This column reaches over 60 electronic and print publications each week, mostly in small towns across the United States and Canada. Every town in North America has its characters. They are larger-than-life people who stand out because of their unique personalities.

I often write about the characters in my home town of Lexington, SC. I haven't lived there in nearly 20 years, but I fondly recall these folks. One of our unique personalities in Lexington was the late Buck Harmon, a World War II veteran who was wounded, honored and never spoke about it.

Every town has its own Buck Harmon. "Buck" was his nickname, of course. Being from the south, we all have nicknames ranging from Bubba to Buck to Bo-Peep to Junior. My uncle, the former Mayor of Lexington, Eli Mack, Jr., was affectionately called Uncle Bubba Junior.

The list of nicknames is endless. They probably exist in your town too. Horace "Buck" Harmon was our self-appointed town historian in Lexington. He recently died, and we lost an institution unto itself.

I now live in St. Cloud, Florida, and our self-appointed town historian here is our local funeral director, Mr. Fisk, whom we affectionately refer to as "Digger."

Interestingly, when I lived in Lexington, the late Steve Caughman, our local funeral director of Caughman-Harman Funeral Home, was also known as "Digger." Every town has its own version of "Digger" and its own mayoral character like Uncle Bubba Junior. It's part of what gives small towns their own thumbprint.

There are more Buck Harmon stories than I have time to write about. Buck never knocked on a door in his life. Buck never said "hello" to a house in the country in his life. Ole Buck would just walk in. If you were lucky enough to be dressed, that was terrific. If not, that was terrific too. It's a wonder someone ever shot Buck Harmon. Well I almost did!

When I was only 19 years old I worked as a jailer for the Lexington County Sheriff's Department for the late Carroll Day, who was our head county cop at the time. I was working the graveyard shift, which I hated because I could never sleep very well during the day.

I had just gotten off after working two straight shifts at the Sheriff's Department and was headed home, determined to find a way to get some sleep. Buck had talked me into umpiring a local Little League game that afternoon behind the old Lexington High School on North Lake Drive.

I got home and went through my normal ritual. I removed my gun and put it on the table next to my bed. I removed my glasses and dozed off. The dreams had kicked in and I thought to myself… finally few hours of sound sleep were coming.

Have you ever had that sixth sense hit you? You know something is up; you're not quite sure what it is. That's how I felt that day. Turns out ole Buck had quietly slipped in the front door and was making his way through the apartment to remind me about my umpiring assignment.

I'm totally out of it and blind as a bat without my glasses. Half asleep, I noticed that the doorway to my bedroom had suddenly darkened.

Two hallmarks about Buck Harmon: he never knocked on doors and he occasionally stuttered.

My first instinct was to grab my gun beside the bed and level it at the person standing at my bedroom door.

Just about the time I pulled back the trigger on the gun, I hear this stammering from the intruder. "D…. D…. D….. D….. D….. D….. damn it……. D…..D…..D…..D….don't shoot…….It's B…..B…..B…..Buck Harmon. You've got a game to umpire!"

Buck Harmon died last month. We'll miss his wit and his wisdom. He was one of those characters who gave our town character. We'll miss you Buck!