Last week’s recapture of an early and largely unsung period in the life of Norman Manley would not be complete without similar recall of the early lifetime of his counterpart Sir Alexander Bustamante. Both men served as leaders of the economic and political changes that took place during the 30-year period that led up to Independence in 1962.

What is it that made them stand out so that people warmed to them and accepted them as leaders of a cause that cried out for justice in those turbulent times? What of their earlier lives? Their formative backgrounds are worth the study as we try to analyse the dynamics that shaped and prepared them for the extraordinary roles they were to play in our national development from 1938 onwards.

Fighting as a soldier in World War II, Manley earned not one, but at least four military medals; one awarded for bravery, which was unusual for an artillery man. It showed how highly he was regarded by his fellow soldiers and the British Army. The story of that part of his life adds a special new dimension to any assessment of Manley’s personality, great physical strength and mental powers.

Bustamante’s colourful life before he returned to Jamaica is one of adventure, mystery, a hint of fighting in the Spanish-Moroccan wars, unfounded stories of his association with and denouncement of foreign dictators, and an emerging picture of a strong individual determined to chart his own course with a passion for defending the poor.

They were outstanding personalities in their own right, and when history, in turn, puts them at the forefront of the protests and demonstrations of the times, they were simply the right men in the right place at the right time.

Born in Blenheim, Hanover, on February 24, 1884, Busta was named William Alexander Clarke, son of a white man, Robert Clarke, and Elsie Hunter, a coloured woman. When Clarke died, his widow married Alexander Shearer, a white man of Irish background. A daughter of that union, Margaret, later married a Manchester man, Thomas Manley, owner of a small plantation Roxborough. Norman was born to that union, making him a half cousin to Alexander Clarke.

Struggling economic circumstances eventually moved the Manley family from Roxborough in Manchester to a property at Belmont, in a district known as Guanabo Vale, 10 miles from Spanish Town.

For a while, Belmont became the home of the Manleys and the Clarkes (the Clarkes had also given up their Blenheim home), and young Alexander was appointed junior overseer of the property.

Alexander, now 20 years old, did not like his job. His teenage years had been spent sowing wild oats in an environment of freedom that was not possible under the watchful eyes of the two family matrons. But who at that age could tie down the young Clarke? He was restless in the confines of the remote country village, and would keep late hours as he partied in Spanish Town and surrounding districts. He was a good horseman and the country folk from far and wide would bring their animals to Belmont for the overseer to ‘break in’ and to show off his riding skills.

His quieter hours would be spent playing draughts with his cousin Norman, who was younger by 10 years and most times ended up on the losing end.

It didn’t take long for him to take his leave, both of Belmont and Jamaica. In 1905, at the age of 21, he took off to Cuba to seek his fortune. He travelled between Jamaica and Cuba for a while, in different roles as businessman and Spanish grandee, before going to New York, this time with the name Alejandro Bustamanti, now playing the role of a cultured gentleman of Spanish birth.

Alexander has a different pitch to this biographical sketch, as at other times, particularly when entertaining friends in later life, he would tell the story of being adopted by a Spanish mariner at age five and taken to Spain where he fought in the Spanish-Moroccan Wars. His sojourn in the United States is also decorated by his claim that he was a dietician at one of New York’s largest hospitals after graduating from the LaSalle University.

This claim may be controversial, but I do recall seeing an original letter written in the 1960s by Prime Minister Bustamante to his friend Harvey Ennevor, then JBC general manager, suggesting that Harvey needed to go on a diet regime. The letter was dictated off-the-cuff to his secretary, and the recommendations have been supported by physicians as authentic dietary instructions. He even included this bit of practical advice, “If you drink rum or whiskey, don’t use chaser. Use water and ice, but not much ice.”

Finally, after his mercurious jaunts overseas, he returned to Jamaica in 1934 with a stack earned — he said on the stock exchange before The Depression — and opened up a small loans business, the Loan and Securities Company, at 1A Duke Street on the corner of Water Lane.

Bustamante settled into a very lucrative business, but the sedentary office lifestyle was not for him. From his daily contacts with the hundreds of people who came to him for help and advice, he rapidly got a picture of the awesome poverty and depressing conditions facing a large and disproportionate number of Jamaicans.

