In the Temple Emanuel parking lot on the High Holidays, you could often find Richard Lee Butler in a reflective vest and cap, waving cars into tight rows and walking elderly congregants to the door. He wasn’t looking for a seat up front or his name on a program.
“He liked to use his hands and be useful,” said his grandson, Adam Teitelman. “He wasn’t interested in being a big macher. If something needed doing — parking, kitchen help, setting up — he just did it.”
Butler, a Baltimore native whose life blended family loyalty, a working-class ethos and quiet philanthropy, died on July 20 at 93.
Family members describe him as principled and deeply devoted to his wife, Cecilia, and to the Jewish community he embraced later in life. “He was soft-spoken and thoughtful,” Teitelman said. “When he spoke, you listened.”
Butler attended City College High School. His daughter, Eydie Siegel, who was unsure about some early details but shared what she remembered, said her father grew up in a Jewish home that was not especially observant.
Butler’s blue-collar beginnings shaped his outlook. Having grown up in a family business built on elbow grease and customer trust, he never lost respect for honest labor or the satisfaction of doing things right.
Work defined the family. Siegel recalls that Butler’s father operated a gas station and later a business on North Monroe Street known as Jiffy Trailer Hitch & Supply. Butler went straight from high school into that enterprise. “He wanted to go to college — maybe business at the University of Baltimore — but he entered the family business instead,” she said.
He was drafted and served in the U.S. Air Force during the Korean War. The family believes he was stationed at a base in Oklahoma and worked around airplanes but did not deploy overseas.
After returning home, Butler joined his father in expanding the business from gas stations and small utility trailers to office trailers — the kind used on construction sites — which became their biggest success. Later, some of those trailers were donated to Temple Emanuel’s original campus off Liberty Road to provide classroom space for Sunday school and early childhood programs.
“He lived modestly and believed his success should help others — his three daughters, certainly, but also the community he loved,” Teitelman said.
Butler’s Jewish involvement deepened in the late 1970s when the family joined Temple Emanuel, decades before it was absorbed by Baltimore Hebrew Congregation. He joined the Brotherhood, supported synagogue projects and volunteered wherever he was needed.
“He’d be in the kitchen or out in the parking lot,” Teitelman said. “He set things up, sold hot dogs at fundraisers — whatever helped.” His name appeared on synagogue donor plaques, though he preferred recognition that was practical — another classroom, a repair, a tool someone needed.
“He was meticulous about doing things the right way,” Teitelman said. “He’d call a finance person to make sure something was completely kosher.” That insistence on integrity made him a quiet source of advice. In Butler’s later years, his grandson Alex Teitelman spent significant time with him. “He always tried to boil decisions down to a few questions,” Alex Teitelman said. “What will this do for you long term? Is the goal attainable? Is it something you truly want to do?”
Alex Teitelman remembers Butler’s broad charitable streak, directed toward Jewish causes in Baltimore and Israel, as well as health organizations and animal welfare. “Anything he could do for his family, he would,” he said. “And anything he could do for his community came right after family.” Even in his 90s, Butler stayed mentally sharp, keeping up with synagogue projects and family matters and offering advice with the same care he brought to his work.
Siegel’s memories of her father as a young man are peppered with snapshots: an image of him on the basketball court, drumsticks from his time playing music and stories of the Easterwood Boys Club, a community recreation program in West Baltimore that shaped his early friendships.
Adam Teitelman recalled that Butler quietly assisted relatives in need and consistently supported institutions that strengthened Jewish identity. “He wanted to see real progress — more children learning, stronger community, people cared for,” he said. “He didn’t give for his name. He gave for outcomes.”
Butler measured success in practical terms: family stability, honest work, a congregation with enough classrooms, a parking lot that ran smoothly on busy mornings. “He was authentic,” Teitelman said. “With all the pressure today to look fancy, he prioritized what mattered — family, synagogue, being a good person.”
For Alex Teitelman, the lesson is simple. “My grandfather was generous,” he said. “If he could help, he helped. If you needed advice, he gave it straight and kind.”
On the synagogue’s busiest days, that meant quietly guiding cars and greeting congregants so others could get inside to pray. “That’s exactly who he was,” Adam Teitelman said. “Humble and always there for his people.”
Ellen Braunstein is a freelance writer.
