Two Big Macs — Mac Buckley, Mac Baldrige

As I write, I’m listening to Brad (Davis) and Dan (Lovallo) discussing, over Talk of Connecticut Radio (610 on the dial), the late Johnny Duke and the old Bellevue Square Boys Club. A veteran prize fighter, Duke operated that Hartford club for many years, training the young boxers and transporting them to various amateur boxing competitions. He would then call the results in to the Hartford Courant’s sports department for publication in the next morning’s newspaper.

It was from the Bellevue club, so popular in the north end, that flamboyant welterweight Marlin Starling emerged, along with his

equally colorful manager, attorney F. Mac Buckley. Buckley worked with Duke at the club. “Moochie”, as the boxer was known, would become a world champion, but that happened after he had parted ways with Mac.

At that time I was a Courant sports columnist. Buckley and I had our differences, but there was a solid mutual respect there and while we haven’t seen each other for many years, I remember him with good feelings.

Buckley and George Smith, who had been The Courant’s boxing writer, were friends. Smitty died recently after a three-year battle with Lewy body disease. At the wake in West Hartford, a large spray of flowers was on display near the bier. Hanging from it was a pair of boxing gloves. Sure, it was from Buckley. Very touching but not surprising. That is what Mac would do.

In the same segment, Brad and Dan mentioned Malcolm Baldrige, the Secretary of Commerce under Ronald Reagan. Baldrige, widely known for his rodeo exploits, was killed in 1987 at age 64 when his horse fell on him during a roping competition in California. He is buried in Woodbury’s North Cemetery.

The whole country mourned his death, because Baldrige was an enormously popular figure in national government, as he had been in Connecticut, particularly in Waterbury. A Nebraskan who had been a ranch hand, he attended Yale, served as a Captain in the U.S. Army during World War II and then became a captain of industry at Scovill, Inc. in Waterbury. At Scovill he accomplished many innovative initiatives and, though quiet by nature, was as popular as any man could be in his city.

When racial tensions exploded in the Brass City, Baldrige provided an unobtrusive but calming influence. Hubie Williamson, a black leader who founded the Pearl Street Neighborhood House, related a tense but important meeting between blacks and whites.

“Baldrige spoke up at that meeting,” Williamson related, “in his very calm voice, and his suggestions made everyone there listen very closely. We had a real crisis there but Mac made a big difference.”

During a rodeo that was going on at the Hartford Civic Center during his tenure as Commerce Secretary, I met Baldrige at the floor-level runway outside the arena. Holding the reins of his horse, Skippy, the Secretary was trying to coax a cup of coffee from a stubborn machine. I stopped. “Say,” said Baldrige, “do you have two nickels for a dime?”

I had two nickels and one of the best interviews ever, for me. He was terrific and willing to answer any kind of question. The story about the way he was contacted by Reagan was a classic.

“We were roping down in Woodbury,” he said. “When a message came down saying the president wanted to talk to me on the phone. I thought they were pulling my leg, laughed and kept right on roping.”

Finally, he was convinced and hastened to the house to answer the call. He told of it with amusing self-deprecation.

Mac Baldrige was a good man and the world became a lesser place when he died.