Buddy Bellflower died way too young. This story begins a few years before. Buddy rode our school bus for a short time when I was a youngster. He was eight years older than me and made a big impression on a little kid. His deep tan and black hair caused me to think he might be part Indian. That elevated his status considerably to a freckled-faced boy prone to sunburn.    

He was fun to be around, perhaps sensing my unspoken admiration. I never heard any talk of him causing trouble, but his natural swagger made me think he could take care of himself. Billy Griggs, a childhood friend of Buddy’s, confirmed that opinion. “Buddy was tough as nails but a really good guy. He’d fight a bear with a switch,” Billy said with a chuckle.

Billy illustrated his friend’s bravado with a story about Buddy and Mac Reed finding a coon in the stump of a hollow tree. They threw a coat over the stump then dropped it onto the critter, planning to take him hostage. The coon ate them up from the elbows down. Badly scarred arms led to heavy ribbings at school, but enhanced Buddy’s daring reputation.   

Lewis Oscar Bellflower, Jr. (originally spelled Belflowers) was born October 21, 1944, and died July 8, 1962. I was nine at the time and he was seventeen. Our paths rarely crossed after he completed the eighth grade at Pinehurst Elementary, but his mysterious death troubled me then and still does.

Karen Bellflower Brown was seven when her beloved uncle was killed. He had moved in with Karen’s family that year and was working with her father, Bo Bellflower, in his carpentry business. Dooly County Sheriff H. C. “Johnny” Johnson delivered the news.

Several fellows from Unadilla, including Buddy, had ridden together to a dance in Hawkinsville. Buddy had danced with a young lady, which didn’t go over well with some of the locals. That led to a “scuffle,” but nothing major according to those questioned.  

His Unadilla friends said Buddy stayed behind when they left. Later that night, he supposedly began a long walk home on State Highway 26. That’s where he was found after being hit by multiple vehicles. 

One theory is he passed out or stumbled in front of a car on the dark roadway. Others thought his body was placed on the pavement to conceal a murder. Sheriff Johnson told the family it appeared he’d been beaten. 

Buddy was a good-looking guy with confident charm, a combination women found appealing but their would-be suitors might resent. My guess is he danced too long with the wrong girl. Alcohol and jealousy don’t pair well.   

His death was disturbing to me because of the suspicious circumstances, but mostly because I had put him on a pedestal in early childhood. I’m not saying I should have, just that I did.

The last time I saw Buddy he was looking under the hood of a car and smoking a cigarette. Karen reminded me he kept a pack rolled up in his tee-shirt sleeve. She compared him to Fonzie from Happy Days, a tough persona concealing a tender heart. He helped her mother in the kitchen and assisted in taking care of three young children. Karen and her sister Beth adored their uncle and had begged him to stay home instead of going to the dance. 

There probably aren’t many people left who remember much about Buddy Bellflower. And the musings of a small-time columnist are unlikely to resolve unanswered questions. But it’s possible someone is tired of hiding a dark secret and ready to clear their conscience. 

Hawkinsville is in Pulaski County. His body was found in Houston. He lived in Dooly. Maybe having three sheriffs plus a city police department involved resulted in his case becoming everybody’s business but nobody’s focus. Or maybe someone decided to bury the truth.     

Sixty-two years have passed since he died, so this story probably won’t accomplish anything. It does, however, give me some peace of mind by making a small effort on his behalf. Perhaps it’s not too late to determine if justice was served or at least sought.    

The tanned boy with natural swagger made a big impression on a little kid. I guess that’s why I still think about him, why I still hope for some answers. There’s plenty of room for speculation about Buddy Bellflower’s death, but only one thing I can say for sure. Buddy Bellflower died way too young.