Buckshots

      I have had my share of close calls, through misadventures I have brought upon myself.   But for the grace of God, my life could have taken some dramatic, unpleasant turns, which could have irreparably altered my life.   Fortunately, my guardian angel stepped in and saved me from my own flawed judgement calls or lack of attention to detail.        Around 35 years ago at Christmas, my grandfather in Whitesboro, Texas, gave me a small pistol as a gift.  (He collected guns.)  I didn’t think too much about it, put it in a canvas bag filled with books and drove to my home in Indianapolis.          A few weeks later, I was getting on a flight in the Indianapolis airport, went through security and that pistol in the bag showed up like the star of Bethlehem over the Nativity.  I knew the end of my misspent life was at hand and I prepared myself for instant death.  Security called the police and they took me down to their offices in the airport.  A calm, kind police officer asked

     Both of my parents worked at the Sherman Democrat newspaper as I was growing up in Sherman, Texas.   It was only about half a mile from our home and they often walked to work.   The paper was a very low key affair and our dog would walk down there during thunderstorms and sit under my mother’s desk.   My two brothers and I had paper routes and kept our delivery bags at her desk, as well.          During the months we were in school, we would deliver our papers and get home about the same time as my parents.  However, during the summer months, mother would attempt to maintain control from over the phone, while the three of us were home alone.  She would usually rush home, whip together some quick lunch, eat and race back to work.  After she left, my brothers and I would sit in the tiny breakfast nook and eat.         It was with the luncheon prayer that I exerted the most control over my younger siblings.  As the oldest, I assumed the role of saying grace over our pe

     A cross I have had to bear since my birth is my  IMMENSE head!  Most men wear a 7 1/2 size hat or something in that neighborhood.  I wear an 8  1/8!   Mine is a big, bowling ball noggin’.          Even as a baby my giant cranium stood out.  When my parents took me home from the hospital the nurses after seeing my feet, hands and head thought I was coming in for my 1 year check up.  It has always been dubbed a “Charlie Brown” head.  I have never had much hair and what little I had has had to be spread over my “Jumbo Dome.”  My parents told me because of its size, I had difficulty lifting my head when I was a baby.  They said when I did, I was pulled side to side as I attempted to keep this boulder balanced.      As a little guy, I followed “Prince Valiant” in the comic strips and my parents got me his outfit for Christmas.  My head was so big, my mother had to split the sides of his helmet so it would fit on my punkin’ head.  Ball caps fit me like a Yarmulke and could ne

     I first met Clayton Moore, The Lone Ranger, for the Longview Mall grand opening in Longview, Texas.   He led a parade into the mall astride a white horse.   It came off well. He was a nice guy and did everything we asked.   It did get back to me that he was a bit flirtatious with some of the women on our staff, but so what?   He was getting on up in his years and enjoyed the adoration of admiring female fans.      The Lone Ranger faithful were in abundance.  We all grew up watching his exploits on Saturday mornings and by the time he was working with us he had been at it a while, reaching his 65 birthday.  I didn’t envision doing too much more with him, but then the new Lone Ranger movie came out.  In a major blunder, the movie studio said Clayton Moore would have no role in the new movie.  They also said he could not legally be billed as “The Lone Ranger” and he was not even allowed to wear a mask in public!      We jumped on this with both feet!   How in the hell d

    Some years ago I was in New York, meeting some friends for dinner at a hotel near the United Nations.  I entered the hotel and walked into the elevator.  Inside were 4 very dark, nicely dressed young men.  They all wore bow ties, conservative suits and were very polite.  In broken English they explained the elevator was broken, take another please.      I stepped out, looked around the lobby and realized everyone was a very black, conservatively dressed young man, wearing a bow tie…except me.  Something was up, so I went to an empty chair in the corner and waited.  This did not sit well with these individuals and they began whispering to one another, while watching me.  A few at a time approached me and asked what I wanted.  I said I was just waiting, smiled and continued to sit.        The lobby began to fill with more of these men, all dressed the same.  They would stop, confer with one another, point to me and soon I was drawing a lot of attention.         In a few

    I grew up with the handle, Bucky Sappenfield.  At first glance, it does not appear too difficult, but there is something about the human brain that does not process my name.  Any new person in my life has a tendency to butcher the name, bestowed upon me by my parents.      On the first day of the 1st grade, my new teacher was calling role, got to me on the list, studied it for a moment before asking, “BUDDY SACKERFIELD?”    I didn’t know who she was talking about and finally she stared at me and said, ”Are you Buddy?”     “BUDDY?”  Where in the world did that come from?   She looked at the paper a bit longer and said, “Oh…Bucky.”  There is just something about that name.      We had a lady at the school office who insisted on calling me by my Christian name, George.  Yet, I didn’t know who she was talking to and it caused me more than one “dressing down” when I would not respond in a timely manner.          My 8th grade Science teacher, Mrs. Tocquigny, insisted on addr

     I was in Mrs. Murphy’s 6th grade class at Wakefield Elementary, Sherman, Texas, in the fall of 1961.  It was the pinnacle of authority and success to be a Patrol Boy!  One had to keep their grades up, not be a smart ass, be serious, responsible and vigilant.  I really, really tried to clean up my act for this honor.        We were told any infraction at school, resulted in a bad entry in your “permanent record”.  This was a report I interpreted as beginning with your birth and was kept up to date for the rest of your life.  Both good and bad incidents were recorded and would determine if you were able to graduate to the next grade, where you went to college, who you would marry and likely if you went to heaven or hell.         No one with multiple bad reports in the “permanent record” could hope to serve on the elite “Safety Crossing Squad”.  Members of the corp got to wear the Patrol Boy white belt/sash, badge and helmet.  You got to leave early for lunch to prepare to g

     I moved from Sherman, Texas to Indiana and Melvin Simon and Associates in the fall of 1972.   In the mid-70’s we were opening new regional malls at an amazing rate.  Each opening had to be bigger and splashier than the last and my employer was gaining a well-earned reputation for doing it better than anyone.      A colleague, Sandra Brock (now Sandra Cline) came up with the idea of having Ed McMahon as the spokesman for an ad and publicity campaign for a new center in Wichita, Kansas.  It was so successful, the Simons hired Ed for the ongoing openings, corporate advertising and as our corporate spokesman.  We became adept at each new opening to plan events utilizing Ed and other celebrities to generate publicity, to complement the ad campaigns.          In the mid-70’s, as Jimmy Carter was securing his nomination and then election for the presidency, his younger brother Billy was in the news every day.  We were opening a new regional mall in Springfield, Illinois, and hos

     I moved from Sherman to Indiana with Melvin Simon and Associates in the early-70’s and soon joined Big Brothers.  This organization works to provide a nurturing male figure in a young boy’s life when one is not present.  I signed on for this role with a young fellow and served on the board of the Marion County Indiana Chapter of Big Brothers.         One of our board members was a friend of famous Green Bay Packer, Paul Hornung, who obtained major sports figures as speakers for our big fundraiser each year.  The pricy tickets included drawings for big prizes, great food and revelry in an all male setting, with the focus being to spread the gospel of Big Brothers.     In the early 80's we were told Hornung had secured Howard Cosell as the speaker for our event.  He was on a tight schedule and would need a private plane to get  from New York to Indianapolis and back the same night.  I went to my boss, Fred Simon, and asked about getting one of the company jets to pick u