As a country boy, Dad lived by John Denver’s motto: "I fiddle when I can, work when I should." He told us stories about how he would spend the night with his turkeys, shotgun under his cot, to keep wild canines at bay. He passed his Midwestern work ethic along to all four of us. When Marty was young and wanted a dirt bike, he got a paper route so he could buy it himself. Dad was up before dawn every Sunday morning, helping him roll the big papers and driving him through the neighborhood when the weather was cold. He never really retired; he just kept going to the office until his illness stopped him. He nurtured a lifelong habit of nurturing life.
As a grad student, he earned a PhD in poultry science at the University of Minnesota. After samples were taken at the lab, he would take leftover specimens home: our folks ate a lot of test turkey breasts and experimental eggs. His passion for learning made him a perennial student. He challenged everyone to think harder, learn more, and seek truth by paying attention, not only to compromises in the middle, but also to big ideas on the margins, the lunatic fringe. He did not fear paradox and would admonish us to, "Never let school interfere with your education." He taught us to question authority with a twinkle in his eye. As a young girl, Matti once asked him why all the presidents and people in charge were men. He said, “Well, it’s just like it is in your class: since the boys are smarter and better at school they get to run things when they grow up.” Stunned, she sputtered back, “But that just isn’t true!” He laughed at her incredulity—and helped her to become a woman with the power to speak truth to power.
As a dreamer he was a man of high ideals who wanted nothing but the best for his family. He made his dream to live in Colorado someday come true, though he never lost his love for the beautiful black dirt back home in Miinnesota. He enjoyed the stories of Lake Woebegone on “A Prairie Home Companion” (where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking & all the children are above average). All of his kids remember the bedtime stories he would make up for us featuring our parallel universe selves, Billy, Bobby, Kimberly and Katherine, who lived on a farm and had all sorts of animal adventures. The man loved conversation and could talk to anybody, from the hippies who hung out at the Coffee House at Emanuel Lutheran in the 70s, to the punk rockers who would hang out at his own house in the 80s in Evansville, IN. Just last summer, in 2012, he was charming bigwig music execs in the VIP room at a Neil Diamond concert in LA.
As a soldier, Captain Larson served his country in the Vietnam War. He tended bar in the officer’s club. When the sirens wailed and the shelling began, he would put himself in harm’s way, riding shotgun (literally) to make sure his waitresses made it home safely before seeking his own shelter in the army bunkers. He earned a bronze star for reporting on servicemen who were giving their army rations to locals who were smuggling them to the Viet Cong. His commitment to doing the Right Thing meant that he did not get along well with those who would cut corners to make a fast buck. While his principles of loyalty and integrity were part of the fabric of his being, he taught us that it is more important to be kind than it is to be right; it's better to get along than to get ahead. There's what you believe, and that matters, but how you live matters more.
As a man of science, Dr. Larson taught us to beware false dilemmas! The truth is out there, but it’s complicated, there are always more than two possible answers, and the best answers lead you down many paths at once. He was not one to speak ill of his fellow man, but would occasionally criticize someone for being, “One of those guys, ya know, thinks he’s got it all figured out.” His professional career was devoted to promoting children's health, both as a nutritional biochemist designing infant formula for special needs babies and as an environmental toxicologist working to promote clean air and safe water. Once, he found a grant to fund a team of scientists; together they traveled to Kazakhstan to advise their EPA on how best to manage a lead problem left behind by Soviets who had pillaged the region for natural resources. He lived according to his well-considered and amply confirmed beliefs that all of the children are everyone's responsibility and that we all live downstream.
As a man of faith, Dad believed in a truly magnificent and transcendent God. One of his favorite verses was Micah 6:8: “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” He was a reverential man, not content to tolerate those who had different beliefs, but committed to loving everyone. He would often quote the book of Matthew; he preferred to pray in private and believed that whatever he did for the least of his brethren he did also for the King. He did not see any irrevocable tension between religion and science because he knew that all we get in this life is a partial view, through a glass darkly. He respected the faith of his fathers but also said that if one really wanted know the language of God one had to study biochemistry and the various codes built into the macromolecules that make life possible. He felt closest to God when he was outside with his family, hiking in the mountains or walking in the woods. He especially loved tending his irises, "walking the yard" with Mom, checking on their various gardens. For Bud Larson, faith is not the absence of doubt. Faith is what happens when you make peace with your doubt, when you humbly accept just how little any of us ever get to know about anything. To have faith you have to trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding (Proverbs 3:5).
More than anything else, Bud Larson was a family man, a middle child in a family of four kids who had four kids of his own. He met our mom through Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. If you were to ask him, now did you join that group to get closer to God or to meet girls? He would give you a sly smile and remind you to beware false dilemmas. He knew he was a lucky man when he married Roberta. Together they raised us to analyze what we can and accept what we cannot; to be critical and compassionate, romantic and practical, scientists and artists. He came back from Vietnam with a state of the art stereo and oh how we danced! He and Mom passed their love of music on to all of their kids. He went to as many of our performances as he could, from individual recitals to school concerts. He went to see Amy’s rock and roll show at the 7th St. Entry in downtown Minneapolis. He took Roberta to see R.E.M. at Red Rocks and Green Day at Fiddler’s Green.
We do not yet know how we are going to live without him, though he’ll always be in our hearts. The man who was a husband, brother, son, father, uncle, grandfather, colleague, and friend who lived such an honorable life. We will miss him more than we can say.
~Written by Bud's four kids (Madeline, Amy, Marty & Dinah) for his memorial on December 4, 2013.
