"Φύσις κρύπτεσθαι φιλεῖ "– "Nature loves to Hide" - Heraclitus

Arthur T. Noonan, husband to Kathryn, son to Arthur and Dot (of Savin Hill and later Quincy), brother to Gini Kurztman, father to Timothy and terence, grandfather to Patricia, Benjamin, Bryce, Emily, and Charlotte, and friend to many, has died on Sept.30,2026. And the world gets dimmer and quieter still. "I grow old..i grow old...i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."

While this, perforce, is Butch's obituary, there would be no Butch, no Arthur, as any of us have known him, without Kathryn, who predeceased him. They were a binary star system- two individual stars, inexorably, gravitationally, drawn to each other- keeping the other in orbit- amplifying, balancing and yet propelling the other . They shone brightest when they were together. They wanted for nothing when they were together. And fortunately for them, and those of us lucky enough to come within their orbit, they were almost always together. An off-beat play. A soccer match. The Serpentine. The Bicycle Thief or Blue Velvet. A faux argument about The Bald Soprano. Perhaps a real argument over The Three Stooges. And then toast. Always toast. And tea. "Ruin has taught me thus to ruminate, that time will come and take my love away."

Butch, which is how i knew him, was born and raised in Savin Hill. That was over 80 years ago, and yet he still saw, visited with, called, and was close to his innumerable friends from there. There are too many to list, and sadly some have gone, but suffice to say, the Old Boys of Savin Hill and St. Williams still get out and about (even if some of them, and they know well who they are, shouldn't be driving!). These were the friends who in 1960, unbeknownst to Butch, crowded the tarmac at Logan Airport to give him a surprise send off to Milwaukee where he was going to attend college. These were the same friends, when he returned, he saw in Dorchester and the South End, and even some across the Neponset. These are the friends he got together with every month for years. The compactness of the neighborhood and its houses and families, carried over and was mimicked in their friendships. "And they will say, 'how his arms and legs are thin.'"

Butch loved his sister, Gini. He thought the world of her. He appreciated her fortitude, her strength, and her clarity. He appreciated when she followed him out to Milwaukee for a short time during one of the coldest and longest winters on record. But for years he had a regret concerning her. The regret, being that singing was one of his most favorite activities, was that he and Gini didn't sing together much. But in the past couple of years, that regret dissipated and then wholly vanished as Gini visited Butch with great regularity and they would, often with live musical accompaniment, sing their hearts out. They were an unfortunate pair to have to go up against in any game of knowledge, either general or specific. But they had the good sense to never gloat, and in fact, their solicitude and kindness while mercilessly crushing opponents made them, frankly, detestable. Gini took amazing care of her brother, ensuring his glissade never became an avalanche. He loved her. "And should i then presume? And how should i begin?"

With Butch's passing, and Kathryn's before him, there now remains only one of three original founders of the most-esteemed "North American Michael Gambon Fan, and Epistolary Adjacent, Club," which, at the height of its membership, had, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, "three [3] members." That remaining founder, who has lost two of her dearest friends, is Mary Lou. Butch and Kathryn loved Mary Lou. They often travelled together to see plays and movies and art- here and in London. With Mary Lou, Butch and Kathryn could widen their sensibilities as to what actually constitutes art- what is the artistic endeavor- is there a line between kitsch and iconoclasm- between Debuffet and Divine- Darger and DaVinci. A good friend can be refractive, change your perspective, walk with you into every roadside attraction, and walk you out, and make you believe in what you saw. Butch always believed Mary Lou. She convinced him those tiny little insect fellas were really riding tiny little insect bicycles. He loved her. "And i have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, and in short, i was afraid."

Butch was immeasurably proud of his son, Timothy, and his family. From the earliest of days. Butch saw a capacity for focus and exuberance in Tim, that when combined, led to athletic brilliance. Butch fostered that in every arena that Tim wanted- track, cross country, baseball, soccer, basketball, and more- and Tim excelled. And Butch quietly encouraged- he did not say much- but he was there every time. The unwavering support and consistency. That never changed over the years. The constant presence whenever Tim was moving, first just himself, and then later, his family. And there was Butch. There he was in Washington D.C., then Virginia, then finally Ohio. And Butch would drive out to Columbus at least a few times each year to see Tim and his family. He was there for christenings, graduations, sporting events, summer vacations, high holidays, and almost-birthdays. He would see Ben and Bryce, both blessed with their father's athletic excellence, play soccer- and Charlotte every year in the Nutcracker- and Emily being the busiest of bees in school and sports and socially. And Ellen in her steady and lambent way, making a welcoming space for Butch in their home during his many visits. He loved them all. "I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk upon the beach."

(This will end soon i promise. Begrudge me just a wee bit more time....)

His greatest joy perhaps, after Kathryn, and as noted above, was his grandchildren. Unmoored from the direct responsibility of raising, educating, and discipling children, and having the latitude to send them home whenever he wanted, he was a Fabulous Grandfather. He would take Patricia to the ocean and teach her to body surf. He would tear up when she would share a poem or short story with him. He would read to her. In summer they would go out paddling. In winter, they would, in that idyllic New England setting, as snow weighted birch trees draped over frozen pond ice, skate like absolute maniacs over the burgeoning cracks. Even as he declined, she would visit and that glow would last for days. He loved her. "I have heard the mermaids singing each to each, i do not think they will sing to me."

I could've told you what Butch accomplished professionally, but as the Buddhists say- you are judged by who you are in the room with because that will demonstrate what you've done. Which is why Butch is glad you are here. And, to quote Frank O'Hara, "why i am telling you about all this."

Please, please, please do not send flowers. Instead, make a donation in Butch's name to Hospice, to Community Health Partnership- Honduras, or to a local shelter or food bank. Do something quietly kind and think of him. He loved you all. . .

Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to greet the family during the visiting hours on Thursday 10/8/2026 from 3-7 PM in the Keohane Funeral Home, 785 Hancock St., QUINCY. A Celebration of Life Service will be held in the funeral home at 9:15 AM on Friday 10/9/2026 prior to the Funeral Mass in St. Ann’s Church, Quincy at 10 AM. Cremation will follow. See www.Keohane.com for directions and online condolences