When I think of Hugh Shearer, my mind goes back to Fidel Castro’s 1976 visit to Jamaica. On a faraway day, Fidel was scheduled to speak at a PNP rally at Sam Sharpe Square, Montego Bay, and as ‘young socialists’ we considered the meeting a mandatory pilgrimage. Leaving Kingston with a carload of Comrades all fired up with ‘revolutionary zeal’, our thoughts were fully focused on our rendezvous with ‘greatness’.

However, my aging Mercedes Benz, with its smooth tires, harboured no such lofty notions and treacherously presented me with a ‘flat’ half-mile beyond Moneague, St Ann. It was approximately 4:00 pm and my ‘paseros’ began contemplating the possibility of being late for their ‘sacred’ meeting scheduled to start at 6 pm.

One by one, they would seek the more promising prospects of passing cars on the way to Montego Bay. In a flash I was alone, abandoned by ‘Comrades’ and ‘friends’. I struggled for nearly an hour trying to negotiate the nuances of my defective car jack, while many ‘Comrades’ sped by shouting in cruel consolation: “Comrade Buck hurry up, you a go miss Fidel”.

As time passed, the motor vehicles got scarce and the situation seemed hopeless. Then a large convertible car heading in the opposite direction drove up. Out stepped a tall figure; it was Hugh Shearer. Laughing heartily, he said: “Young man, it seems you are going to miss God tonight. All your Comrades leave you!” Still laughing, he came closer and asked, “What’s the problem?” He then beckoned his driver to give him a hand.

For a moment I was in disbelief at the intervention of a former Prime Minister without bodyguards and a ‘Labourite’ on his knees helping me, while my ‘Comrades’ left in unprincipled abandonment. He succeeded in using a few flattish stones and old boards to ‘help out’ the miserable car jack. While lifting on my worthless spare tyre, he paused to explain that he was giving me an outside chance to catch up with ‘the Revolution’.

Before leaving, the still-smiling Hugh Lawson said “It is now 6:35 you only have a slim chance to witness the two ‘Maximums’ in the flesh, I wish you luck”. Despite his biting, sarcastic reference to Fidel and Michael Manley, I thanked him with relieved embarrassment and gave him a leather belt produced by the People’s Co-operative Movement in Trench Town. He gave me his phone number and bid me goodbye.

Many years have passed and he is long gone, but the generosity of Hugh Lawson Shearer that day tells not only of another Jamaica; of the innate goodness and decency of a giant who bestrode the political and labour history of his nation but more than that, it also tells of a rare human being.