| John R. 'Buck' Buckley |
| HOME PAGE |
Boys' Football Coach Was a Lesson in Perseverance
By Joe Holley
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, July 12, 2009
JOHN BUCKLEY, 87
Back in the mid-1950s, when the boys of
Anacostia were playing recreational football
every autumn in a league sponsored by the
Metropolitan Police Boys Club, the coach they
clamored to play for was a burly, hard-nosed
Vince Lombardi-type named John Buckley. The
kids lucky enough to play for him probably had
heard that his teams for players weighing 85
pounds or less were not only undefeated for several years running but also unscored on for four straight
years.
They might have heard that Mr. Buckley played football. After being an All-Metro lineman for McKinley
Technical High School, he played semipro ball for the Anacostia Eagles and during the war years was
drafted by the Washington Redskins. They probably knew that he also coached baseball, basketball and
boxing at the D.C. Recreation Center in Congress Heights.
What they might not have known initially was that their big, tough coach was legally blind.
John Richard Buckley, who died June 7 of cancer at age 87, was born with a rare disease called X-linked retinoschisis, which causes the
retina to deteriorate, like holes tearing open in cheesecloth. His parents realized that he had the congenital disease when as a 5-year-old
he failed to see an oncoming car. He had a bit of peripheral vision, and he could make out shapes. Over a lifetime, he learned how to
compensate.
An example: His son-in-law, Terry Osman, has a twin brother; both played football for Mr. Buckley when they were youngsters. "The only
way he distinguished between the two of us was the way we ran," Osman recalled. "Nobody else could tell who was Terry or Gary, but he
could distinguish us."
Mr. Buckley's daughter -- also named Terry Osman -- recalled how she would try to get away with wearing a bit of makeup as a 16-year-old,
despite her father's dictum about waiting until she was out of high school. "My father would catch me every time," she recalled, laughing.
She asked him, years later, how he did it, since he could not see the features of her face, much less whether she had applied a bit of eye
shadow or a touch of lipstick. He explained that he could tell by her tone of voice; a tiny quaver of guilt betrayed her. "You didn't get away
with much," she said.
Harriet Smith met Mr. Buckley when he wangled a seat beside her in English class at McKinley Tech in the late 1930s. Buck -- he was Buck
his whole life, never John -- kept asking her for a date, but she was wary of going out with him; the Tech football players had a reputation
for drinking and rowdiness. But he was charming and persistent, and a superb dancer.
On Feb. 22, 1940, the two went on their first date -- to a battle of the big bands at the Wardman Park Hotel. Two years later, Harriet Smith
became Harriet Smith Buckley. She was 18; he was 20.
His high school buddies called him "Blind Man," Harriet Buckley recalled. Sitting in her Gambrills apartment one morning recently, she
remembered a long-ago football game and the opposing team's quarterback executing a masterful fake. Mr. Buckley was the only defender
who did not go for the fake; he stayed with the quarterback. "Hey, Blind Man's chasing the wrong guy!" the soon-to-be Mrs. Buckley heard
his teammates shout. Only it wasn't the wrong guy.
After the game, she mentioned what she had heard. Mr. Buckley laughed. "Harriet," he said, "I've been hearing that all my life. It doesn't
bother me."
During World War II, he worked at the Navy Yard, where he calibrated the optics on munitions -- by touch. Since he usually arrived home
from work earlier than his wife, he got into the habit of strolling over to a Congress Heights playground most afternoons. The District Parks
and Recreation Department eventually offered him a job as a coach; it was obvious that he had a gift for working with kids.
In 1945, he became the purchasing agent for the NCO Club at Bolling Air Force Base, a job he held until his retirement in 1987.
Responsible for maintaining the liquor supply for three bars and buying food and drink for the club restaurant, he relied on his extra-keen
senses of hearing and touch to do the job. "He could take a fifth of whiskey and tell you how many drinks were still in it, by the weight,"
son-in-law Osman recalled.
He worked seven days a week at the NCO Club, but it was his time with kids -- first his players and then with nearly 30 grandchildren -- that
kept him youthful and engaged with life.
Ray Robert, 66, started playing football for Mr. Buckley at age 7. "He was knowledgeable about the game. He was great with the kids,"
recalled the Gaithersburg Realtor. "He was firm, but he was fair."
He knew what he was doing, said Kenny Talbert, 73, a retired Clinton furniture store owner who played for Mr. Buckley year-round. "His
teams were like little pros. They were just so smooth, shifting and everything. It was beautiful to watch."
Robert and Talbert stayed in touch with their coach, as did other Anacostia boys. He was a major influence in their lives.
"He instilled a desire to do the best you can do," Robert recalled.
"Blind Man" knew about doing the best you can do, even when it wasn't easy.
