“The Lucky Bastard”-Book-2-Excerpts-1 of 3

Nearing end of teen years, Lenny does number of tween school jobs. Pumping gas, horse mating and bob-a-jobs as they arise. Hired by a Customs Broker to step fetch, he quickly learns the trade and is recruited by one of Jamaica’s largest conglomerates, the ICD Group. Took on a department single handed whilst assisting others. Dared a boss engage in fisticuffs and got fired. Qualified for a licence to practice and August 17th, 1971, hung his shingle at 86 East Street, Kingston. Ventured into fields of Real Estate and Property Management. Set up another company, importing motors and devices from Hawker Siddeley of England, main customers being Sugar Industry. Yet another business was launched, engaged in electrical engineering and construction. Had a major setback when sabotage came into fore and a 3phase upgrade went awry, resulting in a large tobacco farm, equipment and infrastructure burnout. Recovering from that debacle, an Auto Parts retail business was established. On personal level, Lenny started a family, invested in Real properties and enjoyed standard of living he never dreamed. Along the way, there were friendships made and broken during unforgettable moments.

“The Lucky Bastard-Book-2-Excerpts-2 of 3

Both were christened Evangeline. SS Evangeline was designed and built with sleek lines, creased bow without a bulb and subtly flowing curves astern. Her appointments were almost palatial compared to Grace Lines’ Santa Paula and Santa Rosa. She lay at anchor with placid elegance, on a sea that heaved ever so often in obedience to tides and currents. She deigned not be moved by nature’s force, gently persuasive or cresting with briny foam and turgidity. Knowledgeable stevedores and wharfingers stated as fact, the good ship was owned by wealthy Jamaican. Having bought her out of layup at a US port, she now plied Caribbean routes on pleasure cruises. Evangeline Roxanne served aboard the good ship as hostess or nurse. There were different uniforms in her wardrobe. Each with her name, that of the good ship and job title. Embroidered or chain stitched just above garment’s left breast. Oh yes, she was one beautiful young woman with a spontaneous disarming smile. Captivating eyes, turquoise hued as briny ocean’s depths. Bahamian by birth of mixed parentage, her features were more Caucasian than Negroid. Introducing herself, she took effort to ensure pronunciation. “The ship is pronounced “line”, in keeping with her being a liner. My name is pronounced “lean”, which as you can see I strive to maintain.” This she said with elaborate hand sweep in soft whispering voice, accompanied by her trademark smile. Archival photograph of SS Evangeline does not depict derricks for cargo handling. I am certain however, in addition to passenger berths she was equipped with cargo holds. Possibly erring with MV Ariadne in mind. Capt. A.A. Reid & Sons were Kingston agents, to which office I had gone to validate bills of lading when window of opportunity opened. My being in habit singing and scatting as I went about errands. A clerk said there was recruitment underway for singers and entertainers to perform onboard SS Evangeline. If things worked as expected this could be employment in vacation atmosphere in port and at sea. Life at sea did not appeal to me, a singing career did. There was a meeting of organizers at High Hat Club on Water Lane. Credible names in music’s arena were bandied as partners in this extravaganza. The Caribs, an ensemble of white Australians, Bahamians and Jamaican musicians and performers. Were billed as stars of on-board entertainment. Also Janet Enwright Combo. Aspiring performers including myself were introduced to Mr. Mortimer and Miss Darling. I introduced myself as singer and versatile clapper. Mr. Mortimer advised. “Listen to me, we are not going to sing Little Sheila and Bawba kill me goat. Yankee don’t want hear folk song. They want to hear music they already know. So just keep your hands in your pockets and wait until you go to church. Then you can clap all you want”. The ship put in at Port Antonio and Kingston on her Jamaican itinerary. I am inclined to think Kingston was first port of call on inward journey. Friday evening we departed High Hat Club in a Datsun van. Club’s doorman Mr. Prendergast, accompanied the entourage to ensure there was no imbibing of liquor or ganja smoking. At the club he was greeter and bouncer, as occasion merited. Dressed in tails and a high bun pan hat. He grinned his pearly whites with gold caps to every female that entered. Males were given a simple admonishment. “Know your limit, stop when you reach it”. Our van arrived at Port Antonio by early nightfall.A motor launch took us, we boarded SS Evangeline. I laid eyes on both Evangelines, could not help being awed by beauty of both. Food was provided, smocks of varying colours were handed out. Embroidered in large letters were words. “The Swinging Seafarers”. We sang, danced and pranced to lukewarm response from our audience. Next segment was voice your choice. Voice from a table kept calling out. Tennessee Waltz. Another voice hollered. I’m my own grandpa”. A burly red-faced man stood, quieted the din with a loud “Hush! Dammit.” Then voiced his request. ”The Arab Sheik song with Clyde and Fatima. Now there’s a song worth hearing over and over”. A table of six persons with much effort got their request out. It was one of those novelty songs. ”Oooh eeh ooh acha ting tang walla walla bing bang.” For first time that evening, everyone erupted into sustained laughter. Request group swore it was genuinely name of a song. Request time resumed, there was a steady chorus of. A paunched black man hit the floor with his cane and demanded rather loudly. “Play Drifters, dam it.” I was given role of backup sniffer. Two persons were pointing at me, others followed their stares all laughing. I acquired rhythm of where my sniff came in, not paying attention to the finger. Subdued titters soon gave way to giggles, then laughter in response to my sniffs. Periods of silence awaited next sniff, followed by laughing and silence in anticipation of next sniff. The song ended, someone shouted. “Let’s hear it for the nose.” Curtains came together, laughter continued. Mr. Morty rushed over to our group enthused. “Hear that? They give you a name already. “The nose.” I went on stage, retrieved four dollar notes and some coins that had been tossed on. I assumed for my benefit, as most tips rained in synch with my sniff. “What you go back out there for, bwoy?” Mr. Mortimer asked. I replied. “For take up money them throw for me sar.” “Is not your money, is the band money and the cook. Also, who clean the toilets. Give me this.” He said taking the notes. “You can keep them there.” Ship was due to sail Sunday morning. Two shows were planned for Saturday evening and night. Felt cheated, wanted to sing solo instead sniffing. I took a bus to Kingston. Turned up at High Hat on Mondayfor payasagreed andpromised. I was told. Nothaving stayed for fullengagement, my share had been forfeited. OfferedaCoca Cola nip, I refused and went my way.

