There is a running joke in my family about the five years I spent in journalism in Jamaica with what was then the island’s national news agency, JAMPRESS. Folks would ask what I did in Jamaica before moving to the US and I would speak in glowing terms about that work. “I was a journalist with…,” I started off once in response, only to hear my wife, Shauna, interject cheekily: “He was a well-known journalist.” Cheekily, because that was far from it and if you know me, nor was that my goal. But the moniker stuck and the joke was born. And so whenever the topic would arise, there would be a chorus, with even our children now chiming in: “Yeah, yeah, we know – a well-known journalist…”

But joke aside, I still regard those five years highly. Working as a reporter could have meant one day covering a contract-signing for road repairs, but the next day traveling to the hilly interior of the parish of St. Mary to observe chocolate being made from cocoa beans, for a feature-length story. In other words, there had never really been a dull moment and if there had been a slow news day, the next assignment was sure to have cured that. Being a reporter was an education in itself, too. I learned so much about the island and how different institutions and systems functioned, not to mention the access granted just for being a member of the press.

How did I become a member of the press? Simply stated: by writing well. Mum had learned of a vacancy at JAMPRESS for a reporter and had encouraged me to apply. Called in for an interview, there was also a test assignment where I would accompany veteran reporter, Prudence Barnes and upon returning, develop a written report for editing. The editor was the indomitable Godfrey Barnes (no relation to Prudence). They both examined my copy and determined that I would be a good addition to the editorial staff. My report had contained the basic ingredients of a decent story: a good lead, followed by details to satisfy the who, when, where, what, why, and how questions.

next story