I cannot think today of a world without Syl Buckel. He was a neighbor who lived nearby in Audubon Park, an artist with whom I shared studio space at The Cloister, and a friend whose smile made the backbreaking Picture Hanging Days at The Kentucky State Fair Fine Arts And Crafts Department more pleasant. He was also the carpenter who installed rows of molding on the lower-level walls of our Gallery at Founders Square.
Some friends and memories of adventures shared with them are kept in a little pouch always slung around your shoulder. Syl Buckel was one of those friends.
I keep many memories of Syl in that pouch of mine but there are two that I hold most dear. During our Cloister Studio days, I had planted a garden in the whole backyard of the little red brick shotgun house across the street where we held art classes. It was growing nicely but Syl had not yet seen it.
When he walked back there with me and saw the total area in vegetable use, he looked at me and without saying a critical word at what I had done, silently walked over, picked up the garden hose, and proceeded to water the garden. I recall the beets were very good that year.
The second memory that always arises is Syl’s magic way of disappearing his cigar at our Gallery location on the lower level of Founders Square. In those days smoking was allowed in public places. Public or private, Syl’s wife Lillian would have none of smoking around her and of course not a cigar!! So when Syl took Lillian for her weekly hair appointment down the street at Stewart’s, he would come by the Gallery and do volunteer work until time to pick up Lillian from her salon trip. It was his smoking day.
Syl was talking and smoking his cigar standing across the room beside a tall bourse box with his back toward me when Lillian appeared at the door. For some reason, her appointment was canceled so she walked the block to the Gallery to casually stand in the doorway and announce, “I think I smell a cigar.”
I looked up from my paperwork at the desk beside the door as Syl turned to face us. “Hello, Lillian.” He said.
There was no cigar in his hand or evidence there had ever been one. He did not acknowledge the existence of such an object being within the hallowed Gallery walls and after a brief conversation, they left for home, Lillian without her new hairdo and Syl without his cigar.
I searched the browse box area intent on retrieving that half-smoked cigar but found no trace of it and when queried later about the episode, Syl merely shrugged his shoulder, smiled, and changed the subject.
Mr. Buckel impressed many people through the years with his kind manner and beaming smile. My Uncle Frank knew him in the early years when they worked at a grocery and I was fortunate to know him in the later times. To all of us, he was a remarkable gentleman and artist. Today Mr. Buckel paints with angels.