In Memory of my Father
Trevor Carrington 1942 - 2008
Thank You, all!
Thanks to everyone who called or wrote during that rough period after my father's death. It really meant a whole lot to me.
The man you killed
This is an open letter to the louts speeding along the Beetham on Saturday 19th April at about 11:30 p.m., who caused an accident that left one man dead. I want you to know who you killed.
You killed my father, Trevor Carrington. You decapitated my family and left my mother a widow. You took away the man who taught me to find out what my destiny was and follow it, and to hell with whoever thought I wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. You took away the man who was supposed to teach my children how to make a Carnival costume and how to play their great-grandfather’s guitar.
Trevor was an old-school masman who brought out a section with Ken Morris and later created a popular 80’s band called The Home Team, a real mas band; no bikini and beads to spoil my father’s mas! This man used to walk around town on J’Ouvert morning in a wig and an old nightie. He knew how to play mas.
He was manager of the Lydian Singers, and sang a sweet tenor. He played the guitar and quatro, blew the trumpet, trombone and flugelhorn. Half of Santa Cruz could testify to hearing the sound of his trumpet carried on the wind on quiet nights.
He was Master of Lodge Rosslyn No. 596 S.C. and Lodge Royalian No.1605 S.C. He believed that, according to Freemasonry, the sons of Dukes and dustmen were equal, and passed this philosophy on to his children.
He was manager at Meat Processors and at Guardian Life, and also worked at Bermudez Biscuits, ALGICO and Crown Life, and shared all he learned there with others. Many successful businessmen earned their qualifications under him at Cipriani Labour College.
This man you killed had a generous heart. There are young men and women who are doing well today because my father put his hand in his pocket and bought books and uniforms when their mothers were unable to do so. He made up boxes of food, nice food, mind you, with apples and grapes, pastelles and ham, and dropped them off for families in need. He voiced books on tape for the blind.
Even in these unsafe times, he picked up hitchhikers, until people got used to his car and waited for him on the side of the road. To him, human kindness was a pool, and whenever you took something out of it, you had to put something back.
My father loved a good lime. His Good Friday get-together, which started “after the Lord’s passion”, was an annual event, and the variety of people there were testimony to the number of circles in which he walked: people from UWI, QRC, St. George’s College and the Masonic Lodges, Lydians and masmen, musicians, and people he just gathered into his life.
So this was the man you took away from us with your blatant disregard for the rules of the road and your disdain for human life. In your recklessness, you have left a hole in our lives that will never be filled. His name was Trevor Carrington. Remember it.
I've put up a PDF of photos of his life for family and friends who'd like to see them here.
