Happy 90th birthday, Bud Brown
Lead Summary
By
Rory Ryan-hcpress@cinci.rr.com
Clarence J. “Bud” Brown, Jr. will be 90 years old on June 18. He was born on June 18, 1927.
I always remember Bud’s year of birth for one simple reason: It was also the year of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Miller Huggins and one of the greatest teams in baseball history – the 1927 New York Yankees.
For those who may have followed my columns for the past 27 consecutive years, you may recall that I worked for Bud’s once notable newspaper company – off and on – from 1990-2009.
Early on in that relationship, I called Bud “Mr. Brown.” But he said that formality wasn’t necessary. On the occasion of his company’s 75th anniversary celebration in Urbana in 1995, I learned why.
Former State Sen. Cooper Snyder was the guest speaker that evening. Cooper and Bud were old pals from Blanchester. As I remember Cooper’s speech about the company’s 75th anniversary, he said that Clarence Brown was everyone’s “Buddy.”
“Clarence wasn’t ‘Clarence’ or ‘Mr. Brown,’” Cooper said. “He was your ‘Bud.’ He was everyone’s Bud, so we called him that.”
Bud Brown was very good to work for and work with.
In addition to being an old-fashioned newspaperman, Bud also served in the U.S. Navy during World War II and the Korean War. He was a Republican Congressman from the Ohio’s Seventh District from 1965-83. Under President Ronald Reagan, Bud also served as the U.S. Deputy Secretary of Commerce and Acting Secretary of Commerce from 1983-88.
I met Bud in 1990. Five years later, I helped celebrate the 75th anniversary of the company founded by his father, Clarence J. Brown, Sr. – an early civil rights advocate in Congress.
Four years after that, my wife and I spent a memorable weekend with Bud and Joyce at their Washington, D.C. home on Cleveland Avenue. Yes, that was the same weekend that Joyce and I ended up locked in the Russian Embassy. (Stuff happens.)
A few years later, I found myself accepting the Clarence J. Brown Award for Editorial Excellence from CJB3 – the one and only Clancy Brown. (Surely, there must have been a mixup that night.)
Sadly, there will not be any more recipients of the award in Bud’s name. But I’m appreciative of being part of that select club.
While in Congress, Bud was a member of The Chowder and Marching Club. While I was publisher of The People’s Defender (1998-2002), Bud decided that we needed to publish a book in recognition of this august body of former (and present) members of Congress.
Thus, the publication of “Chowder and Marching Club, 1949-1999” came about.
Steve Livengood, Jim Morrison, Casey Schrichten and I put this 148-page book together in 1999. We all had other full-time obligations, to be sure.
On the first edition off the press, Bud wrote: “To Rory E. Ryan, without whom this book would not have been possible.”
The same first copy also is signed by President Gerald R. Ford and dated June 8, 1999 – because I missed the black-tie reunion in Washington, D.C. that year. I’m sure some of you will be surprised to read this, but I’m not exactly your “black-tie event” kind of person.
For the record, the Chowder and Marching Club originated from a group of Republican members of the U.S. House of Representatives, all of whom were World War II veterans. They enjoyed “libations and snacks,” and in that order, the members said. (And that is in the book.)
Former Hillsboro resident and Congressman Bob McEwen was a member. So was President Nixon. President Ford was in the club. Former House Speaker J. Dennis Hastert was a member. Jack Kemp and John McCain were in. So was Dan Quayle.
Just prior to the book’s publication, I had left the newspaper office in West Union on a Friday afternoon for a “business meeting” with a few former co-workers, including Teresa Wisecup, Todd Bobbitt, Phil Roberts, Steve Roush, Angie Matticks and a few others.
When I got home, I had a message that Clarence Brown was trying to find me. I figured it was another office prank. Stephanie Prost assured me it was not.
I didn’t believe her. I went to bed.
Shortly thereafter, Pam woke me up and said there was a car in our driveway. (We live a few hundred miles from the nearest blacktopped highway.) Yes, sure enough, there was a car. It was Bud Brown, and it was about 10 o’clock in the evening.
Bud had driven around Adams County in search of his wayward publisher, when he stopped at the former Seaman Cardinal grocery store owned by Jim Young. Someone provided directions. (Thanks a lot.)
Upon arrival, Bud’s first question was: “Is this your hunting retreat, or do you live here?”
“Both,” I answered, without missing a shot.
Bud had the 1999 “Chowder and Marching” book’s page proofs with him, and he wanted to go over some edits he felt were in order. Bud asked Pam for a cup of tea. I asked Pam for a cold beer and a shot of anything stronger. She complied.
And on our living room couch (some people call it a sofa, but I always call it a couch), Bud and I went over the “Chowder and Marching” biographies.
At one point, I suggested we simply call all members “old, white, Christian conservative men.” Of course, Tillie Fowler and Enid Greene and their families probably wouldn’t have liked that.
Bud left our home a little before midnight. I had his final edits, we were going to press, and all was well.
In all likelihood, that was the first and only time that a former congressman, gubernatorial candidate and presidential Cabinet member had ever laid eyes on our part of southern Ohio.
And he was our Bud. Nothing haughty or condescending. Bud sat down, went to work, dozed off for a moment or two (maybe that was me – it’s been 18 years) and made himself right at home.
I seem to recall that Bud drove a red station wagon. I don’t care who you are, you have to admire anyone who served in Congress driving a station wagon.
Bud, working with you and listening to your many stories and words of wisdom was always a pleasure. They just don’t make ’em like you anymore.
I wish you a very Happy Birthday. I’ll always look back on our time serving on editorial boards and committees together with great fondness. I’m sure one of us learned a lot. Thanks.
