(A version of the below tribute was read at Skagway’s memorial celebration for the late Buckwheat Donahue, held Nov. 23, 2019. On the same evening, Lynn Canal Community Players in Haines dedicated the howl during its performance of “Lust for Dust” to Buckwheat, a passionate howler and generous supporter of KHNS and many local causes.)
What kind of man drives a brand new truck splashed with paint and affixed with tiny, plastic toy soldiers?
What kind of man gains weight while hiking solo across the continent?
What kind of man spends more time describing the looks of the woman whose lips were pressed to his than the fact that he was, at the time, on an airport floor nearly dying of heart failure?
Only the best kind of man.
Only a man who casts worries to the wind, who dreams big and arrives late because he was busy telling a long tale to a new acquaintance. The kind of man who has time because he makes time, and to hell with what else he was supposed to be doing.
As a Haines person, I had a limited experience of Buckwheat Donahue, and all of it was good. To me, Buckwheat embodied Skagway. He was big, over-the-top, and bounding with mirth and welcome.
Buckwheat beat Soapy Smith at Soapy’s own game, because when we came to Skagway, we were there to lose our money and Buckwheat made us glad to do it. We’d spend freely in Buckwheat’s town because it was Buckwheat’s town.
When I ran for the Alaska Legislature, I was advised not to run an ad in the Skagway News featuring Buckwheat’s endorsement. I understood that Skagway, like all small towns, mows down its tall poppies. Buckwheat was surely imperfect and because of his imperfections, he could never become the legend to Skagwegians that he was to the rest of us.
And for that, I feel sorry for Skagwegians.
The Buckwheat I knew would do just about anything for adventure, and say just about anything for a laugh. He knew a great story, but most importantly, he knew how to tell it. When he approached you to relate an anecdote, you knew it would be a treasure, that for his twinkling eyes and expressions alone it was worth hearing.
Buckwheat will be missed but what’s more important is where he will be missed. He’ll be missed around campfires and on barstools, wherever people gather for stories, camaraderie and maybe a bit of mischief.
And those are the best places.
In his exuberance and bonhomie, Buckwheat embodied the Spirit of the North, if there is such a thing. For that, we can only hope that his spirit carries on.