MY FAVOURITE FAMILY

I had heard about blogs (Web Logs) and had even read one of the most famous, Where is Raed?, the blog out of Iraq that is in touch with what`s happening on the ground as these reporters all say these days. As opposed to what`s happening above ground, I suppose.

But I never thought of authoring one until a friend, Sean Marrett, who I first met in 1969, invited me to read his. Sean was born of Jamaican parents in Canada, but we Jamaicans would call him Jamaican, wouldn`t we?

I arrived in the United States on 16 June 1968, the day after Wes Montgomery, the famous jazz guitarist died.

I started working at Columbia University on 2 January 1969 as a clerk in Pupin Labs, in the department of W. W. Havens, the director. The physics lab was headquarters of the Manhattan Project, where geniuses like I. I. Rabi helped produce the atomic bomb. I was later to occupy his old office on a project in which I was engaged.

On my first vacation in the summer of 1969, having spent 30 years on a small island, I chose to spread my wings and took a train one night at Penn Station and got off late the following morning, or early that afternoon, in the station downtown Montreal.

1969, during that period of make love not war, and peace and love, and all the world needs is love, and when it really seemed as if the world could be a better place; when All we need is love; Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Ravi Shankar, Jim Morrison and the Doors, Cat Stevens, Richie Havens, The Rolling Stones, The Who, the Beatles, Otis Redding, Art Blakey, The Incredible String Band, Laurie Nyro, Motown, Miles, Monk, Dizzy, Art Blakey, Billy Graham`s Fillmore East and Fillmore West, the other Billy Graham taking us to the Promised Land, The Loving Spoonful, California Dreaming, Chicago, Cream; Earth, Wind and Fire; Come on baby, Light my Fire; the Mets, the Monterey Jazz Festival; Judy Collins, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan causing distress and anger in the country world by using an amplified guitar; Simon and Garfunkel, the Graduate (Oh, Mrs. Robinson, I think you are trying to seduce me); the Beachboys ...

Where was I? Oh, I just got off that train in Montreal. In those days you didn`t try to find a cheap hotel, you tried to find a house to crash. So I arrived with the name and address of a young woman. Found her home but she had guests and I was welcome the following night.

THE PARK

That evening I returned to the park near the train station and stayed in that vicinity until about 3 AM when a guy shared the information that he thought I was cute.

I left the park and wandered until I found an all-night restaurant, where I sat with my head on my arms until the sun rose.

The point, you see, is that it was unthinkable to pay good money to stay in a hotel. I did not know of hostels then.

I returned to the park where I met a young man from New York. We both went to visit Expo 68, or was it 69, and at the end of the day visited the Jamaican Booth. I made it known that I was a down and out Jamaican looking for a place to stay. I got two offers on the spot.

I don`t recall what made me choose the offer made by Sean`s sister, Gillian. After the booth closed, we both took a bus to her home. I`ll never forget the look on the face of her mother, Eileen, when Gillian said Mama this is Barry, and explained that I needed a place to stay. It had a strong hint of surprise because Gillian hadn`t phoned ahead. (Remember a time when there were no cell phones?)

PARENTS

It didn`t take long to realize that Sean`s father, John, was a most remarkable man. He was quick to acknowledge the wrongs in the world. I recall he had a problem with being ripped off regarding a patent to a lock. He was working for a UN agency, the International Civil Aviation Organization, better known as ICAO. He had a big problem with them also, being far less professional in their treatment of him than acceptable.

John`s dream was to return to Jamaica and establish a farm. A dream he never realized. He never took things sitting down. The last time I saw John he was driving a car with tinted windows, against the law. He had trouble with his eyes and he had to knock the heads of the police department to get them to accept the fact. Whenever I need to remember the last time I saw John, in Victoria, BC, I simply have to ask Sean to remind me of his wedding day. It was a coincidence I showed up so I had no decent clothes to wear. I am the one in the picture that looks like a hobo.

John had a sculpture of a fist with an upturned index finger. I don`t quite recall the significance to him of the upraised finger, but it reminds me of wrestlers under immense pressure who, after the referee hits the mat twice, on his way to the third, the wrestler wags that index finger to signal that he may be down but definitely not out. And that`s how I see John, because he never even thought of giving up. He just kept fighting those sons of bitches, whoever they may have been.

Eileen shared four children with John: Gillian, John Jr., Penelope and Sean. She operated on a different level of intensity from her husband. John`s intensity was apparent, to me at least, while Eileen`s seem to smoulder. She wrote a book. I think it was about Flea Markets in the region, or places that are worth visiting; and she got her degree in Education. I was always pleased when she asked me to find a book for her in New York City. And when I found it, I couldn`t possibly accept money for the book.

I loved them both. Dearly. I have long told anybody willing to listen, that that was my all-time favourite family and, for quite a while after the deaths of both of them, their children followed a sort of tradition of accepting me as part of the family.

Why is it important to be telling you about a family that means nothing to you? Simple, because I am a product of my experiences and both Eileen and John have been extremely crucial in my life. So I am a product of those interactions with this beautiful family and that has some bearing on the wonderful person that I am. So there, I said it.

One night, John got out of bed and went downstairs for a drink of water. He never returned upstairs. Probably Eileen couldn`t face the prospect of living in a world with John because I believe it was several months later that she passed away as well.

I saw John Jr., a few years ago when I was in Montreal. I was able to convince his secretary to give me the address of his office without telling him. I surprised his butt by showing up!

I remember the New York City marathon when Sean finished the course. I was glad to have him stay at 621 Nostrand Avenue #4R in Bedford Stuyvesent in Brooklyn. After all, I would show up unannounced at his home and only once did I ever have to stay at a hostel because the house was full.

Like Muhammad Ali, Miles, Monk, Richard Pryor, John was one of kind. The mold was broken. I am more than happy that when we met at the Expo, somehow Gillian knew that I had to meet her family.

Peace and Love.

Patrick Barrington Barr