Lance Neita | Honey, I forgot to duck
This July is already proving to be one of the most eventful months in our history.
It started with Hurricane Beryl on July 3, followed by its aftermath of agricultural devastation, decimated livelihoods, Denbigh postponed, and structural damages that will impact the economy and test our resilience to the utmost as we strive for recovery.
Just think that the weekend before Beryl all seemed normal in Jamaica. The West Indies were being pulverised by England, schoolchildren out for the holidays were raiding every mango tree in sight, the Constitution debate was in filibuster stage, and bets were being taken for the Copa and the Euro finals.
Politics was running its usual course as Marky G and Brogad took aim at each other, Christmas in July was being staged at the National Arena, Russia was busy bombing Ukraine, and our football coach was singing ‘can’t touch me now’ to the JFF from his bunker in faraway Ireland.
But, as storm clouds began to gather on Monday, reality hit us when we saw the hurricane bearing down and showing no variation from its predicted track.
Its devilish path took the eye right over the deepest part of St Elizabeth, leaving that parish screaming for a declaration of a state of emergency.
Beryl took others in its wake, Westmoreland, Manchester, and Clarendon among its most severely hurt victims, with each passing day more breaking news of villages shutting down, roads impassable, lights out for weeks to come, and water as a catch-me-if-you-can, despite the best efforts of the NWC.
COMPARISONS
Comparisons are always odious, but people in St Ann, our northernmost parish, will say Gilbert was the worst, while St Elizabeth, where those who feel it know it, will say categorically that Beryl is the worst of a bad lot.
Enter Charlie into the conversation and into the comparison zone, another surprise storm that slammed into Jamaica on August 17, 1951 and took a monstrous 150 lives.
The Gleaner first broke the news that “the hurricane reported in the Eastern Caribbean yesterday may hit Jamaica this evening”. Then. out of the blue. came the hurricane warnings, the sirens, the post office flags, and radio announcements. That was enough to bring out the nails and hammers.
But, like July 2024, we were also tuning up for the weekend parties, with Bournemouth Club swinging with Roy Coburn’s orchestra, and movie houses packed, with the Gaiety showing Baghdad, starring Vincent Price, and Tivoli Theatre featuring The Walking Hills.
That fateful night, Hurricane Charlie ripped through Jamaica leaving 150 dead, Port Royal almost destroyed, Port Morant flattened, 80 per cent of houses damaged, tens of thousands homeless, and the banana industry between 70 per cent and 80 per cent destroyed.
Across the island, fruit trees, coconuts, roads, animals, crops, villages, lay devastated from the onslaught.
I remember Charlie through the eyes of an infant barely out of his crib and asking my father if hurricane meant sugar cane, and looking forward to the event.
That night, scores of persons fled their homes in my village in Clarendon to seek shelter at the elementary school next door to the teacher’s cottage.
My father, the headmaster, converted the schoolyard into a long-term shelter and we children enjoyed a two-month holiday playing unsupervised games to our hearts’ delight.
Another rapid-fire event in July has captured our attention full-time.
ASSASSINATION
The Trump assassination attempt took the world by surprise. It has similarities to the more famous assassination of a popular US President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963. In the present instance, the FBI is still on the hunt for a motive and, until that is established, the world will be awash with rumours and speculation, not about who dunnit, but why he did it.
In the Kennedy assassination, the president was shot and killed instantly, but it is still unclear, 60 years after the event, why the shooter, Lee Harvey Oswald,shot the president. And unanswered questions will continue to provide context for the conspiracy theories that will dominate both events.
As a teenager, I followed the graphic coverage of Kennedy’s assassination carried live on television and radio.
That’s when I heard Walter Cronkite’s measured and sober tones on CBS informing that a president of the United States had been pronounced dead in the Parkway Hospital following a shooting.
The inborn journalist in me took over as I was absolutely entranced by this unprecedented live broadcast of a major national tragedy taking place in full view of the world’s eyes and ears.
So I followed Jackie Kennedy’s “Oh no, Oh Jack” as she flung herself across his body in the back seat of the limousine. I followed the entourage to the Dallas Airport where Lyndon Johnson (LBJ) was sworn in as president in the cabin of Air Force One, with Jackie Kennedy standing beside him in a blood-splattered dress. And LBJ’s first official command, “Let’s get this plane back to Washington.”
Years later, another US President Ronald Reagan was shot on March 30, 1981, outside the Washington Hilton Hotel where he had just delivered a speech.
One of the bullets had ricocheted off the presidential limousine, hit Reagan under the left arm, penetrated his lung, and lodged an inch from his heart. He was taken to hospital where, on arrival, he quipped to his wife, Nancy, “I’m sorry, honey, I forgot to duck,” then put doctors at ease in the operating room by joking: “I hope you’re all Republicans.”
Such displays of wit and courage under fire helped humanise Reagan, a one-time Hollywood cowboy film star.
On this occasion Mr Trump clearly did not forget to duck. But the displays of wit and courage on his part are clearly lacking.
Lance Neita is an author and public relations consultant. Send feedback to lanceneita@hotmail and columns@gleanerjm.com