Ryland Fisher
Easily one of the most progressive people I have ever met is an Episcopal (Anglican) priest who grew up in America’s Deep South, in the kind of small town where white nationalism thrives and, not too long ago, black people were being lynched for merely being black.
But the Reverend Kent “Buck” Belmore was never one to fit into boxes and when I met him in 2003, he was running a busy church in Atlanta, Georgia, a predominantly black city. He quickly became one of my best friends and his family became my second family who I love almost as much as my own.
Buck was one of the most colourful characters that I have ever met. He lived life in an uninhibited manner, driven by a huge love for humanity. His actions would sometimes make other people in the priesthood feel uncomfortable. He had a huge influence on me and we hit it off immediately, even though we came from very different backgrounds. We disagreed on many things, but we agreed on the core values one needed to serve people in whatever capacity. He taught me that skin colour does not necessarily impact on whether you become progressive or not.
Buck passed away from organ failure in Las Vegas, Nevada, late on Saturday afternoon, at the age of 68. It would have been early Sunday morning in South Africa.
When Buck’s wife, Connie Dee, called me on Saturday morning, SA time, to tell me he was in hospital, I knew it would not be long before she called me again, which she did on Sunday morning to confirm the worst.
I met Buck the first time when I was offered a Research Fellowship at the Center for the Study of Public Scholarship at Emory University in 2003. Through my good friend, the Reverend Courtney Sampson, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, I learned about this priest in Atlanta who had been the Archbishop’s chaplain when he was recovering from colon cancer in Atlanta. As chaplain, Buck would pray with Archbishop Tutu every morning.
After we were introduced via email, Buck called me to ask when I was going to arrive in Atlanta. I gave him a rough idea but did not confirm the time or day.
After I arrived and had settled into the apartment where I was going to stay for the next few months of my fellowship, I called Buck. He was disappointed because he wanted to fetch me at the airport.
“I would have been the guy with the huge South African flag,” he said. From my experience with him later, I knew that he would have done that. He was always larger than life. But he also loved South Africa and considered moving here after he retired from the priesthood.
We connected almost from my first day in Atlanta and I ended up spending most of my free time with Buck, Connie Dee and their beautiful children, Thomas and Sarah. It helped that their home was just down the road from my apartment and my office. They adopted me and I adopted them.
With the Belmores at their home in Atlanta in 2003.
One time, Buck and Connie Dee had to go out of town and asked me to pop in as often as possible to see their children, even though they had hired a babysitter. One day, I received a call at their house, which I thought was strange. The person on the other end of the line started speaking to me in Afrikaans and I realised very quickly that it was Archbishop Tutu. He was flying through Atlanta to see his daughter and wanted me to join them for supper that evening. It was an offer I could not refuse and that night I braved driving Buck’s car on the American roads (they drive on the opposite side to us in South Africa). It was one of the most enjoyable dinners I had. It also gave me a great insight into the thinking of Archbishop Tutu.
When I left Atlanta, there were tears all around the Belmore residence because we all thought it was going to be the last time they would see me. But we saw each other a few times after that, in South Africa when Buck came to visit with some of his family members or in America when I visited them.
Buck was very proud of his church in Atlanta, and told me about how his conservative mother came to visit him one day and said, “Buck, my son, when are you going to get you a real church?”.
Just before I left Atlanta, Buck got a visit from a church council delegation from Mobile, Alabama, one of the towns in the Deep South. They wanted him to become the priest at their church. We talked about it a long time and Buck eventually decided to make the move to Mobile. He justified his decision on the basis that they had a good outreach programme and, of course, the money was better.
The family moved to Mobile and, as Buck started preaching and word got out about this progressive priest, more black people, gays and poor people started coming to the church, which upset the church hierarchy. It turned out that while they might have had a good outreach programme, they did not really believe in reaching in. They did not want blacks, gays and poor people to come to their church.
Buck also upset the church hierarchy with his political statements and once, when Barack Obama came to speak in Alabama during his first election campaign, Buck was asked to do the opening prayers, which also did not have the approval of the church hierarchy. He was also openly supportive of trade unions and other progressive organisations.
The relationship with the church in Mobile lasted just over a year and then Buck found himself unemployed and stuck in Mobile, because none of the churches to which he applied would offer him a position. Strangely, he would be shortlisted, but not get called for interviews. He discovered later that the Mobile church leadership had intervened in his attempts to find other work.
I remember once having to go to a meeting in New York and I decided to spend a few days extra so that I could visit Buck in Mobile. It was quite a mission getting there, with a flight from Newark Airport to Atlanta and then a connecting flight to Pensacola in Florida, followed by an hour’s car drive to Mobile.
But it felt good to connect with my friend and to see his family again. He shared with me all the drama that happened in Mobile.
When I returned to South Africa shortly before Christmas, I arranged to have supper with Courtney Sampson and Archbishop Tutu to inform them of Buck’s plight. I didn’t know whether this was proper, but I asked the Archbishop whether he could use his influence in America to find Buck a home in the church. I also asked him to call Buck to show his support, to which he agreed.
A day after Christmas, I received a call from Buck to tell me that he had been offered a job to become the prison chaplain in Las Vegas. He also told me that Archbishop Tutu had called him on Christmas Day.
The last time I saw Buck and his family was in 2010 when my wife and I went to spend some time with them in Las Vegas to coincide with my 50th birthday. It was a memorable trip because it coincided with Sarah’s high school graduation ceremony, which was a great experience. Buck had arranged for an Elvis impersonator to meet us at the airport, we attended some shows and spent some time together at the Grand Canyon. I also visited his place of work, the local prison, where I realised that prisoners throughout the world have a lot in common, but the ones in America seemed scarier than the ones I experienced in South Africa.
Since then, I have been trying to get back to America to visit, but, as the rand declined in value, it became more and more difficult to pay for personal overseas trips and I was doing less academic and corporate travel.
But we spoke often on the phone because Buck could never get his head around technology.
In all our calls, we would express our love for each other. When I spoke to Connie Dee and Sarah on Sunday morning SA time, we did the same. The words “I love you” were important to Buck because it underlined everything he did in life. He loved unconditionally and based his service to humanity on this. One day I hope that I will be able to do the same.
Rest in peace, my friend. The angels have no idea what they are letting themselves in for.
(Written especially as a blog for this website on Sunday 20 September 2020)
Buck in full voice at a party in Cape Town during one of his visits.
