THE NATION MOURNS the passing of one of its most illustrious sons. Superlatives abound in praise of the Hon Rex Nettleford, OM (Order of Merit), FIOJ (Fellow of the Institute of Jamaica).

He was one of the chosen few, who had the opportunity to hear what people thought of him. Throughout the Caribbean and the diaspora, “respect-due” was given in the form of honours and awards to a remarkable man with a remarkable mind, one in whom all the arts met. Not everyone could deal with that kind of talent. He once recalled the outburst of someone who exclaimed “I hate you. How come you know so much?” The remark was delivered with a tinge of humour, but, Rex recalled, the speaker wasn’t laughing.

Today, as we celebrate him, let’s not “gild the anthurium” according to a phrase of his, one of many which he coined and left behind to become part of our conventional wisdom.

In his role as godfather to peers struggling with doubt or frustration about some issue or other, he would advise: “It will all come out in the wash.” I have to confess, there were times when such a word of solace in the midst of some artistic crisis would infuriate me. I wanted to shout back, “It is all right for you. You are Rex Nettleford, I am just a mere mortal.” After the absurdity of my senior moment had passed, the next response (unspoken of course) was, “Awright, I’ll show you.” Inevitably, the offending obstacle did come out in the wash, cleansed of stupidity and whatever else was delaying a positive result. Once again, Rex was right.

As we reel off the staggering list of his numerous achievements, his sly sense of humour is often overlooked. His famous “A Bootoo in a Benz” offered a glimpse into his less serious side, but even in that, the intellectual quality of the observation could not be ignored. In the land of hurry-come-up, bootoos in their Benzes do not always recognise who they are.

Then there was “Our hearts are laced with larceny”. In a society where we spend much of our productive time figuring out how to shaft each other, it was our capacity for corruption which warranted the reproof. Another of his sayings was “Don’t gild the anthurium.” Other cultures spoke of the lily as the flower which needs no ornamentation. Rex chose the anthurium, a flower from our own field, showy enough not to need trimmings or other evidence of bad taste.

The man who railed against Rex for knowing so much might well have done so because he couldn’t understand how he lived the same experiences as Nettleford, yet failed to come away with eminence and fame. When we list Rex’s achievements, it all sounds so easy. We admire the rags-to-riches story of the little boy from Bunkers Hill, Trelawny, a small rural community clinging to the edge of the Cockpit Country, who won a scholarship to Cornwall College then to the University College of the West Indies and then to Oxford University via a Rhodes Scholarship. It’s the dream we all want for our children — except for the hard-times part. Just give us the scholarships and the accolades.

Who would care to recall a childhood in the school of hard knocks — one pair of pants worn to school Monday to Friday then refurbished for Sunday School. One fateful Sunday morning, the overworked garment split its seams ending up a sort of skirt which drew a jeering crowd following our hero all the way down the hill from church to home. Obeying grandmother’s instruction to “hold up yuh head”, the young boy conquered shame and embarrassment and went on, stronger than ever.

Oxford University too had its moments requiring much “hold up head”. Black had not been deemed beautiful up to then, but again, the boy from Trelawny triumphed, head held high. Years later, when Oxford celebrated the Centenary of the Rhodes Scholarship, it was no surprise, certainly for his friends, when he was one of the chosen very few, selected to represent the thousands of Rhodes scholars across the world. After all the pomp and ceremony, which came with it, he was soon back at his desk, six o’ clock in the morning on his beloved Mona Campus, getting on with the work, which included using money which came with the Rhodes honour to establish a trust to help young Jamaicans prepare for their turn at winning their own Rhodes.

It is no cliché to report that Rex Nettleford was successful because he worked hard, very hard, in everything he undertook. His success as an educator was not simply about slinging his many degrees around. After the ceremonial robes and caps of investiture were packed away, he went right back to focusing on how to expand the horizons of those he taught — even while recognising that he himself had much more to learn.

He respected people who were “educable”. It was the highest accolade he could pay. What he didn’t let on was that he was very educable himself, willing to take on impossible tasks, travelling endless miles to get to the sources, stretching himself to the limit. It was no surprise that he titled one of his books Inward Stretch, Outward Reach.

People marvelled that he could do so many different, demanding things at the same time. To the very end he still worked out at least once a week at the NDTC studio and never stopped pushing the Company to attain excellence. He made time to work with the University Singers and the LTM Pantomime. He lectured to young communicators in training at Carimac. He conducted master classes for students at the Edna Manley College of the Visual and Performing Arts.

As he lectured and wrote and travelled, he made time for close friends upon whom he lavished books and news clippings from publications picked up along the way. He collected Jamaican art, including works by Albert Huie, another son of Trelawny who preceded him in death only a week before. He listened to all kinds of music, “from Mahler to Marley” he used to say. He loved to play Uncle Rex to his friend’s children, especially those of NDTC members and their children’s children.

He had a tight band of devoted friends who were fiercely loyal to him and he to us. Wednesday, February 3 was a lonely day. Instead of celebrating another birthday with him, we were left to contemplate the significance of our loss.

The NDTC will go on tour next month without him, for the first time in their 47 years of existence. He prepared them for a time such as this. “I’m presiding over my own liquidation,” he used to say … half-serious, half-joking. As his heirs and successors pledge to carry on what he started, we know … our Rex lives on …

gloudonb@yahoo.com