Donnette Cooper | Tribute for my big brother, Kingsley Cooper

“You remember the Godfather? What do you have to lose?” Those were the questions Kingsley asked a few years ago when I was dithering about an application. Our sister Carolyn had called him in as reinforcement when she thought I was passing up an opportunity I should claim. He convinced me to go forward by focusing my attention on one of his guiding principles: his willingness to take risks. Kingsley had an unwavering belief that he was guided by a higher force. And he was committed to hard work.

My decision to follow his advice on that occasion is indicative of the influence he has exerted over my life as big brother and, sometimes, father figure. Our mother died when I was 12 and he was 18. He was then at law school in Barbados but shortly thereafter returned to Jamaica to join the first class at Norman Manley Law School. Although I was living with our grandmother, he assumed the role of guardian, protector, chauffeur, life coach and role model.

I really should not have modelled some of his actions. During one of his exam periods at Norman Manley, I observed him taking copious notes. I asked him why he was writing notes when he should be studying. He admitted that he had not really attended classes and was catching up with borrowed notes. No doubt, he had been engaged in entrepreneurial activities like running his disco, Soul Construction.

When I was taking ‘O’ Levels, Kingsley schooled me in exam-taking techniques. One bit of wisdom he shared had to do with my history exam. I would have to write five essays. He advised that the first one needed to be outstanding; the second one good; the third and fourth had to be OK; and the last one could be just bull. His advice got me safely through history and all the way to the New York bar exam. By then, my bull was more sophisticated and, when there was doubt, I would pivot to concepts of fundamental fairness and competing imperatives.

A CHARMING JINNAL

Kingsley could be a charming jinnal. And, sometimes, not so charming when he was trying to work his brains on us. When he wanted something from our mother, he would slide from his usual ‘Momsie’ to ‘Mummy darling’. He was her ‘Kings’ and she recognised and nurtured his creativity. In high school, he took up photography and decided he needed a dark room. Our mother removed everything from her clothes closet and let Kingsley use it to develop his film and himself.

As a tailor, our father influenced Kingsley’s fashion sense and technical ability. But they clashed when it came to religion. Early on in his teen years, Kingsley liberated himself from attending church. One day, in frustration, our father said to him, “Repeat after me, ‘You are going to church.’” Kingsley responded, “You are going to church.” Our father tried again. “Repeat after me, “I am going to church.” Kingsley said, “Yes, you are going to church.” Poor Dadda! Although he did not always approve of Kingsley’s many enterprises, he could be easily persuaded to help in time of need.

Kingsley was a kind and patient big brother. Or, as Carolyn would say, indulgent. A couple of years ago at a family dinner, he shared that sceptics were questioning his bona fides as a property developer. I asked him if he had forgotten that he was building from he was a child. I reminded him that when I was very young and we were living in Norman Gardens the property across from us was under construction. Our mother had warned us to stay out of harm’s way but we got as close to the action as possible. Kingsley used a rejected ceiling tile and other odds and ends of building materials to make me a dolly house. After this reminder, he gleefully exclaimed that he would add that first house to his resume.

HE ACHIEVED HIS PURPOSE

Much later, after I graduated from college, I taught for a year at the former West Indies College. I would spend weekends and holidays in Kingston with Kingsley. Once, a friend came to visit from St Mary bringing raw cashews. Kingsley’s housekeeper, Monica, my friend and I thought it was a good idea to roast the raw cashews in his gas oven.

Well, the oven catch on fire and almost burned down the house. Soot was everywhere, including the bedrooms upstairs. When Kingsley came home and surveyed the damage, he calmly asked , “Then if you wanted cashews, couldn’t you have just called me to bring a tin when I was coming home?”

I thought I had time left with Kingsley. Time for him to slow down just a little and enjoy life more fully; time for him to watch me evolve my art, which he has always encouraged and championed; time to see his son Cole grow up. But he achieved his purpose and transitioned from this plane. Waak gud Maas Kings! I know the ancestors have received you with open arms. Àse! Àse! Àse!

Donnette Cooper is an attorney-at-law and a much-exhibited textile artist: http://www.jafricandesign.com/