Dreams never die! (In memory of Odette)

 IT has taken me a few days to start beginning to come to terms with the passing of Odette Campbell (Bessy, I called her all these years).

 

I was going through my phone and realized that we had our last conversation on April 28.

 

It started with me whatsapping her, bitching about something I heard they had on GBN in the news – though at the time I had not seen it myself. She gave me a couple of cheeky responses – sent me the report -- and then she called.

 

We chatted about it – and then other things – and I also went on to inquire about the health of Stephenson Worme, while complaining that I could not get him on the phone.

 

All this time I did not know that she was herself sick.

She told me she was home – but I just assumed maybe on vacation or something.

 

One of the things I always asked whenever we spoke was: “So you good?” and her standard answer was, “Yeah man!”

 

She told me she was good, like she always did for the best part of almost 40 years. And like all the other times, I did not assume otherwise.

It was just after 3 AM a few days ago I got the text from a mutual friend – “boy Odette gone”. My response: “She resigned?” Then the statement: “No, she is dead”. Well, my follow up response was: “Well who Odette you talking about?”

 

It is because up to that point I did not wrap my mind to thinking it was “Bessy,”

 

We have been friends since she was in Form 3 at Anglican High School – for she used to visit Munich to spend some days of summer with her paternal grandmother.

 

We started bonding because I was already in the media, and she indicated at the time that is what she wanted to do.

 

When Odette graduated from High School – I was her photographer.  She could not afford to pay the official photographers and asked if I could come along with her.

These were not the days – like now – when everyone had a device that could take some type of shot.

 

So, I had to asked Mr Pierre’s permission to borrow the Grenadian Voice’s camera to go do the “assignment.”

 

All these years, there have been photos of Odette’s graduation at our house in Munich.

 

I donated her first book on journalism – my only copy of “Handbook for Caribbean Journalists.”

 

After school she was interested in coming to work at the Voice, but when I spoke to Mr. Pierre, he could not have accommodated it just yet. So, I convinced her to go start at Informer – which she was not too keen on initially. But I took her to see Errol Maitland. My word to her at the time: “just get your feet in the door” and then anything can happen after that.

 

As luck and history will have – many years later she became Manager of GBN – a position I held before. She is the one who broke the news to me – and called me to discuss what to expect.

 

There was a time when we used to spend hours on the phone – but that became less and less as we all became older and busier.

 

In later years when I ran into her and complained “man you give me up” her usual retort, “boy I don’t know which part of the world you living.”

 

Sometimes when major regional stories broke, she will call seeking some contacts; and I will complain: “you only know now know my number?”

 

She can be cheeky, “Boy keep your backside quiet,” she will sometimes say.

 

I remember during the election campaign of 2008; she came under fire from the then opposition NDC – and she was particularly down after one of the senior candidates – who was incidentally running in her area – called her out by name on one of the platforms.

 

She called me after midnight that day – seeking advice and counsel – and asked me what it was she was doing wrong – knowing I was close to that campaign.

 

I said “nothing” – you just being a journalist – and that’s your job – give us hell. Keep us on our toes.

 

I know she felt better when I told her – I will never sit out of the newsroom and second guess her news decisions.

Through the years she will always seek me out in moments of challenge: especially a few controversial interviews -- and she counted on me to give my genuine unvarnished opinion.

 

When she would have had some tough times as Manager at GBN – and some of the stuff had become public in a very toxic way – I would give her a call every now and then – starting with the giveaway caveat – “I don’t want to interfere in your all business, but….”

 

Sometimes we forcefully disagreed in some of these debates, but it never affected how we rolled. It still ended up with some “old talk” as a way of easing the tension.

 

When I get her laughing, she will always retort: “Boy you ah real ass.”

 

We did not always agree on professional issues – and we knew when to give each other distance – so we can both cool off. She had her business to run, and I had to let her; and I had my own gigs.

But what always bonded us, I feel -- were the days of dreaming and plotting during those Munich summers -- on how to conquer the world of media.

 

I remember one time I was particularly mad with her, and a couple of weeks passed – and she called me one late afternoon out of the blue.

 

How many of you are there in your office?

 

I answered: Why?

 

“I just want to know,” she said.

 

I said:  Three of us here. Why?

 

Don’t bother – she said.

 

Whey the hell, you a mad woman? – was both my question and an exclamation.

 

To my surprise about half an hour later – Odette showed up with food and drink for everyone – and did that for everyone in the office for about four consecutive afternoons.

 

I think in retrospect that was a way of saying: “Boy we good.”

 

Just before the COVID time when she realized I was in Grenada – she would drop by a couple of lunchtimes -- with food and my favorite coke – saying I was in the area, so I said let me check up on you.

 

Between 2013 and 2018 I had technically returned to the GBN fold as a member of the Board of Directors.

 

I knew before every meeting; she would call me to give me an early sight of any reports she is taking to the board and sometimes to lobby me early about something.

 

I still have the plaque on my desk – she sent it to me in appreciation – (a GBN plaque at WPG lol) – that says thank you for all your support to the station.

 

I have that – and more importantly those memories forged over almost 40 years.

 

I have left to reflect on those Munich days; those days of dreaming – of looking forward to what this life can bring.

 

We never thought we would die.

Well, we are (not were) right!

 

We shall never die. Dreams get reincarnated. Legacies get defined.

 

Arguments, debates, disagreements never tainted a friendship – borne through stories about family and community; and weaved through this shared belief – never mind where we came from – we can be darn good – and the world shall notice us!

Bessy you good? Yeah man!