Leonard Cecil Morris Jr.

Born on May 13, 1928 in Camden, NJ, to the late Cora (Shaw) and Leonard Cecil Morris Sr.

He is preceded in death by his loving wife, Dorothy “Dottie” M. Morris, his brother-in-spirit Tony Wolfe, Sr., and many family members and friends he loved and cherished.

Surviving Bud are his sons, Leonard “Lennie” C. Morris III and Doug Morris, as well as many nieces and nephews, as well as too many friends to list.

Bud lived in various areas over the years, such as Camden, Maple Shade, Oaklyn, Haddon Field, and Cape May Court House, all in New Jersey, then in various locations in Pennsylvania including York, White Hill, Harrisburg, Elizabethtown, and Mechanicsburg. He attended Edison Junior High, where he played baseball and ran track, and then graduated from John Harris High School. He attended special classes in “Construction Supervision and Safety at Penn State Middletown. He worked at Pennsylvania Power and Light for 46 years after serving in the U.S. Navy for two years at the end of WWII. He believed there should be peace on earth, not war, and goodwill to all, not abuse and exploitation of the many by the few.

At PP&L he spent fifteen years in Line Work, five years as a mechanic in the Construction Department, and twenty-six years as a Safety Instructor and Consultant. He obtained various degrees in safety from the “National Safety Council” and from PP&L. He was a driver-trainer for twenty-two years and drove over-the-road trucks for seven years following retirement, visiting most U.S. states. He was a “Red Cross” first aid and CPR instructor. He was a “Safe Driver” instructor for the National Safety Council and in the “Smith Driver Training Program.” He promoted “electrical safety” through programs with fire companies, police departments, public schools, colleges and universities, manufacturing companies, construction companies, private clubs and other organizations.

He was always willing to help others, any time of the day or night. He could build a house with his own brain and hands, completing plumbing, electrical work, stone masonry, carpentry, and painting, etc.

He taught many valuable lessons including a basic point concerning how the world works: the workers of the world build the world and make the world work (“the owners of the world don’t do a damn thing!”). He was a materially spiritual person in the sense that he believed salvation is found through helping others, tending to the sick, needy and infirmed; welcoming the immigrants, feeding the hungry, quenching the thirst of the thirsty; and protecting the poor from the ravages of the rich. He was kind; possessed a spirit of generosity, and a respect for human dignity; he was open to new ideas and willing to change, was tolerant (but not of the intolerable), was courageously humble, and had hope that we could work together to create a decent society and save the future from catastrophe.

He treasured his many friends and colleagues at the Cornerstone Coffee House.

He recommends three books for all to read: Howard Zinn’s A People History of the United States; Upton Sinclair’s Boston: A Documentary Novel of the Sacco and Vanzetti Case; Noam Chomsky’s Failed States: The Abuse of Power and the Assault on Democracy.

His lasting advice, from the Prophet Micah: “Walk humbly, love mercy, do justly.“

And if you break down somewhere along the way, the Budro has a tow rope.

Due to current limits on public gathering, a celebration of life will be held at a date to be determined. Burial will be in Holy Cross Cemetery; 4075 Derry St, Harrisburg, PA 17111.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to: Partners in Health; https://donate.pih.org/page/contribute/donate

Budro: 91 YEARS IN A POEM

On my own behalf, I’ve written an epitaph

It is short, and I think, clearly stated,

We’ll get to that soon, I promise,

After the following history, much truncated,

Is here unwoven and closely calculated:

Alive in May, 1928, ten pounds, I must have left a grand impression

Because one year later, a collapse, there began the Great Depression

Brother Bill and I stole Campbell’s Soup tomatoes from passing trucks

We pilfered coal for heat, we smoked cigarettes, though only the butts.

Such is the curse of the poor, food from the street, not from the store.

Life was hard in Camden, outdoor toilet,

Public bath, cold water, no heat,

Tomato soup, breakfast, lunch and dinner (couldn’t take it much longer)

But a hard life, hard times, they say, makes one stronger.

