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.
