my dad's tribute

James Clayton Bell was born on September 8, 1939, the son of Charlie Clayton and Mary Grace Locklear.  He was the first of three children, followed by “Sister Sue”, as he called her, and Bobby Ray, all born and raised in Pembroke NC.  He learned to work hard and smart in his childhood, following his dad’s example.  Buddy could have written volumes of adventures of his younger years, as a very wild and brave (or crazy) young man, including dangerous and very fast joyrides in his daddy’s cars (and even wrecking a few of them), making moonshine and burying it in the woods, and there were so many girls and women and friends, wherever he went.  He was good-looking, always well-dressed and had a million-dollar smile.  He was proud that he didn’t have to wear cover-alls to school and always wore shiny loafers, instead of work boots. Once he gave some of his gently used clothes to a boy who had outgrown his own tired and worn clothes. Dad said he felt so good when he saw the boy wearing them to school, looking so sharp.

His life was one big adventure!  His tales of his childhood and life long friend, David Paul, were insane!  It’s a miracle that the two of them survived some of the crazy antics they did together! 

James was known as Buddy Bell, all of his life. It was never “Buddy”, it was always “Buddy Bell”. In 1956, he moved to Baltimore to live with some of his Bell Cousins and met Ruby Brown, as he called her, “the most beautiful white girl” he’d ever seen.  He was walking along Pratt Street and Ruby was sitting on a porch stoop with friends.  Buddy walked across the street, introduced himself, and the rest was history.  Dad said that he and Ruby never left each other’s side from that moment on.  Several months later, they eloped at “South of the Border” in Dillon, South Carolina. In his words, “I didn’t want Mama to meet Ruby without us being married.”  He loved his mother. 

Ten months to the day from their marriage, Ruby gave birth to me, their first child.  Four years later, their second child, Ricky, was born.  Dad built a home on Clifton Street, next door to Grace and Clayton, with the intent of living there forever.  Clayton, at the time, owned several businesses in Pembroke, including the Pool Hall, a café and the Produce Stand on the corner where the old Hardees is today.  Granddaddy’s produce stand was like the town Chat-N-Chew and what’s known today, as a convenience store, like a 7-11. I would sit on the top of the coke machine, listening to Dad visit with his uncles, Dewey, Buck, Chalmers and Carl Walter. Dad loved his uncles and aunts. 

Clayton taught Buddy how to lay brick and, together, they built a successful business.  Buddy was contracted to build the Mormon Church in Pembroke.  During that time, the members of the church befriended Buddy and his family.  He and Ruby were baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the same morning that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.  Their activity in the church was short-lived, but he was well-loved by the members.  Buddy also built the Mormon Church buildings in Greensboro and Winston-Salem.

Buddy wasn’t always responsible as a husband and father, but he did love his children.  When I was five, I “ran away” to see Granddaddy at the Produce Stand.  I walked from our Clifton Street home to Main Street, but, when I got to that busy intersection in town, I stood on the other side of the street by the railroad tracks, calling out for Granddaddy to come and get me because I knew I wasn’t allowed to cross the street.  I was in BIG trouble! When Dad got home that night, Ruby had already spanked me, but she didn’t feel it was enough.  She insisted that Buddy spank me too.  He took me to my bedroom, swatted my behind once and then lay on the bed and cried harder than I did.  That was the one and only time he ever laid a hand on me.  He told me years later that that hurt him more than anything he had ever had to do.

Buddy liked his women and his “good times”.  He was the first to tell anyone that Ruby was the love of his life, but, he was a rolling stone and she was never enough.  In effort to try to keep the marriage and family together, they moved many times to “start over”. Buddy moved his family to Baltimore in 1966 for a few years and then relocated to Miami, always, seeking new beginnings in greener pastures. The move to Baltimore gave us opportunity to enjoy being with Granddaddy’s Baltimore family.