My mother worked in a laundry; every hour paid 27 cents

We hid from the bill collectors, no money to make the rent

She could pick out a tune on the piano, “Brother Can You Spare a Dime,” (otherwise known as “Buddy Can You Spare a Dime…)

I liked going to school, it was, what can I say, a good way to pass the time.

Moved around a lot as a kid, confusion, insight, adventure

Didn’t know it then but we were servants of indenture;

York, Harrisburg, from the top to the bottom of the Hill,

Coughing up black soot and brown dust from the poison pumping Steel Mill

Two room flat, kitchen, public bath, on the Crescent

Survived on a government program called: “Mother’s Assistance”

Moved to the projects, among the first into those Hoverter Homes,

Seventeen dollars a month, I’s 13 years old, 84 pounds, just skin and bones;

But I still played ball and ran track in Edison Junior High.

Later joined the Navy, worked on planes, I liked to fly.

Saw the Hindenburg just before it burst into flames.

Could really hit a baseball, should have stayed with that game;

Did I tell you I can run a sewing machine?

Learned it from my mother (she could make her own clothes)

“Keep your ears and eyes open and your mouth shut,”

I learned that from my brother (his drawings looked like photos)

That was his advice in ‘46 when in the U.S. Navy I enlisted

They saw me coming so in ’45 from war to peace they shifted.

After the Navy? Pennsylvania Power and Light

46 years working, three sick days, how can that be right?

Drove trucks, over the road, on weekends for years,

A laboring life, no time for books, I was grinding the gears.

From Ted Williams a lesson continues to ring:

“You can’t hit it if you don’t swing.”

So, “Hit it if it’s in there,” that is my instruction,

A simple, elegant and profound induction.

Married Dottie, had two kids, spent time digging ditches;

Worked on the line, then a mechanic with dirtied, soiled britches;

Then got into safety and was called “the Green Banana”

Floated “Rotten Sides” on the ol’ Susquehanna.

A People’s History by Howard Zinn, I highly recommend

I read it on the hopper, it helped me comprehend;

So, now I am a radical, until the bitter end;

You might think that is wrong, but I know you just pretend.

Me, a communist? Yes, like Jesus, so the word does not offend;

Feed the hungry, cure the sick, the downtrodden try to befriend;

Who built the bridge, who built the highway, the tower and the bank?

The carpenters, electricians, bricklayers, plumbers, that’s who we should thank.

And Noam Chomsky’s many books, I advocate you read,

And sacrifice some privileges to help all those in need;

Take care of one another, and learn to love and share

There’s enough here for everybody, there’s no reason for despair.

Well, let me not be humble for a moment, ‘cause I’m a working man

A house from top to bottom I can build with my worker’s brains and hands;

I’ll fix your car, I’ll fix you lights, your mower, your toilet, your walk;

And I’ll even listen politely when all you do is talk.

And I’ll advise, if I may(?), please avoid the saccharin and the petty,

Be humble and courageous, like Sacco and Vanzetti;

Stand up with and for the victims, whose blood is in the soil,

And with the workers of the world who think, and sweat, and toil.

With Native Americans who for centuries have suffered from the terror,

And don’t believe the TV news or you will live your life in error;

The ties that bind us all together, we should never let them sever,

And if you wish to sing a song, sing “Solidarity Forever.”

So, you want to live to be 91 and keep your form and wits?

Don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t overeat, and never get the shits

Avoid the bumps in the road, close the doors, identify the obstacles

And more perhaps than all of that, make love whenever possible.

In 91 years, I’ve also accumulated much useless information,

But here is something I think deserves a solid affirmation:

Everybody lives and everybody dies,

We should seek the truth and acknowledge the lies;

And here is a truth the great Joe Hill plied:

When I’m dead and when I’m gone, “Don’t mourn, ORGANIZE!”

So, after a long life of losing and winning, of questions and answers,

Of virtue and sinning, let us return at the end to where we started:

the beginning…

On my own behalf, I’ve written an epitaph

It is short, and I hope, clearly stated,

It might make folks smile, or make them laugh,

In the end, it should be celebrated:

It is not directly about all those I love or loved (of those there are many)

Or the few I’ve hated (and they deserve it plenty),

But it is honest and simple and straight,

And for that please don’t berate?

