There is no minor character in all of the LOTR that I felt a keener or more unexpected knife of sympathy for than Barliaman Butterbur, and this is why: he clearly reflected a condition I lived with silently all through my youth, a condition that didn't get a name until about 3 years ago. Old Barley had ADHD. And because people asked me to elaborate I'm going to, and it's long so I'm putting it in my journal instead of on FaceBook. Now then attend, friend to friend.

When we first meet our classic NPC Mr. Butterbur, he is overseeing a busy night at the Pony. Every sentence Tolkien spends describing this fellow reflects a state of mind I have been in many times - distracted, overstimulated, excited and garrulous:

'Well, now, what was I going to say?' said Mr. Butterbur, tapping his forehead. 'One thing drives out another, so to speak. I'm that busy tonight, my head is going round. There's a party that came up the Greenway from down South last night – and that was strange enough to begin with. Then there's a travelling company of dwarves going West come in this evening. And now there's you. If you weren't hobbits, I doubt if we could house you. But we've got a room or two in the north wing that were made special for hobbits, when this place was built. On the ground floor as they usually prefer; round windows and all as they like it. I hope you'll be comfortable. You'll be wanting supper, I don't doubt. As soon as may be. This way now! No time for talking. I must be trotting. It's hard work for two legs, but I don't get thinner. I'll look in again later. If you want anything, ring the hand-bell, and Nob will come. If he don't come, ring and shout!'

     Off he went at last, and left them feeling rather breathless. He seemed capable of an endless stream of talk, however busy he might be.

So there's our man - a popular one in Bree, certainly, and running a successful and satisfying business, meeting the needs of all kinds of travelers who probably have great stories and making his living thereby. But something is troubling our man, and nothing in the story, not the appearance of the mysterious Strider or the accident wit the ring is quite as close to my heart as what in the world could be on his mind, and will he remember it. Every time I wish he'd remember sooner, but I know it doesn't matter.

You see, it's already too late.

Just after the disappearing accident Frodo tells Butterbur he's going to bed.

 'Very good! But before you go, I should like a word with you in private, Mr. Underhill. Something has just come back to my mind that I ought to tell you. I hope that you'll not take it amiss. When I've seen to a thing or two, I'll come along to your room, if you're willing.'

     'Certainly!' said Frodo; but his heart sank. He wondered how many private talks he would have before he got to bed, and what they would reveal. Were these people all in league against him? He began to suspect even old Butterbur's fat face of concealing dark designs.

Butterbur's face, however round, is concealing nothing of course, except anxiety, an anxiety I knew very well. Old Barley shows up later in the hobbits' rooms to confess. 

     At that moment there came a knock at the door. Mr. Butterbur had arrived with candles, and behind him was Nob with cans of hot water. Strider withdrew into a dark corner.

     'I've come to bid you good night,' said the landlord, putting the candles on the table. 'Nob! Take the water to the rooms!' He came in and shut the door.

     'It's like this,' he began, hesitating and looking troubled. 'If I've done any harm, I'm sorry indeed. But one thing drives out another, as you'll admit; and I'm a busy man. But first one thing and then another this week have jogged my memory, as the saying goes; and not too late I hope. You see, I was asked to look out for hobbits of the Shire, and for one by the name of Baggins in particular.'

     'And what has that got to do with me?' asked Frodo.

     'Ah! you know best,' said the landlord, knowingly. 'I won't give you away; but I was told that this Baggins would be going by the name of Underhill, and I was given a description that fits you well enough, if I may say so.'

       And who was he?' asked Frodo eagerly.

     'Ah! That was Gandalf, if you know who I mean. A wizard they say he is, but he's a good friend of mine, whether or no. But now I don't know what he'll have to say to me, if I see him again: turn all my ale sour or me into a block of wood, I shouldn't wonder. He's a bit hasty. Still what's done can't be undone. '

     'Well, what have you done?' said Frodo, getting impatient with the slow unravelling of Butterbur's thoughts.