While living in Baltimore, Buddy started a band.  His cousins, Jackie and Jimmy Huggins, would spend hours and hours, at our home, at night, singing tunes from the Beatles, Eddie Holly and Elvis.  Buddy had taught himself to play the guitar and wrote many, many songs.  He was a natural at guitar and singing. He loved to perform.  He was anything, but shy!  He wrote a song called, “Little Children”, about how children grow up too quickly.  I would cry every time he sang it. Again, I never doubted his love for us.  But, Buddy’s free spirit, as wonderful as it was, was possibly his biggest challenge, making it difficult for him to stay close to home and family.

Buddy made everything fun and/or funny!  He would gargle in mercurochrome, making his teeth and tongue and mouth as red as could be, and then sing and roll his eyes and pretend to be Joe Cocker, screaming, “I get by with a little help from my friends!” He loved to make us laugh!  He would play practical jokes, often, hiding things to spook us.  Once he left a nickel on the floor to see who would pick it up first. When I did, he said that he’d been waiting for me to do that and gave me a dollar.

In 1969, we moved to Miami and were soon joined there by Uncle Bobby, Aunt Lillian and her family, as well.  Clayton and Grace would make many trips to Florida to spend time with the family for the rest of their lives.

Ruby did her best to protect me from the “Grown-up” things that were happening in my world.  But, there was no secret that the marriage was not a happy one.  Dad would be gone for days.  We always knew that he was coming home because a dozen roses would arrive shortly before he did. In Florida, Dad was gone more than ever and things really began to change.   

Buddy and Ruby bought a home in North Miami in 1969.  They had big hopes for their future in that home, but within a year, they moved again…this time to Ohio, to be near Ruby’s sisters.

In Ohio, things seemed better.  “Uncle Buddy” was the favorite uncle of his 7 nieces and nephews.  Every weekend, all the cousins would come for Friday night sleepovers. Dad would make Chef Boyardee Pizza for dinner and pancakes every Saturday morning.  He would play games and stay up late with us!  When he was there, he was 100% there!  We had such good times.  His brothers and sisters-in-law so loved him and his great sense of humor. 

As a child, I remember Dad always siding with us, whenever Ruby was upset and enforced her strict rules.  She’d say, “You can’t leave the table until you eat all of your eggs.”  She would turn her back and Dad would stuff our eggs into the milk carton or throw them away when she wasn’t looking.  He’d always put his finger to his lips, wink and say, “Shhhh, don’t tell your mama.”  He was just a big kid himself!

One night, when I was twelve, Dad came into my bedroom in Ohio, sat on the side of my bed and just bawled and held me. He asked me how I would feel if he and Ruby got a divorce.  I said, “No, Daddy, that would be awful.”  He didn’t say another word and it was never mentioned again.  In my mind, Dad always gave me what I wanted. I had said “no” to the idea, so that was the end of that. I didn’t realize when they told us that we were moving back to Miami and Dad was going ahead to find us a home”, this was the beginning of their divorce. Dad went to Florida in the spring of 1971.  We followed when school ended and he never moved back home again. 

During the next years in Florida, Buddy’s life went another direction. His life took turns that no one would have ever expected.  His choices brought him many momentary pleasures, but nothing of lasting value.  During the next thirty years, he married and divorced a few times, fathered another son, and learned some hard lessons in life.  We have taught our children that “the Choices we make today determine our Happiness tomorrow.”  Dad’s choices, at this time, left him with a much different tomorrow.

However, this was Buddy Bell and he was one of the few people who could come out of a federal penitentiary and say that he, actually, enjoyed his time there. He could make friends anywhere with anyone.  He did not judge people by color or religion or status. He loved people!

It was while he was away that Dad learned to be quite proficient at leatherworking.  He made purses and wallets for each of us and we will always consider them our treasures.

No one could tell a story like Buddy Bell! He could find the good in things and make you laugh about anything! He had an amazing sense of humor and a gift for gab with anyone!  I remember, as a young girl, walking through the store.  Dad stood and carried on a full conversation with a mannequin, like it/she was talking back to him! People stopped and watched him, just staring. He even shared a piece of popcorn the mannequin, putting it right into her mouth! People thought he was crazy, but, I thought he was great! 

