Joe "Butch" Zohil- 304- (a.k.a. "the Doctor") passes
by David Decoteau“What’s up, Freak?”
This is the greeting I will no longer enjoy, as I pick up a phone call from Butch Zohil. I have been taking his calls since around 1976 when we were both in middle school. Back then, the calls came via brightly colored phones with cords, typically in my kitchen.
Butch didn’t start out so much as my friend, but more like a friend of a friend from the old neighborhood. Over the years, he saw we were having lots of fun running wild, listening to Blue Oyster Cult and Ted Nuggent too loud, drinking beers (yes, at 14 if you did the math) looking at Playboy mags, and smoking copious amounts of weed. Butch was all about that life.
Butch went to Lansdale Catholic…the rest of us went to North Penn. We didn’t see each other a lot during the week, but we would make up for lost time on the weekends. Riding bikes into Lansdale after raiding our parents liquor cabinets to play some pinball was always a good time. Hooligans.
“Don’t pledge Delta Pi.”
Butch was a couple years older than me. He graduated from highschool and went on to college. He picked Bloomsburg University (then, Bloomsburg State College) and off to school he went. That didn’t last too long. He was back within a year. Failed out. I think he took some classes at home and tried again. Same result: within a short period of time, he was back at home. This happened right around the time I was picking a school. I asked Butch, “what’s up with Bloomsburg? Is it a good school?” He told me, “Bloomsburg is fine, but if you go there, just promise you won’t pledge Delta Pi. If you do, it will be your undoing.”
Being the oppositional defiant prick that I am; you know what I heard. Challenge accepted…
The Delta Pi years - the Legend of “The Psychedelic Doctor”
When I got to Bloomsburg, and started pledging Delta Pi, I would delicately ask around about Butch. I knew he was a polarizing figure, and I knew he had his detractors. I don’t think he ever paid rent or dues. Hell, Butch spent his entire life making a trail of burnt relationships and a fair level of devastation. He was what he was, and if you knew what he was…you could at least appreciate that he never seemed to be pretending to be something other.
Here are a few things about Butch from our Delta Pi years that you might not know”
Naked man - Having never witnessed this myself, and only hearing about it, I have to relay this part second hand. It is said that Butch would receive acid in the mail and then spend days wandering around the house stark naked. As one brother recounted, “it wasn’t so much that he was naked, as much as it was about his having the largest penis you had ever seen. I mean, you didn’t want to look, but holy fuck! And he’d be high as a kite and sitting around your room for hours on end…how do you not catch a glimpse of that thing from time to time? So then you are asking yourself, how do I get this guy out of here before the girls show up, and I have a lot of explaining to do? All this while you feel bad about yourself and your inadequacies.”
The Tree - If you ever ran to the tree and were instructed to “read the message and do what it says”, you will know that it says, “Dr. Zohil says, get down and give me 20 push-ups”. I carved that instruction into the tree as I sat there one day deer hunting.
Tribute Sigs - Some of you who pledge after me will have “Doctor” tribute sigs on your bricks. I gave out one per semester to the person I thought best exemplified the gonzo behaviors of my largely misunderstood friend and brother at home.
After School Stories…
Butch had the best stories. Here are just a few in very abridged form:
The Acid Chicken - a long story that involved lots of acid, walking up a long farm lane, and then a chicken meeting Butch and his companions at the top of a hill, and laying an egg that rolled down the dirt road towards the hapless psychedelic travelers, leaving rainbow colored trails behind it, and then cracking at their feet releasing it’s cosmic enlightenment juice upon them.
Car roof flood - I forget the details, but the broad strokes involved Butch needing more beers, him venturing out in a hurricane, trying to fjord a stream, getting stuck in the middle of the rising waters, having to get out of the window of the vehicle and onto the roof while yelling for help, getting help, abandoning the car….and continuing the search for beer…successfully.
Living in the park - On and off again, Butch’s demons could get the better of him. He struggled with addiction for years. Sometimes, those struggles would end in him abandoning everything and being homeless and living in the park with other “like minded” folks. He would use these experiences as cautionary tales to other with addictive personalities when he would be their sponsor in A.A. He would say, “you are never recovered. you are always an addict. That only by being constantly vigilant and not starting down the road, could you stay off the road to bad things.” Mostly he followed his own advice…but not always.
Bottles in the basement walls - During the late 80’s and early 90’s Butch had a period of time when he was cooking and gainfully employed for a good stretch of time. During that time, he had money in his pocket and some free time (a dangerous thing for Butch). He developed a routine of leaving work, stopping at a place in Hatfield, PA named Casey’s on Cowpath Road for two double shots and two beers. This took about 10 minutes. From there, he would go to the state store and get a pint of tequila (or something else if they were out of tequila). He would finish that during his 15 minute ride home. The bottle would go under his coat or in his pants. He would then go in the basement, and drop the bottle down the cinder block wall cells (so Ellen wouldn’t know). He had an epiphany about his drinking one day when he came home and couldn’t find another set of cinderblock cells to fill. They were all filled already.
