By Movieguide® Contributor
Bonnie (Buckner) Brexler
Growing up next door to your grandparents can offer a lot to a child. For me, the experience was nothing less than magical. A big white house set back off the beaten path, filled with stories, love, and always a good meal. Creativity was nurtured inside that house, and dreams began to fill my head. From there, there was no looking back.
Jack M. Buckner and his wife, Florence, were my grandparents. We were a bit like Everybody Loves Raymond — but in reverse — always barging through their door unannounced. Over the forty-plus years my family lived next door to them, my most vivid memories were rooted in our shared love of film.
My grandfather was an incredible artist. The house was filled with his paintings and oil replicas of photographs he had taken on his travels. Music was always playing, and the upstairs art room was the grandkids’ favorite place of all. And every night, you knew a movie was on the schedule.
Nestled in the living room while my ever-attentive grandmother brought us perfectly portioned movie popcorn and snacks, we watched. While most kids were probably consuming whatever the 80s had to offer, we were immersed in the stories of Shirley Temple, the drama of The Miracle Worker, the tenderness of Anne of Green Gables, and singing from our chairs to Meet Me in St. Louis.
They loved film, and it touched their lives, and mine, in many ways over the years that followed.
Jack met and befriended Ted Baehr, who at the time was just beginning his online publication, MOVIEGUIDE®. They partnered on fundraising efforts for charity, and soon Jack joined him in helping bring Ted’s mission to life. He offered his assistance in Atlanta, where the office was first established. Jack and Florence served on the Board of Directors and later the Board of Reference for many years. They became close friends, seeking each other’s prayers and advice, supporting one another faithfully.
They spoke of Ted and his wife, Lili, often. They were excited to play even a small part in creating a faith-based guide for film and television. As movies began to change from the ones they had shown us growing up to what was now appearing on screens, words and ideas presented without warning or context, they believed that understanding content beforehand allowed people to make wiser viewing choices.
In elementary school, I attended my first MOVIEGUIDE event in Atlanta. I remember getting dressed up and giving our names at the door of the “Pink Mansion,” as they called it. To a young kid who already dreamed of Hollywood, the event felt magnificent. At that point, and probably since birth, I knew I was going to make films. Watching the stars move through, the pageantry, I felt completely in my element.
On weekends, we would gather in the kitchen and read the MOVIEGUIDE magazine together, searching for the film that felt right for us all before heading off to the theater. My grandmother would walk us through the reviews. Sometimes we still chose films with questionable content, but we discussed it beforehand — and afterward — giving it context and understanding within the greater scope of life.
By high school, I had my eyes set only on film schools. I went next door to ask my grandfather’s advice, and he said, “You need to call Ted.” I sat in their office as my grandfather dialed him directly and handed me the phone. By then, MOVIEGUIDE was based in Los Angeles and running as a full company. Ted generously gave me advice and insight into the grand business of “show business.” I will never forget that call, nor the graciousness of the time he gave me.
I would go on to live in Los Angeles and build a career entertaining people through film and television. I’d meet my husband there, actor Cameron Brexler. We would have our daughter, Parker, in a room at Cedars-Sinai Hospital with the Hollywood sign visible through the window. The dream that began in my grandparents’ house had come true.
Jack mailed us two tickets to the MOVIEGUIDE Awards, and my husband and I attended dressed in our awards best. I once thought nothing could be grander than that Pink Mansion event from my childhood — but this was something else entirely. The growth of MOVIEGUIDE and the support surrounding it were a testament to how needed and appreciated its mission and values truly were.
Over the following years, Jack and Florence continued to live lives of service to their family and others. They helped found what is now Perimeter Church in Alpharetta, where many of their closest friendships were formed. Jack ran the company he founded, Abuck, until retirement, and then the two of them traveled as long as they were able. In later years, they discovered a shared love of golf. Holidays were still centered around their dining room table, with Florence’s recipes that could never quite be replicated.
Jack also became involved with the World War II Museum in Louisiana, flying down to be honored at the opening of a new wing. His two-hour interview spans his story of enlisting underage, flying more than fifty bombing missions, and returning home to his beloved Florence waiting on the other side.
They were married for seventy-nine years. Florence passed in 2023. Our “Grand Daddy Jack,” as we called him, passed two years later at the age of 102 and a half — to the day.
After their passing, we walked through their empty house, cleaning out the last remaining items. Inside a drawer beneath the television was a neat row of VHS tapes, recorded-from TV films, labeled alphabetically, just as organized as ever.
I picked up Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and held it in my hands. In an instant, I was back in their basement while Grand Daddy Jack helped me fabricate a set for my next grand production. In that world, anything was possible. My dreams were possible.
And the gifts they shared with our family — and with the world — will be remembered always.
— Bonnie (Buckner) Brexler
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