After the birth of our first son, Dad came to visit us in Utah. My husband, Doug, was in awe of his ability to made everyone feel like they were special.  Aside from the passing of Granddaddy, Grannie and Uncle Bobby, there were only a few contacts during that time. Whether he called me daily or every few years, I’d pick up my phone and hear Dad’s sweet southern voice, “Is this the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world?”  I’d say, “Dad!”  He’d respond, “I love you so much, Darlin’.”  Every. Single. Call.

Dad could not sit still!  He was always on the run. When Uncle Bobby was in the hospital, we woke up and He was antsy to get to the hospital.  We’d drive the distance, get inside and five minutes later, he’d say, “Let’s go.  We’ll come back later.”  We’d get back to Grannie’s and he’d be ready to get back to the hospital. We went back and forth over and over like that for three days.  He was definitely a mover and a shaker!

When our daughter, Liza, got engaged, she insisted that she wanted to meet her grandfather before her wedding.  I had not heard from him in several years and had no way of contacting him. A few phone calls and three days later, Dad called and announced, “If my granddaughter wants to meet her granddaddy, then I’m gonna come out and meet her.”  Two days before Liza and Buddy’s wedding, Dad and Aunt Sue came out for five of the best days of my life. 

During Dad’s wedding visit, he spent every spare moment at my dining room table, reading every word, studying each photo in great detail from almost forty scrapbooks that were a record of my entire life from birth to the present.  His eyes filled with tears, as he witnessed the experiences of my lifetime, and of my children’s, for his first time. Dad acknowledged, “I’ve missed it all, haven’t I, Baby?”  I believe that this was one of those moments in his life, where he knew that life was catching up with him, how much he had lost because of his choices and, most of all, just how important family is.

That few days was incredible.  The night before the wedding, we gathered in our living room with his posterity, all eyes on Dad, as he told story after story of his life until the wee hours of morning. (Some of the stories, Doug and I weren’t sure we wanted our kids to hear!) We were all belly-laughing, as he talked about David Paul, Uncle Bobby, his “college” experiences, fast cars, women and outrunning the law several times. He was larger than life, yet, a gentle man.

For almost three decades, Doug’s conservative, Mormon family, had heard stories about my Dad’s wild and crazy life.  I wanted them to meet my dad, so we hosted a dinner for over fifty friends and family at the church. Doug’s family were not sure what to expect. Doug’s youngest Brother, Danny, touched my heart, when he said, “Ya know, Soph, I gotta tell ya, I was a little nervous about meeting your dad. After all these years, I expected to meet “Guido the Gangster” but instead, he’s just a big teddy bear.”  Danny could not have spoken truer words.

That week with Dad was magical for the five of my six children who had the opportunity to get to know him some.

After the wedding, his old habits reappeared and we didn’t hear much from him, until a few years later, when he was diagnosed with throat cancer.  After his surgery, he was told that his days were numbered.  His health was deteriorating rapidly and he wanted us to have one last visit to say goodbye.  Because he was not strong enough to make the trip to Utah, we decided that I would visit him instead.  Dad wept and said, “I can’t believe you would come all this way to tell me goodbye.” 

That five days were five of the happiest days of my life.  Dad was weak and tired, but, he never complained.  He stayed wrapped in a blanket in my rental car, as we drove from cemetery to cemetery in the cold rain. I walked in the rain, reading headstones and then he would tell me stories about the people I mentioned.  When I asked him about a woman named Roxanna, he took me to a cemetery that was out in the middle of a field.  I love working on our genealogy and this woman’s name had baffled me for years.  She was listed under nine different names, but always connected to James Locklear.  When I walked through this cemetery, I found the headstone of Roxanna Monroe, Dad’s grandmother.  He saw my excitement and got out of the car, in the pouring rain, and walked out to where I stood by her grave. 

Dad, then, recalled that he’d come to this cemetery when he was a little boy, almost seventy years before, to clean these headstones.  We stood there and wept together, as he said, “Baby, these are our people.  I can’t believe this.  We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for these people.”  He had made a connection with lives gone before us and again recognized the importance of family.  It was a beautiful moment that I will cherish forever.

