You can’t always tell a book by its cover or judge a person by first impressions. I met HB in a church basement in London 37 years ago.
Anna and I had to raise support as prospective workers with a radio programming department of a well-known missionary organization based in Southern Africa. The mission required its recruits to find backers who would provide for salary and expenses while they worked overseas. Not many organizations hire you, then send you looking for your salary, although some still do. We spent over a year convincing individuals and churches to make pledges that would get us overseas and keep us there.
I had set up my projector and cassette player to show a slide presentation to a group of potential supporters in a London, Ontario, church. The organization had supplied the slide set and accompanying tape. But I ran into difficulty. I had a lack of extension cords and dead batteries in the tape machine. With the equipment in different places in the room, I couldn’t start the tape and get to the projector in time to change slides. I stood looking from one to the other when a young bearded man stepped up.
"I’ll sit by the tape player and start it when you give me the nod," he said.
I thought, "He looks so meek and backward, I hope he can do it." But I agreed, and everything went well. Later as I thanked him, he said little, smiled, and seemed embarrassed that I would even mention such a simple favour.
"Who was the shy, retiring man who helped with the tape?" I asked an acquaintance.
A big smile split his face, "One of the most successful businessmen in the church. He gives away thousands yearly supporting missions and charities."
The church promised support and so did HB. Both remained faithful throughout our overseas career. During a short visit back home after three years in South Africa, H.B. and his wife entertained us at their home. He took me to lunch one day to discuss mission finances. I felt special that this businessman, who by then had become quite wealthy, treated me as a friend. After two more years in South Africa we returned home to stay. I briefly considered approaching H.B. for a job, but decided to return to my old trade.
We bumped into each other occasionally during the next few years. I sat with him once during a fundraiser for my college. He seemed changed, more uptight, and couldn’t wait to get away to pursue some business deal. What I had once thought shyness now appeared as aloofness. This successful, then wealthy man, had now become stinking rich. I imagined a huge cheque going to the college.
Suddenly, tragedy struck. The news media reported the murder of HB’s wife on a lonely stretch of Highway 402 near London. Imagine our shock when the police charged him with hiring a hit man to kill her. Those of us who knew him couldn’t believe that the police could make such a terrible mistake. How could anyone who lived such a productive and devout life commit such a heinous crime? But the news got worse. The trial revealed that our acquaintance had an addiction to cocaine, a secret life involving drug dealers, and an appetite for young prostitutes. The judge gave him life in prison.
Why remember this character now?
Two weeks ago Helmut Buxbaum died in Kingston Penitentiary. What a shocking reminder that what we see on the outside does not necessarily reflect the evil rampaging on the inside.