Wedding - Both his and mine - At his, both he and his wife Ellen were pretty high. It was an afternoon service and they both giggled their way through their vows. Time needed to be taken on the alter for them to regain composure during some of the more contagious outbreaks of laughter. At the reception, Ellen was nervous, and I think it was her mom who gave her some valium. As a result, she was unconscious before the throwing of the garter and was wheeled out on a chair that had wheels. Butch took the opportunity to put his tie around his head and go table to table informing all in attendance that he could, “see their love-light shining” as he danced and twirled his way around the room.
At my wedding, Ellen made it deeper into the post game, but ultimately had to be removed via the wheeled chair method again while throwing the bird pretty liberally, as Butch opened doors with is tie-headband again in full effect.
Never Enough
When you did anything with Butch…there was never enough of that thing. He had the most addictive personality of anyone I have ever met.
If it was drinking…there weren’t ever enough drinks.
If it was drugs…there were never enough drugs.
If it was fishing…he would buy every fishing pole, and he made his basement into a place better equip than most tackle stores.
If it was cooking…he would cook everything.
If it’s politics…there aren’t enough memes.
Butch was a great cook, and got a reputation in the kitchen as being a fiery presence during his addiction years. I picture him being Gordon Ramsey, way before Gordon Ramsey. When he got sober, he got fired, his boss saying, “You have lost your edge.” Imagine that. This leads to the next part of our relationship…
In my employ
So, knowing all this about Butch, when he came to me in the mid-90’s sober, unemployed and looking for a new career, I offered him a job as my Turf Manager. He didn’t know a thing about the job, but I knew he was smart, and we got him in some classes. I knew that if he liked it even a little…the All-IN Butch would take over and he would know more about turf in a month or two than the knowledge I accumulated in years…and that’s exactly what happened. Butch learned EVERYTHING about turf grasses and became my go to “Certified Turf Professional”.
Those were relatively good years. We didn’t see eye to eye on everything, but we never had any real big problems either. Eventually, I sold that part of the business to a competitor, and Butch was part of the sale. I think that was good for both of us, and Butch continued as a top salesman in the region and in the industry.
Impulsive young man grows up…and goes fishing a lot.
Most of the stories above are 30+ years old. Younger people are prone to impulsive behaviors. Let the Delta Pi brother reading this who is not guilty of this universal truth throw the first stone. As he got older, the peaceful hippy, dead-head was still there, but he developed some aspects of his personality that you might not expect. He was complicated and many of his behaviors seemed to be contradictory. He was an enigma to the end.
If you are friends with Butch on social media, you already know that he was a pretty vocal “Trump guy” and pretty conservative in his opinions. That was always funny to me, because of how far that is from the acid-loving, naked, Grateful Dead-head, deadbeat that everyone knew and loved (or not). To the end, he gave zero fucks what anyone else thought…Butch was always doing Butch. He was one of a kind. The most authentic person you will ever meet (and tangentally, sometimes the most infuriating).
Throughout his life: Butch loved fishing. He always had a passing interest, but when he started hanging around another mutual friend (David Kiehm) and he learned the “fisherman math” that says, 10% of the fisherman catch 90% of the fish, and 90% of the fishermen catch 10% of the fish…he was (pardon the pun)…hooked. From that point forward, fishing was something Butch loved to do, and am glad to report to no one’s surprise, that he did in fact become a 10%er.
My last talks with Butch
We talked pretty consistently right to the end. We talked about each other’s families, and our struggles. We talked “shop” about industry topics. To the end, Butch loved botany and growing “things” (see the photo of our last text exchange). We talked about fishing and memories of the old days. We talked about his daily struggles and where they led.
One thing that was very consistent in Butch’s life was his faith.
His involvement with religion and “higher powers” was directly connected to everything. It grew and waned periodically with events in his life. Alchoholics Anonymous has a religious component that was the backbone of Butch’s many recoveries. He would always say to me,
“I know god has a plan for me. At the end of the day, I might not understand it, but I know he is great and I guess it’s not for me to understand right now. But when we get to talk… I am going to have some questions.”
When I look at Butch’s passing today from this perspective, the day is kind of triumphant. Today is the day Butch finally gets to ask those questions that he had for his whole life. I hope it’s a rewarding conversation for him, but I think that I already know some of the answers. The plan was for Butch to be an example of a person who is authentic to a fault. A guy who shows the benefits and pitfalls of being “unfiltered”. A living embodiment of dancing the beat of your own drummer and letting your love light shine brightly for all to see…and learn from.
Butch “went hard” for a lifetime. In the end, he was disabled from what he called “wet brain”. in his final years, he worked when he could. That work experience included various employers including stints at a WaWa or two.
He love his family more than anything else…although I know he also put them through hell sometimes. Butch’s wife Ellen is a bit of a saint. A lovely woman whom I have known and adored for decades. I have always been inspired by her grace and dedication to her marriage. Butch has one son named Paul (we call him Pauly) who meant the world to him.
Footnote:
As I read this tribute to my friend, I can’t help but think that some might not appreciate that I recounted some of these stories. Some aren’t flattering. Some are downright crazy bordering on embarrassing. But, I am going to leave them in because this isn’t an obituary… it’s a Delta Pi tribute. and I am also going to leave them raw and unedited…because that’s how Butch was. You can love or hate the tribute as written…I will give zero fucks… like my friend and brother, Butch Zohil. God rest his soul. Until we meet again, Freak…