Earlier this month my Uncle Buck passed away. He was a typical Brown: fairly quiet with an “ornery” sense of humor, and often answered a question with, “I really don’t know much about that.” Named after his father, Charles Weldie Brown, it is unclear how he acquired his nickname Bucky. When I asked Buck about it, even he wasn’t sure. My sister vaguely remembers my father, Buck’s brother, telling a story about how Buck got his nickname; it was somehow related to hunting. This seems plausible as Buck was an avid hunter and would be out on the first day of deer season to get his buck.
Born at home in 1929 in Indiana PA, he was the youngest of ten children to Charles and Lucy Brown. He grew up in that same house, which was owned by the County Home, and attended the County Home School for first grade, Adair School through eighth grade, and one year at Indiana High School, until he quit because he “didn’t like [school].” He served in the Army from 1946 to 1947 and was stationed in several cities in Italy, including Naples and Milan. When he got out of the army and returned home, he found a vacant house; the family had moved, but he didn’t know where. As he was deciding what to do a car pulled up. He was greeted by a few family members who were coming back for some items they had left behind, including him. His parents had bought a house on North 11th street in Indiana PA.
One of his new neighbors a few doors away was Sue Penezic. My sister Kathy remembers when she was little, she would go up to the Penezic house to play with one of Sue’s nieces. When Kathy was headed back to the Brown house, Sue asked her to “tell your Uncle Buck…”, and she would deliver the message. When she was headed back up to play, Buck in turn would ask Kathy to give Sue a message. My sister became an old time text message delivery system. If they weren’t dating at the time, they must have begun soon after. Buck and Sue were married in 1957.
Several years later they moved to Maryland for about ten years, during which time they adopted their daughter Ann Marie. Whenever they came to visit us, Ann Marie and I would play together. One time Buck, Sue and Ann Marie arrived at our door from Baltimore around 9 o’clock on a Friday evening with a big grocery bag full of Maryland crabs, still warm. My parents were out and got home within an hour to see the surprise waiting for them. My mother melted butter, the table was set, and the feast of crabs began. It continued into the wee hours of the morning as they ate and talked. It felt like a very special occasion.
In 1971 they moved back to Western Pennsylvania, settling near Pittsburgh. We usually saw them a couple of times a year, either at a family event or while visiting relatives in Indiana. Occasionally they would visit my parents in Greensburg. After my dad died they continued to stop in to see my mom, often with a pie in hand. Then in 2002 I bought a house that was just a short drive to theirs, and I visited them more regularly, bringing my mom with me when I could. On one occasion I videotaped them talking about what they remembered of the past. On another, my mom and I stopped by to celebrate their 50th anniversary with them. We gave them some homemade treats including my mom’s fudge of which they were very fond.
Later when Victor and I would visit Buck and Sue, she would insist on ordering a pizza—it was hard to say “no” to Aunt Sue. We enjoyed spending time with them, which included playing a few rounds of Yahtzee. After Sue passed away, we tried to see Uncle Buck a little more often. Many times we were joined by his granddaughter and her husband, with whom he lived during his last year. We sometimes took him soup, and almost always came with some kind of pie. He mentioned his favorite pie was coconut cream, so Victor made one specially for him from scratch. Though one could say pie, of any kind, was his favorite. We would frequently play a card game and ask Uncle Buck questions about what he remembered growing up. Most of the time he gave the predictable Brown reply, “I really don’t remember much about that.”
Early last year, one story that my uncle began to tell without any prompting was when my father got in a fight with the teacher of the one room schoolhouse where my dad, Uncle Buck and their two sisters, Betty and Helen, attended. The thing that struck me most was how Buck kept repeating how clearly he remembered looking out the window and seeing my dad walking up the hill after being expelled from school, as if he were vividly seeing it again at that moment. Fortunately, Victor recorded this recollection. (Link to the video “Buck’s One-Room Schoolhouse” is at the end of this article.)
In some ways Uncle Buck provided a connection to my father who died in 1998, as well as his other siblings and the preceding generations. He grew up with them, had memories about them, and knew personal accounts and lore that make a family heritage come alive. His stories, however trivial they might have seemed to him, were gems to me. There remain questions I wished I had asked my uncle; but now, his voice is silent. I will miss those visits with my uncle, but I have many fond memories of him and his family to cherish.
His passing closes the chapter on the children of Charles and Lucy Brown. Not only was he the last survivor of his siblings, he was the last of all my aunts and uncles—the last of a generation. No one remains to tell the old family stories first hand; the torch has been passed to us to be the story tellers. May we, the next generation of Charles and Lucy, continue to preserve our family history by sharing the tales that have been handed down to us. By doing so, we honor those who have gone before us and keep their memory alive for future generations.
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