Next I turned attention to Evangeline, told her with sincerity. “You know I love you more than words can ever say.” As I held her warm soft hand. Stared into her eyes, begging for acquiescence. “You know I too am in love, married to purser. He watches over, is in charge of all things Evangeline. Let us be friends, maybe one day we will share an adventure. If only for nice things you have done for me. Also, adorably likeable person you are. Say yes.” We kept in touch by Ship’s Mail briefly, soon losing interest. Was not long after, news came. SS Evangelineon voyage between Miami and Nassau. Caught fire and sankwith loss of life, mostly passengers, November 13th, 1965.Exceptions were a hostess and ship’s doctor. Was she that hostess amongsurvivors, or didboth Evangelinesgo down.Fact the doctor also survived could tell a story, with possibly the nurse close by. Maybe the answer willresult fromthis narrative. Hopefully from her in person.Being twentythree-years young when we met, memory would probably not support recollection. Maybe she doesn’t even read anymore.

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Business having expanded was now operating from spacious quarters in credit union building, South Camp Road and Woodford Street. A Customs Broker mentioned his sister was selling a business close to where I lived. We came to mutual agreement, I bought in and put my wife’s name on signage. Given a list of better suppliers and factories. I made the rounds and numerous friends. In situations where a female had pencil on marketing and styles release, accommodations were generous. I got sneak purchase of items being released to big stores, with maximum price rebates on minimum purchases. New designs were generally released to big stores, whilst denied smaller businesses. After a run and clamour ebbing, only then was it sold to small shops. Our store was located on corner Chaves and the View. Just two doors from where I grew up at 118. Before hurricane Charley 1951, displaced my grandmother. I was back at my roots. There were three shops on lower level of two storey building. Our store was amid pharmacy and pastry shop. Word spread abroad, the store was being opened by Mr. Lenny. Oldsters made sure newbies were aware I was no newcomer. “Is right round here so him born and grow you know. Him is a nice man.” It was important, hoodlums and varmints, of which there were a few. Be made aware, I had established roots in Mountain View and Backbush. It’s kind of a nice feeling being among people who knew you when you were a wayward tyke, now see you establishing and running business. We carried stocks from renowned fashion houses. Dino Michele, Tiny Town, Nu-Wear, Davon and Hi Fashion, naming a few. Took pleasure echoing to customers an advertisement that aired. “Wear nothing until you get “Hi Fashion”. Placed adverts in the “Star” evening paper. “If it’s different, if it’s new. It’s at Values department store.” A lay-away customer came to get two Tiny Town dresses for her children. Their Easter togs for church. I pointed out she was short the final amount. She lamented disappointment. Having already paid her partner, had no more funds. “Okay, pay next week. Take the dresses. I don’t want the children to be sad or put out”. With a broad grin she enthused. “Thank you Mr. Lenny, you is nice man. Is over Miss Darby lane him born and grow, you know.” This to other customer who stood in stolid demeanour, not voicing her purpose

