obstacles. They were opportunities!

Visiting my Uncle and Aunt for any reason, was one of the great pleasures of my childhood. Sitting among all of the adults, crowded into the living room I’d listen to the stories he would spin. Yarns that involved friends, family, or strangers were always well told. He was gifted in that regard. I remember his home as being full of laughter, music and books. Always, lots of books were involved. And magazines, Life, Time, Look, Newsweek, US World Reports and more. I was always encouraged to read whatever fell to hand.

As I write this I keep remembering silly things. I had a horrible case of stage fright when the family was making a tape recording to send to my cousin who was fighting in Vietnam. When the microphone was held in from of me I couldn’t say a word. Not one word. I recall today how I sat fascinated by the projectors motion as family films were shown on the white wall over the sofa. I couldn’t tell you who or what was in those films, but I can clearly recall the sound made by the sprockets as they pushed the film through the projector. I can even recall the acrid smell the lamp would emit when the film jammed. I can still feel the peace and ease of sitting between my strong Uncle and my bony Aunt in the front seat of the Plymouth as we drove for hours and hours; before we got to where ever my Uncle had planned as our destination. I have clear memories of being comforted by his calm presence and gentle strength when I needed that in my life, more than anything.

It’s trite to say this, perhaps I could find better words. But, they don’t make men like my Uncle Benny any more.

I will always love him and cherish his memory.

Rest in Peace, Glen E Battson.