Dear Editor,

It was the end of August 1971 and the 17-year-old had recently left high school and did not know where to turn. His mother, fearing he might end up in “bad company”, volunteered him at the constituency office of their MP, Mr David Coore. Mr Coore delivered a box of envelopes and a ream of printed material late one evening for the youngster to fold and place into the envelopes. He and his younger sister completed the task that night, and the next morning his mother told him to take the envelopes to Mr Coore’s office.

On arrival, the young man was instructed to report to Mr Coore’s law office downtown the next day. He complied without question. There he got new instructions to go across the street to 31 Duke Street and to speak with Mr Ripton McPherson.

On arrival at the law firm of Samuel and Samuel, the youth was shown to a suite of offices, the likes of which his eyes had never before seen. The name Ripton S McPherson was prominently displayed on the door situated directly in front of the lawyer’s personal secretary, who promptly ushered the young man into a big office were a tall gentleman in thick glasses rose to shake hands with him. A nameplate on his desk announced him as Ripton Stuart McPherson.

This elegant gentleman had the kindest eyes, and the most assertive yet reassuring voice the young man had ever heard. The meeting – which the young man learnt later was an interview – was brief, to the point, and went something like this: Mr McCleary, I know you have no experience but you came to me highly recommended, so I’m going to give you a chance by hiring you as a clerk in the accounts department. You have three months to learn. If you learn you have a job, and if you don’t, you are gone. Is that clear?

On September 3, 1971, I got the opportunity that forever changed my life!

Thank you, Mr McPherson, for being the first person to call me Mr; for believing in me; for giving this unknown from rural Jamaica the opportunity to be someone; for giving me your own money representing my week’s pay when I was robbed; for allowing me to back out your big Ford Torino from the parking lot; for allowing an 18-year-old to drive your brand new Peugeot 504; for ASKING me to give you a ride to Gordon House – in your own car – and for instructing me how to use the clutch. But such was your humility. I could go on and on, but I’ll close by thanking you, Sir, in the name of my children, their children’s children, and the tens of thousands of lives you changed, hoping we will be able to live up to your ideals.

Leaford McLeary

lemac_us@yahoo.com