So, here it is, finally to the point, my epitaph, in no way is it decorated;

Carve it on the tombstone, after “date of birth 1928,”

(the date of passing, please leave that unstated):

“He never had a headache,

And was never constipated.”

Reflections on Budro’s Trip:

When a life is over, you might ask, “what did it mean?”

But the answer won’t be found, in a nightmare or a dream,”

Is it all that it adds up to, or that to which it boils down,

From the inside of a mother, to a hole down in the ground?

No individual existence can be reduced to a single whole

With a short or greater distance, in the end’s a deathly toll;

No one chooses to be born, and few will hope to die,

From this world we’ll all be torn, but still to live we try.

So, what is most significant, the fundamental feature

Of this featherless biped, this thinking, loving creature?

Most lives are lived in misery, in fruitless, endless toil,

From the hurt, and pain, and injury, we too often do recoil.

We will never see it all, and we can never live enough

But we can live for each and all and say: “to hell with all the stuff.”

There is much in life that’s different, but more we hold in common

Those on top should all pay deference, to all those on the bottom.

Across the world in common we can ask, “will we survive

The threats to our existence that loom on every side?”

If you’re willing to look, the answer’s clear, there is no real distinction

We’re united as a species in the threat of our extinction.

We’ll fall together in death, if in life we don’t rise together

Beyond the blue skies of tomorrow is the wrath of stormy weather

Forests will be burning, with the oceans on the rise,

The lesson we should be learning is that everybody dies.

Happiness they will tell you is the meaning of it all,

Some find it in a painting, on the stage, or playing ball,

Some think it’s in religion, in the flowers and the trees,

On the top of mighty mountains, or the bottom of the seas.

Some say it’s in the spirit, the virtue you display,

Some say it’s in your actions, not just the words you say;

You won’t find it in a diamond, or find it in a ring;

You won’t find it in a book, perhaps in a song we sing;

So, happiness is a practice, not just a state of mind

If you only look inside, it’s a truth you’ll never find;

The soul is in the body, it is everything you do,

So, can happiness be found in the cages in a zoo?

No one will find happiness in a quest that’s all their own

It’s in the seeds you’ve been given, in the seeds that you have sown;

Happiness should not be confused with more simple forms of pleasure;

Well-being is what it means, but there is no simple measure.

There’s a little in the pizza, a little in the beer,

But here’s the secret to the joy, the truth that’s in the cheer,

It’s the sharing with those you love, who love you in return,

That’s what all of us are seeking, for that is what we yearn.

It is more a way of life, not a mood or state of mind

It includes the endless searching, not only what you find;

It involves the hurt and suffering, the unbearable pain we see,

And the fight to overcome it in the struggles to be free.

To sacrifice for others is morally admirable

The pity that it is necessary, makes it less desirable;

It is laudable to help with a spirit of generosity

But the happiness of love is in the reciprocity.

If it takes practice, how does one become a virtuoso of living?

It is in the mutuality of receiving and of giving.

It is in cooperation, in sharing what people need

It is in the solidarity, never in the greed.

It is in the self-fulfillment which is never done alone

The screeching of a violin, the wail of a trombone;

There are no isolated peaks as we seek out our attainment

But it’s our qualitative whole life, where we find the most amazement.

We all know of the danger of a haunting self-deception

We rationalize the wretchedness and color our perception;

To live a life of virtue, well, it presents a daunting task

Is the face that we are wearing constructed by the mask?

No one is at their best when they’re starving and exploited

When they live a life of drudgery in the gutter of life’s toilet;

Some might say a happy life is a process of distillment,

But without the proper nourishing there’s surely no fulfillment.

There is truth and death and pleasure, freedom, health and nation,

Abnegation, contemplation, destruction and creation;

The state, the folk, power and laughter, elation and negation,

There’s autonomy, economy, predation and purgation;

There is isolation, meditation, adoration, affirmation;

Crucifixion, resurrection, augmentation and salvation;

Does it all reduce to a simple word? Yes, here it is: relation,

With fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers,

Comrades, friends, colleagues, and countless, nameless others.