     'Where was I?' said the landlord, pausing and snapping his fingers. 'Ah, yes! Old Gandalf. Three months back he walked right into my room without a knock. _Barley,_ he says, _I'm off in the morning. Will you do something for me? You've only to name it,_ I said. _I'm in a hurry,_ said he, _and I've no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire. Have you anyone you can send, and trust to go? I can find someone,_ I said, _tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. Make it tomorrow,_ he says, and then he gave me a letter.

     'It's addressed plain enough,' said Mr. Butterbur, producing a letter from his pocket, and reading out the address slowly and proudly (he valued his reputation as a lettered man):

            "Mr. FRODO BAGGINS, BAG END, HOBBITON in the SHIRE."

And there it is, one of the most important message to the fate of Middle Earth, and Barley muffed it. You see this was the note Gandalf wrote Frodo telling him to get out of the Shire right then, to find Strider and let him take him to Rivendell. That note would have put Frodo months ahead of the Black Riders, and in forgetting it Barley very nearly gets Frodo killed. 

You ever get entrusted with something really important but super simple, something you figure anyone should be able to do no problem - and then you forget it? 

By the time I read this book that repeated experience, and all its fallout,  had been burned into my heart.

Frodo isn't exactly angry with Barley but he's confused and cross, and Strider steps out of the corner to call him a 'fat innkeeper who only remembers his own name because people shout it at him all day'. Even Gandalf is very aware of the chance Butterbur will forget to post the note:

" PPPS. I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-room:  thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him."

Awesome. In five minutes he's gotten shit from the three most important people in the book. 

And Gandalf definitely isn't done, though it ends up being better for Barley than it could have been. When the wizard finally gets away from Saruman, picks up Shadowfax in Rohan and gallops like a gale to follow Frodo's path, he arrives at Bree only a short time after the party has left:

     ' "Butterbur they call him," thought I. "If this delay was his fault, I will melt all the butter in him. I will roast the old fool over a slow fire." He expected no less, and when he saw my face he fell down flat and began to melt on the spot.'

     `What did you do to him?' cried Frodo in alarm. 'He was really very kind to us and did all that he could.'

     Gandalf laughed. 'Don't be afraid!' he said. `I did not bite, and I barked very little. So overjoyed was I by the news that I got out of him, when he stopped quaking, that I embraced the old fellow. How it happened I could not then guess, but I learned that you had been in Bree the night before, and had gone off that morning with Strider.

     ` "Strider! " I cried, shouting for joy. .."Ass! Fool! Thrice worthy and beloved Barliman! " said I. "It's the best news I have had since midsummer: it's worth a gold piece at the least. May your beer be laid under an enchantment of surpassing excellence for seven years! " said I. "Now I can take a night's rest, the first since I have forgotten when."

Gandalf even emphasizes to Frodo that Barley is no fool ("Can see through a brick wall in time"), which of course is why he was asked to mail the letter to begin with, and why everyone is so frustrated with him-- I mean, he's a smart guy, he can run a whole inn, *why can't he mail a simple letter for a friend, especially knowing it's important*?

A question that has resurfaced in my life, in one form or another, on a regular and never-ending basis.

And it's nice that Gandalf is good natured and generous about this, and I bet not a single hobbit ended up telling Barley years later all the trouble he had caused (though Strider might have), about Frodo's injury with a spiritual icepick, or the wild race to Rivendell, necessitating the intervention of an Elder High Elf (Glorfindel) the flooding of Rivendell's river, the near murder of the future King and capture of the Ring by the Enemy.... 

But Barliman didn't need to know - he knew it was important, and he knew he'd forgotten. And in my mind I know that it lived inside him for the rest of his life, like a little shard of glass in his heart, one of those things that woke him up when they day wasn't busy enough and old memories made their sudden full-color appearances. That a part to play in the matter of the Great War of his age had fallen to him, a chance to play a small part in the salvation of his entire world - and he'd gotten distracted and left it in a drawer.