Kudos and memories
A belated congratulations to the Moonshine Lullaby Trio from "Annie, Get Your Gun," Michael Brookens, Eric Smith, and Tyson Heidebrecht. As noted in last week's Marion County Record, the Marion High School threesome won a coveted Jester Award, presented by Music Theatre of Wichita, for Outstanding Ensemble Performance. The award was presented June 1.
The MHS musical comedy was presented here in November. Janet Killough directed. This is an "awesome," as younger people say, recognition from MTW, a professional ensemble/society of actors, singers, dancers, directors, producers, choreographers, etc.
My father, R.C. Buxton, died when I was 14, so that's quite a few moons ago. He was a "land man," as they used to call real-estate folks who sold farm and ranch land primarily or exclusively. He did this first at Utica, then at Ransom, both in Ness County.
He also ran the Strand Theater and the skating rink at Ransom. He was well-liked by the young people of the town for that reason and others. They pretty well packed the Methodist church at Ransom for his funeral, even if he was much older than they, at 75.
He was born in Washington County, Pa., but moved to Missouri with his parents and siblings when young. He had been a streetcar conductor in Kansas City, Mo., as a young married man, and carried a blackjack or something similar to one, as personal protection from what we would now call "creeps" (a few years ago it might have been "hoods," but that means something entirely other now).
He told me he had to use the blackjack only once, to hit a guy who was about to assault him on the streetcar. The assailant saw stars.
R.C. loved to fish and hunt, and to be with his family and friends. He did not like cameras, though. I think it had something to do with his being a movie exhibitor for so long.
When he married my mother, in 1941, he was a widower with six grown-up kids and she was a widow with three not-yet grown ones.
Then along I came, a thoroughly proper 18 months later, making a total of 10 kids in the two-part family. I became "an only child with nine brothers and sisters," all "half siblings."
My sisters on my mom's side, Valda and Willie, called my dad "R.C.," so I did likewise for quite a while. When I was six or seven, he and Mom told me he would like it if I were to call him "Dad."
After that, I did so.
When I was about 11, I became passionate about baseball — playing it, watching it, but especially going to major league games in Kansas City.
Mom, Dad, and I went to several games, several times, in KC. The so-called national pastime was my religion at that time, I guess you could say.
But I stopped liking baseball a long time ago. It's funny how one changes. I still like the KC Chiefs and football, though, and KU basketball, and in the fall and winter can even be caught KU crimson-and-blue-handed rooting for K-State in football.
My mother received many letters from people who had had real-estate dealings with my dad, after his death. They all praised him for his honesty, candor, and helpfulness. She saved the letters for a long time, but unfortunately, they eventually were discarded.
My dad had a temper, but he never stayed "mad" long. He always told me "never point a gun at anyone, not even a toy gun." After all, he was right, it might be loaded.
Once, when I was probably 13 or 14, I found a plastic water pistol. I thought it was empty. I went to my father, who was sitting in his favorite living-room chair. Stupidly, I pointed the thing at him and pulled the "trigger."
It wasn't empty. I got him on the glasses, forehead and face. He jumped up to chase me, and I ran to the bathroom, locking myself in. He didn't even curse at me, but, disgusted with me, he did go to his office downtown. When he came back, he had cooled down.
That's just one thing I remember about Richard Clyde Buxton, one of the good guys.
Happy Father's Day to all!
— JERRY BUXTON