By Joe Holley
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, July 12, 2009
JOHN BUCKLEY, 87
Back in the mid-1950s, when the boys of
Anacostia were playing recreational football
every autumn in a league sponsored by the
Metropolitan Police Boys Club, the coach they
clamored to play for was a burly, hard-nosed
Vince Lombardi-type named John Buckley. The
kids lucky enough to play for him probably had
heard that his teams for players weighing 85
pounds or less were not only undefeated for several years running but also unscored on for four straight
years.
They might have heard that Mr. Buckley played football. After being an All-Metro lineman for McKinley
Technical High School, he played semipro ball for the Anacostia Eagles and during the war years was
drafted by the Washington Redskins. They probably knew that he also coached baseball, basketball and
boxing at the D.C. Recreation Center in Congress Heights.
What they might not have known initially was that their big, tough coach was legally blind.
John Richard Buckley, who died June 7 of cancer at age 87, was born with a rare disease called X-linked retinoschisis, which causes the
retina to deteriorate, like holes tearing open in cheesecloth. His parents realized that he had the congenital disease when as a 5-year-old
he failed to see an oncoming car. He had a bit of peripheral vision, and he could make out shapes. Over a lifetime, he learned how to
compensate.
An example: His son-in-law, Terry Osman, has a twin brother; both played football for Mr. Buckley when they were youngsters. "The only
way he distinguished between the two of us was the way we ran," Osman recalled. "Nobody else could tell who was Terry or Gary, but he
could distinguish us."
Mr. Buckley's daughter -- also named Terry Osman -- recalled how she would try to get away with wearing a bit of makeup as a 16-year-old,
despite her father's dictum about waiting until she was out of high school. "My father would catch me every time," she recalled, laughing.
She asked him, years later, how he did it, since he could not see the features of her face, much less whether she had applied a bit of eye
shadow or a touch of lipstick. He explained that he could tell by her tone of voice; a tiny quaver of guilt betrayed her. "You didn't get away
with much," she said.
Harriet Smith met Mr. Buckley when he wangled a seat beside her in English class at McKinley Tech in the late 1930s. Buck -- he was Buck
his whole life, never John -- kept asking her for a date, but she was wary of going out with him; the Tech football players had a reputation
for drinking and rowdiness. But he was charming and persistent, and a superb dancer.
On Feb. 22, 1940, the two went on their first date -- to a battle of the big bands at the Wardman Park Hotel. Two years later, Harriet Smith
became Harriet Smith Buckley. She was 18; he was 20.
His high school buddies called him "Blind Man," Harriet Buckley recalled. Sitting in her Gambrills apartment one morning recently, she
remembered a long-ago football game and the opposing team's quarterback executing a masterful fake. Mr. Buckley was the only defender
who did not go for the fake; he stayed with the quarterback. "Hey, Blind Man's chasing the wrong guy!" the soon-to-be Mrs. Buckley heard
his teammates shout. Only it wasn't the wrong guy.
After the game, she mentioned what she had heard. Mr. Buckley laughed. "Harriet," he said, "I've been hearing that all my life. It doesn't
bother me."
During World War II, he worked at the Navy Yard, where he calibrated the optics on munitions -- by touch. Since he usually arrived home
from work earlier than his wife, he got into the habit of strolling over to a Congress Heights playground most afternoons. The District Parks
and Recreation Department eventually offered him a job as a coach; it was obvious that he had a gift for working with kids.
In 1945, he became the purchasing agent for the NCO Club at Bolling Air Force Base, a job he held until his retirement in 1987.
Responsible for maintaining the liquor supply for three bars and buying food and drink for the club restaurant, he relied on his extra-keen
senses of hearing and touch to do the job. "He could take a fifth of whiskey and tell you how many drinks were still in it, by the weight,"
son-in-law Osman recalled.
He worked seven days a week at the NCO Club, but it was his time with kids -- first his players and then with nearly 30 grandchildren -- that
kept him youthful and engaged with life.
Ray Robert, 66, started playing football for Mr. Buckley at age 7. "He was knowledgeable about the game. He was great with the kids,"
recalled the Gaithersburg Realtor. "He was firm, but he was fair."
He knew what he was doing, said Kenny Talbert, 73, a retired Clinton furniture store owner who played for Mr. Buckley year-round. "His
teams were like little pros. They were just so smooth, shifting and everything. It was beautiful to watch."
Robert and Talbert stayed in touch with their coach, as did other Anacostia boys. He was a major influence in their lives.
"He instilled a desire to do the best you can do," Robert recalled.
"Blind Man" knew about doing the best you can do, even when it wasn't easy.
During World War II, John
Buckley worked at the
Navy Yard, where he set
munitions optics by touch.
(Family Photo)
Buckley worked at the
Navy Yard, where he set
munitions optics by touch.
(Family Photo)
Coach Buckley was the go-to guy for youngsters
playing recreation-league football in Anacostia
in the 1950s. (Family Photo)
playing recreation-league football in Anacostia
in the 1950s. (Family Photo)