This marked the beginning of his entry into public life. He was not well known, his family had seen little of him since he left Jamaica in 1905, and he had a small circle of friends and acquaintances. He lived at a boarding house named Egremont House at 87 Duke Street by the corner of Charles Street. He was greatly moved by the plight of the unemployed and the working poor. After daily debates and arguments on social issues with the legislators, civic leaders, and businesspersons who frequented the popular Arlington House restaurant at 60 East Queen Street, he realised that nothing was about to be changed. It must have been then that he took the decision to mount a challenge and lead the change.

From his office he sent a cascade of letters to the press on almost every subject affecting the Jamaican society. He championed the poor, attacked the Government and the governor, condemned the uncaring attitudes and behaviour of the upper echelons of the society towards the working class, defended worker rights, and vigorously called attention to the plight of the masses that made up the vast number of have-nots and underprivileged in the country.

He was afraid of no one, calling on members of the Legislative Council to wake up from their slumber and do something for the poor instead of just talking.

“The existing conditions of poverty, hunger and raggedness amongst the middle and labouring classes is not a thing of overnight growth, but it has got more acute with time.”

His letters launched into a variety of subjects and proposals, and in some cases proved ahead of his time. He took strong exception to the use of the word ‘bastards’, assailed and labelled as monstrous the suggestion that, because of high costs, the use of drugs should be curtailed at public hospitals, and emphasised that agriculture should be given top priority from public expenditures.

In the meantime, the flood of people coming to see Bustamante filled the office as they poured out tales of woe into a listening ear. Busta spent more time being an advocate of the distressed and articulating their cause than he paid to his private business. He and his secretary, Gladys Longbridge (later Lady Bustamante), began to travel extensively around the island, getting eyewitness accounts of conditions, and meeting with the people at street corners, bars, piazzas, village shacks, farm gates, and in the cane fields. The poor began to feel that they had someone who had their interests at heart.

The years 1937-38 saw Bustamante’s name growing in influence and when the great strikes came in 1938 at Serge Island and Frome, and on the waterfront in Kingston, Bustamante was there to speak for the workers. Come May 1938, he was addressing large crowds throughout the city, journeying around at fantastic and law-breaking speeds in his

five-seater car, a tall, handsome, Latin-looking man, dressed in heavy three-button tweed coat and white drill trousers, and head poking out of the car top, providing an amusing picture to himself and to others.

Then came that pivotal moment in Busta’s fight for justice. On May 23, 1938, he was addressing a huge crowd at Parade Gardens. Lady Bustamante, an eyewitness, described how a squad of policemen headed by an Inspector Orrett marched on the crowd and ordered them to disperse. When they refused to comply, Orrett pulled his revolver and ordered his men to take aim.

The situation was tense. Every man was looking to Busta for instructions, and not a soul moved. “Get down behind Queen Victoria’s statue, Miss Longbridge”, ordered Busta to his secretary, “and don’t move a muscle!”

He then went up to Orrett, bared his chest, and declared: “If you are going to shoot, shoot me, and leave these defenceless, hungry people alone.”

The inspector was speechless. “Before Orrett could say another word”, wrote Lady Bustamante, “Busta called on the crowd to sing the National Anthem, and as ‘God save the King’ rang out from the mass of discordant voices, the police were forced to stand at attention”. Busta then marched away on his own accord with the throng.

There followed a series of joint meetings and collaboration with Norman Manley, who had taken up the case of the people himself, as both men toured the island together calming the workers and addressing meetings.

This active partnership lasted for two years until Busta’s detention in Up Park Camp on September 8, 1940. On his release, in February 1942, he returned to his BITU headquarters and took back full control of the union which Manley had helped to develop and strengthen while Busta was in Camp. This led to a split between the two cousins, which saw Busta firmly in charge of the BITU, Manley starting the PNP with Busta as a member, and then the formation of the JLP by Busta in July 1943. The rest is well-known history.

As a footnote to this account, and to give a measure of the man, it is of interest that when Bustamante won the first general election, in 1944, he was disappointed that Norman lost the Eastern St Andrew seat to the JLP’s Doc Fagan. Busta’s close friend, Vivian Durham, recalled that in the years that followed there was no love lost between Doc Fagan and the Chief. Busta was not amused or elated at the defeat of his cousin.

Five years later, on the night of the second election, Busta was at his headquarters in Mocho, Clarendon, when Gleaner reporter Trottman brought the news that the JLP had won. Busta then asked, according to Durham, “How is Manley?” to which Trottman replied, “Manley is safe and leading comfortably in all the boxes counted.”

Out of the fullness of his heart, Busta joyfully exclaimed, “Thank God he has won.”

Lance Neita is a community and public relations specialist. Comments to the Observer or to lanceneita@hotmail.com