Can you be precious and unique when they use you as a tool,

You give your life, your strength, your energy, in service to a fool;

They steal your time, your possibilities, your meaning and your health;

Your flesh and bones, your brain and hands, to fatten up their wealth.

Is there something in this life for which we’re all prepared to die?

Like Spartacus, is it freedom, does that lesson still apply?

To live without that struggle is to lose all dignity

What might our actions look like from the view of eternity?

To live with realism is to be aware of our mortality,

The ironic, chastening sense of our own fragility;

To live that authentically is to know that life is brief,

So why bring to ourselves and others any kind of grief?

Death enhances and intensifies life; value is not voided;

The shortness lends the sweetness, the outrage and the joyous;

Death cannot be outwitted, in the rosebuds and the wine;

In the hedonistic gushing of the rich man’s bottom line;

Yes, we have our limits, on others we do depend,

So mutual aid for one and all I highly recommend;

Death we carry in our bones, it enables all our living;

We are what we do together; it’s another form of giving;

The meaning of life, the tailor said, is a marvelous pair of trousers,

And the flowers in May often refer to the warmth of April showers;

The farmer said a bumper crop, and the general mentioned war,

The philosopher said, “to question,” the Christian, El Salvador.

A proposition is not the answer, practice is the key

But for clarity in the finding, there is no guarantee;

If science answers all questions, there will still be mystery;

For life goes on unfinished until the end of history.

Life’s meaning is a question philosophy cannot answer,

Like the taste of apple pie’s not in the movement of a dancer;

The solution to the problem is beyond all known questions,

It is less about accession and more about expression.

The mystery is not so much in how we are, but that we are,

Something rather than nothing, in the dust storms of a star;

The metaphysical some will ponder, but the ethical we should seek,

It is quality and depth, and life’s intensity.

It is not majestic or mysterious, it is simply life itself

You won’t find it in a book, or in a prayer or on a shelf;

The Hokey-Pokey sadly is not what it’s all about,

It is how you carry on and what you carry out.

Matthew in the Bible said we find it in salvation,

People do it every day, it’s prosaic, it’s our foundation;

Feed the hungry, tend to the sick, quench another’s thirst,

Protect the poor from the ravages of the rich, put the victims first.

To live this way is not just life, but life lived in abundance,

It’s love that’s love, and love that’s real, so there’s never a redundance;

So, we love our friends and neighbors, especially we love strangers;

It does not mean that loving others will save us from all dangers;

Fighting for justice is a form of love, but you might be crucified,

Hammers they’ll swing from up above, if you struggle for your pride,

So, happiness might be sacrificed, when we learn to love the other,

When we recognize the immigrants as our sister and our brother.

The flourishing of one is found in the flourishing of all,

When the angels do start singing, we’ll hear it in their call,

But it is no transcendent power, but the power of our nature,

To love, and care and nurture, on that I’ll gladly wager.

A good life, full of love, that would be the ideal,

The revolutionary’s motivation, and the music that does appeal;

I’ll create so you can flourish while you do the same for me,

This rules out hate and murder, and torture, war, and greed.

Oppression, exploitation, inequality must go,

Along with the toxic system that we call the “status quo;”

It thwarts flourishing and fulfillment, it renders us supine,

And crushes possibilities for living life divine.

There can be no helpful meaning for myself unique alone,

It’s in the reciprocity where the meaning will be known;

We emerge into being through our lives with one another,

So, compassion is the secret we are working to discover.

Receptive sensitivity creates space for others to express,

Around the freedom of each and all is how we coalesce,

Self-realization through participation in the whole,

It is the medium of relationship, the power of the soul.

So, we wish to experience our nature at its best,

We’ll fall short of the aspiration, but still pursue the quest,

In the end the point is pointless, delight for the sake of delight,

We need no justification, it is joy that joy will ignite.

Eternal life, if it exists, is in the here and now

Inside, outside, upside down, the space we must allow,

A community like this, of love, we need, on a monumental scale,

If it does not happen soon, this experiment in life, I’m afraid, will fail.