Less than a year since opening, the store was successful beyond expectations. Not only did we plan moving the Customs brokerage office into space on upper floor, when current occupants vacated. We also enquired, regarding rumoured plans to sell the building and expressed interest. Wouldn’t that be crowning achievement? Oh yes, it would. Four came on a Friday night, about quarter of nine. At first they went browsing, then one came to me. A bath towel thrown over, supposedly a weapon in hand. “Give me the money, don’t try nothing.” He demanded. Whilst two accomplices kept browsing, another stood guard at closed doors. Rifling cash pan, he came out with over three hundred dollars. Day’s sale having been taken home by my wife when I relieved her. “Where you sink off the coil?” He asked menacingly. “Look for yourself.” I told him, spreading my arms. He patted me down, asked. “Where’s the phone?” “We don’t get any yet. You know phone hard to get.” They shopped in reckless abandon. Threw female, male garments over arms. Bed linen sets, towel sets, anything they laid eyes on, then trooped out. It was a scene as from the garment district. We three had a pact to shutter businesses simultaneously. Taking advantage of safety in numbers. I followed closely behind invaders, leaned against the rail. Watching them walk off into the moonrise. Mrs. Gordon the pharmacist, sensing something amiss asked. “Is what happen?” “Them just rob me.” I replied. “Is must joke you joking. You couldn’t get robbed and just say it calm like that.” “What you want me do different?” I asked her. She raised alarm, small crowd gathered. Expressing disbelief and comforting words, all in one. We pulled our shutters down, went home to “Sleep the sleep of the just, free from care and sorrow”. Prayed that when “Night turned to day, as indeed it must. May we awake to a brighter tomorrow”. I did not make a police report. Shan the detective came. Having resigned myself to the event. Made very little effort to assist with investigation. Next came empathizers, coots and strangers I had never met or known before. “We heard you got robbed.” They chimed in. “Describe the bwoy them to we and we will take care of them.” “It’s done and gone, nothing can undo what’s done.” I told them nonchalantly. On a quiet Sunday my wife said. “One Rasta bwoy at the gate asking for you. Must be begging mango as usual.” I crept alongside the fence, masked by hedging. It was someone I knew. “Me can come in, Mr. Lenny?” He asked. Anxiously and furtively glancing about, he said. “Them going set springe to kill you, you know Mr. Lenny.” I felt my blood chill, shivered involuntarily and kept silent. My father once told me. “Nothing exercises a man’s mind more, than knowledge he is going to die. The man that goes willing and hurried to the gallows deprives hangman of his pleasures.” Eventually I found a voice, asked him. “Them, who?” “The bwoy them that rob you last week. Them say them sure you can point them out. But you going on like you don’t know any of them. That means you planning to deal with them one away. Friday night them going wait over the bar till you drive up. When you come out to open the gate, them going shoot you.” I was frightened speechless, sat not capable of thinking. This young man was not even a friend of mine. His older brother was, had migrated to England years before. We exchanged hellos every now and then. That was extent of our acquaintance. He it was who broke the silence. “So what you going do Mr. Lenny?” “Do? What was I to do?” I thought.“What could I do? But run away with my family. To where, a hotel? For how long?” I queried me again. Addressing him by name, I said something inane. “From you know me, you ever see me mell with a One?” “No, Mr. Lenny. That is why me sit down here talking to you. Me couldn’t know that them out to hurt you, and just don’t try warn you, Mr. Lenny. My brother tell me how you and him use to go shoot bird. Pick guinep, mango and sweetsop up the hill. Him also tell me that, more time is you help him look wood. That we father wouldn’t murder him, when him don’t bring home a big enough bundle. Him say that you always smart, show him how to burn green wood in fire and stay out of trouble plenty times.” Sensing I was at wit’s end to a solution. After prolonged bout of hand at jaw thinking. He stood, said. “Mr. Lenny, them bwoy just pop on here. Start go on the most way. Me personally can’t stand by and see a man like you bite the dust. So, hear me now. After me talk to the undercover posse, them bwoys will just go like butter in a bun pan. Trust me, you not have to worry yourself. Just watch yourself and listen, you will hear peace and safety return to the land.” Never in my adult life had I experienced such deep fear, despondency and most of all, helplessness. Went in the house after thinking for hours without arriving at a solution. One thing I decided on, not to tell the wife and children about this development. My wife had insisted I go and make a formal report of the holdup to the police. Baddest of all cops had been transferred out of the area, but I figured if I sought him out and explain my situation there could be swift resolution. Wife kept nagging she could not understand my reluctance to go to the police. See the perils success can bring to One’s doorstep? And they are as impotent as a turtle on it’s back.

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