NEW LENOX, IL — Maybe you've somehow missed it over the years, that yellow chair that sits just beyond the railroad tracks parallel to Route 30 in New Lenox.
Or maybe you've seen it with a plastic skeleton seated there, decked out for a special occasion. Currently, a sign with "RIP Mike" written across it is placed there, piquing curiosities and tugging at hearts. Who was Mike?, some queried on local social media pages.
Those who know the story behind it answer with ease: "Mike" was Mike Buell, a beloved longtime New Lenox man with a love of trains and heart for service. Buell—a retired train mechanic who, with his wife Judy, lived and raised their family in New Lenox for decades—used to sit and watch the trains pass from his perch just beyond their yard. That yellow chair was practically a landmark, and Mike, a local legend.
Mike died Aug. 2. He was 80 years old.
"He'd also say he's watching historic Route 30," Judy Buell said. "But there was a treeline between the house and the railroad tracks, and I think he might have been sneaking a beer or two.
"Just my intuition," she said, laughing.
Mike and Judy sold that home on Old Hickory Road in 2020, and the sign seen there now was placed by the home's current owners, in a touching tribute to Mike.
But there was so much more to Mike than his passion for watching trains. His and Judy's love nurtured a marriage that spanned nearly six decades. He had a passion for walking, hiking, golfing and puzzling. His hours spent volunteering were staggering, with contributions to the New Lenox Township Food Pantry and Silver Cross Hospital.
At Silver Cross, specifically, he notched 10,520 hours volunteering across 16 years and 4 months. He began volunteering alongside Judy, who is a "King's Daughter" at the hospital. The title denotes a member of the Will County Union of King's Daughters and Sons—now largely represented locally by groups like the Silver Belles Circle—which is the charitable women's organization that founded the hospital in 1895.
Together, he and Judy installed Lifelines, a service for elderly residents that alerted family members or 911 in case of emergency. When that program was discontinued, Judy went on to work in the Encore Resale Shop, and Mike took on delivering newspapers to hospital patients. He'd often appear in costume, always bringing the "most adorable smiles to patients and staff," his family described in his obituary. His dedication was unmatched.
"One winter, we had 47-degree (below zero) weather—he came," said Laura Valencik, volunteer coordinator at Silver Cross Hospital. "He waited until it got to be maybe 20 below, but he still came."
He was known for being quiet, with his select spoken words "always filled with wit and wisdom," his family wrote in his obituary.
"Mike was a man of few words, but when he said something, you listened," said Laura Valencik, volunteer coordinator at Silver Cross Hospital. "If you needed something, he'd say, 'absolutely.'"
During COVID-19, they created visitor tags at their home, Valencik said.
"His hands touched everything," Valencik said of Mike specifically. "He was always willing—you asked him and he did it."
Mike and Judy's service left an indelible mark.
"Just wonderful people that made a difference, liked helping others," said Valencik.
"We're very fortunate here at Silver Cross because we have so many volunteers. Mike had over 10,000 hours—that's a huge commitment to the hospital."
Judy said it all seemed so simple for Mike.
"He just loved doing that kind of stuff," she said.
If you ask Mike, he first noticed Judy just three days after he was born.
Looking over from his nursery crib at the old Silver Cross Hospital, he declared, "I'm going to marry that beautiful girl someday!," he would joke with his family.
They married young—at just 22—and celebrated their 57th wedding anniversary before his death, which came just months shy of their 58th. They share two daughters—Jody and Jeanette—and grandchildren Mila and Xavier.
Mike built a life centered on family, faith, work, and service to his community. He followed in the footsteps of his father and grandfather by working on the EJ&E Railroad, and he eventually retired from Canadian National in 2006. His love for trains was inked into permanence, with a tattoo of a CN train and another of an EJ&E steam engine.
Fueled by his faith, he also participated in the Walk to Emmaus through the United Methodist Church of New Lenox Men's Ministry. His friends then accompanied him on food pantry runs, where they fostered deep friendships and community connections, his obituary reads.
He enjoyed staying active at the gym, "where he always insisted on doing two extra reps," family wrote.
"Whether sitting around a campfire or spending a day at the ballpark, he loved relaxing with 'two' cold beers and a Chicago-style hot dog," his obituary reads.
He's buried now in Graceland Cemetery, where, fittingly, the inventor of luxury railroad cars, George Pullman, was also laid to rest.
It's also within earshot of Wrigley Field, Buell said. Mike was a Chicago Cubs fan.
"The Cubs park is close, so he could hear the Cubs' cheering," she recalled. "That was just the thing that he talked about."
In his later years, Mike suffered from Parkinson's, limiting his mobility, Buell said. Still, he left a lasting impact on all those around him, including his grandchildren, whom he taught "to live bravely, stay present, live life with purpose, and love unconditionally."
He loved puzzling and would spend hours completing massive ones. Often, the final piece would somehow be missing, and he and Judy would painstakingly search for it.
"He did one puzzle, which was toilet paper rolls," Buell said. "Took him 1.5 years to do. But usually, he'd do them in three weeks."
The hobby required fastidiousness and patience, the latter of which didn't always come easy for Mike.
"Lots of time he didn't have patience for things,"Buell said, laughing, "but for that, he did."
Mike's laugh was infectious, his family said, and his conviction fierce.
"... yet his soul was deeply tender," according to his obituary. "While Parkinson's disease took much from him, it never broke his spirit."
As his condition worsened, Mike had nine hospital visits since April, Buell said. But there, they learned something special.
"When he was in the hospital, everybody knew him," Buell said. "Others would say, 'I think I know you!' He was so touched and humbled that people remembered him. He never bragged about anything he did at all. It was nice to see."
When Mike wasn't in that yellow chair, something else was—a blowup Santa Claus, Easter Bunny or scarecrow.
"It was my idea that for the holidays, we'd put something in the chair," Buell said.
Later, she decided to paint the chair and add an "emoji" face to it, a project they undertook with their grandchildren, she said. The chair seen there now is not the original—they took that one with them when they moved—but the current owners picked up where they left off.
Many have seen the skeleton, dubbed "Skelly" by many, seated there.
"They're lovely, thoughtful, caring people who want to carry on the tradition," Buell said. "He's carrying on having something in the chair. ... That's the legacy of the chair."
Even in death, Mike found a way to serve. His brain has been donated to a facility in California for Parkinson's research—a decision he made earlier this year, Buell said.
Services for Mike have already passed, but even there, Buell was reminded of the impact he'd made on all those around him.
"Everybody is surprising me with all the accolades about what a great man he was," Buell said. "All those people, I found out, cared a lot about him."
It's special, what Mike meant to so many, and how a yellow chair moved a community.
"It was a great run," Buell said.
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