Dad had decided that he would have no more cancer treatments and he was nearing the end of his life…what he called “Plan A.”  It was a tearful morning when we said, what was to be our last goodbye, on Kent and Ronda’s doorstep before my return to Utah.

Immediately at home, I gathered my family to share all of the details of my trip.  Liza was fascinated and insisted, “I want to go too!”  We called Dad and told him that Liza and I wanted to come and see him again.  He began Plan B,  chemotherapy, that next week!  Six months later, Dad was cancer free when Liza and I had the time of our life, visiting him again and connecting deeply with our southern roots and our wonderful family, who we lovingly learned to call “our people”.  We loved every second of our time together!  Dad was slowing down, but, Liza grew to adore her grandfather more than ever.

A few months later, Dad even flew to Utah for Thanksgiving.  My youngest three children, now old enough to appreciate the time together, were able to make a connection with and adore him, as well.  As I decorated my home for Christmas, he sat watching and repeatedly said, “You got it all figured out, Baby.  It is all about family, isn’t it?” 

He sat in my kitchen for two days, watching, as I cooked and prepared our Thanksgiving meal.  Dad made no secrets of the fact that he didn’t not like many of the ingredients he was watching me add into my Thanksgiving recipes.  On Thanksgiving, as we gathered for our feast, Dad tried every single thing on the table and said, “Darlin’, I’ve eaten at some of the finest restaurants in the world and I’ve never had a better meal than this.”  He ate the leftovers until they were all gone, and once he was back home, he called, wishing he had some more of my cranberry apple salad! 

That was Dad.  He just made people feel good.  He would tell strangers, “Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?”  Many times, I saw him offer restaurant servers, “I have a $50 bill in one hand and a $20 in the other.  You choose and you can keep the change.”  The server would choose and Dad would always say, “You chose the wrong one” and give them both.  He was generous and kind.  He also loved to propose marriage to servers.  He’d say that the minute he saw her, he recognized her as the one he had been dreaming of all his life, then he’d propose. He’d make the plainest Jane feel like a million dollars with his complements, and could find something beautiful in everyone.

The last time that I saw Dad, there was a sadness about him.  He realized that his life was winding down and that, although he’d experienced quite the life, he had also missed out on so many of the things that really matter. He’d lived a big life, but not the one he could have had. He had loved, but not always the right people in the right ways.  He’d had fun, but he’d missed the joy.  He sat, twiddling his thumbs (which was a habit he inherited naturally from his mother) and staring off in deep thought. There was an emptiness that could not be filled and he knew it.

When I think of Buddy Bell, I don’t think of the sadness or the things that he missed out on or chose not to have in his life.  I think of the good times, of the laughs and the love when we were together. He was not always there, but when he was, he was the best father that I could imagine. Buddy Bell lived by his own rules, and sometimes that didn’t go well for him, but he made the most of whatever life brought. Perhaps he lacked self-discipline or perhaps he lacked faith. He knew how to have a good time, to be a good time, to give others a good time.  He never found exactly what he was looking for, but, he did make a difference to so many who knew and loved him.  We may never know or understand this, but it is not ours to understand or to judge.  He was a son, a father, a brother, a husband, a friend. Buddy Bell was my father.  To know him was to love him.  To be his friend was to be his family.

It's my belief that when we “graduate” from this life, we will be met by loved ones and continue to learn and to progress. We carry with us the love and all the knowledge we gained in this life.  I hope that Dad will, with eyes wide open, finally, capture the value of family and service and the love of Christ.  I think that in this last few years of his life, he was beginning to realize that.  It might have been too late for his physical body to act on it, but, in his heart, I believe he knew.

He did not have all the joy in life that he could have had…BUT! In spite of his weaknesses and addictions and challenges, he blessed me and many who loved him with good laughs and good memories.  I hope that we can all remember Buddy Bell for the good that he did in his life.  I will, forever, think of him with love and gratitude. I pray that we can see him thru God’s eyes.  He was a child of God, a son of a Heavenly Father who loved him, unconditionally.  I pray that we can see him through the loving eyes of our Savior, Jesus Christ, who makes all things right, who atoned for our choices, good or bad. That’s how I choose to see and remember my father.  I adored him.