Rory Ryan is publisher and owner of The Highland County Press.
I always remember Bud’s year of birth for one simple reason: It was also the year of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Miller Huggins and one of the greatest teams in baseball history – the 1927 New York Yankees.
For those who may have followed my columns for the past 27 consecutive years, you may recall that I worked for Bud’s once notable newspaper company – off and on – from 1990-2009.
Early on in that relationship, I called Bud “Mr. Brown.” But he said that formality wasn’t necessary. On the occasion of his company’s 75th anniversary celebration in Urbana in 1995, I learned why.
Former State Sen. Cooper Snyder was the guest speaker that evening. Cooper and Bud were old pals from Blanchester. As I remember Cooper’s speech about the company’s 75th anniversary, he said that Clarence Brown was everyone’s “Buddy.”
“Clarence wasn’t ‘Clarence’ or ‘Mr. Brown,’” Cooper said. “He was your ‘Bud.’ He was everyone’s Bud, so we called him that.”
Bud Brown was very good to work for and work with.
In addition to being an old-fashioned newspaperman, Bud also served in the U.S. Navy during World War II and the Korean War. He was a Republican Congressman from the Ohio’s Seventh District from 1965-83. Under President Ronald Reagan, Bud also served as the U.S. Deputy Secretary of Commerce and Acting Secretary of Commerce from 1983-88.
I met Bud in 1990. Five years later, I helped celebrate the 75th anniversary of the company founded by his father, Clarence J. Brown, Sr. – an early civil rights advocate in Congress.
Four years after that, my wife and I spent a memorable weekend with Bud and Joyce at their Washington, D.C. home on Cleveland Avenue. Yes, that was the same weekend that Joyce and I ended up locked in the Russian Embassy. (Stuff happens.)
A few years later, I found myself accepting the Clarence J. Brown Award for Editorial Excellence from CJB3 – the one and only Clancy Brown. (Surely, there must have been a mixup that night.)
Sadly, there will not be any more recipients of the award in Bud’s name. But I’m appreciative of being part of that select club.
While in Congress, Bud was a member of The Chowder and Marching Club. While I was publisher of The People’s Defender (1998-2002), Bud decided that we needed to publish a book in recognition of this august body of former (and present) members of Congress.
Thus, the publication of “Chowder and Marching Club, 1949-1999” came about.
Steve Livengood, Jim Morrison, Casey Schrichten and I put this 148-page book together in 1999. We all had other full-time obligations, to be sure.
On the first edition off the press, Bud wrote: “To Rory E. Ryan, without whom this book would not have been possible.”
The same first copy also is signed by President Gerald R. Ford and dated June 8, 1999 – because I missed the black-tie reunion in Washington, D.C. that year. I’m sure some of you will be surprised to read this, but I’m not exactly your “black-tie event” kind of person.
For the record, the Chowder and Marching Club originated from a group of Republican members of the U.S. House of Representatives, all of whom were World War II veterans. They enjoyed “libations and snacks,” and in that order, the members said. (And that is in the book.)
Former Hillsboro resident and Congressman Bob McEwen was a member. So was President Nixon. President Ford was in the club. Former House Speaker J. Dennis Hastert was a member. Jack Kemp and John McCain were in. So was Dan Quayle.
Just prior to the book’s publication, I had left the newspaper office in West Union on a Friday afternoon for a “business meeting” with a few former co-workers, including Teresa Wisecup, Todd Bobbitt, Phil Roberts, Steve Roush, Angie Matticks and a few others.
When I got home, I had a message that Clarence Brown was trying to find me. I figured it was another office prank. Stephanie Prost assured me it was not.
I didn’t believe her. I went to bed.
Shortly thereafter, Pam woke me up and said there was a car in our driveway. (We live a few hundred miles from the nearest blacktopped highway.) Yes, sure enough, there was a car. It was Bud Brown, and it was about 10 o’clock in the evening.
Bud had driven around Adams County in search of his wayward publisher, when he stopped at the former Seaman Cardinal grocery store owned by Jim Young. Someone provided directions. (Thanks a lot.)
Upon arrival, Bud’s first question was: “Is this your hunting retreat, or do you live here?”
“Both,” I answered, without missing a shot.
Bud had the 1999 “Chowder and Marching” book’s page proofs with him, and he wanted to go over some edits he felt were in order. Bud asked Pam for a cup of tea. I asked Pam for a cold beer and a shot of anything stronger. She complied.
And on our living room couch (some people call it a sofa, but I always call it a couch), Bud and I went over the “Chowder and Marching” biographies.
At one point, I suggested we simply call all members “old, white, Christian conservative men.” Of course, Tillie Fowler and Enid Greene and their families probably wouldn’t have liked that.
Bud left our home a little before midnight. I had his final edits, we were going to press, and all was well.
In all likelihood, that was the first and only time that a former congressman, gubernatorial candidate and presidential Cabinet member had ever laid eyes on our part of southern Ohio.
And he was our Bud. Nothing haughty or condescending. Bud sat down, went to work, dozed off for a moment or two (maybe that was me – it’s been 18 years) and made himself right at home.
I seem to recall that Bud drove a red station wagon. I don’t care who you are, you have to admire anyone who served in Congress driving a station wagon.
Bud, working with you and listening to your many stories and words of wisdom was always a pleasure. They just don’t make ’em like you anymore.
I wish you a very Happy Birthday. I’ll always look back on our time serving on editorial boards and committees together with great fondness. I’m sure one of us learned a lot. Thanks.
Rory Ryan is publisher and owner of The Highland County Press.