Mutryce A. Williams
ON the way to work each morning I look forward to hearing ‘my old boyfriend Bagoon’, as I liked to refer to him, on the radio. He would start his daily morning show by joining with what sounds like Black Stalin by singing, “We having a party, a Caribbean party, this jam going be Irie, cause we jamming to the sound of the Caribbean, we grooving to calypso and steel pan, oh, oh, oh, oh.”
Sometimes he would sing the song and other times he would pause and ask, “What kind of party you say we having again here? How you say the jam going be? What you say we grooving to?” Then he would let the song reply. I liked the vibes that Bagoon gave off each morning. Some people need a cup of coffee as a get up and go in the morning, all I needed was to hear Bagoon and I was good to go for the rest of the day.
On the way to work I would be jamming along with him to the sound of the calypso. I would be grooving to the sound of the steel pan. I liked the fact that Bagoon would go down the chain of islands giving shout-outs. He would include a bit of Spanish, dust of French, sprinkle of Dutch and various dialects as he did these shout-outs. I often remarked that one of these days I had to make it to the radio station to meet ‘my old boyfriend Bagoon’. He was so infectious, so affable, he was the kind of person you wanted to hang with, throw back and bang some dominoes with or just old talk with, and that’s what he did with his listeners each and every single morning. Callers would call in each day just to talk with him and sometimes I wondered if these people thought that they were in their yard on two big stones old talking or on a lime somewhere catching up with an old friend, because the conversations were such that you were linking with your good old partner man, as opposed to calling into a radio programme. Bagoon grew on you. You felt as if you were long lost friends or ‘good, good’ family even.
Bagoon knew culture and he knew his calypso. I would often remark, “This is a man after my own heart. I just have to meet him.” As he played hit after hit, I would shout, “Bagoon, why you have to do me that?” Then I would join in and sing all, part or maybe just whistle to the song. I would skip into the office with a lilt in my step and a smile on my face because listening to Bagoon was like going to your own culture and calypso morning fete. One morning on the way to work I tuned in and there was no Bagoon. I switched channels frantically, thinking that I might have gotten the wrong radio channel; still no Bagoon. I remarked, “I wonder what happen this morning eh? Where Bagoon? Maybe he take the day off.” I can tell you that that was an off day for me. The next day the same thing happened and I thought it odd because Bagoon normally gave you a play for play…what he would be doing for the weekend or where he was going…so I thought that this was so unlike ‘my old boyfriend Bagoon’ to just not tell us what he was up to…you know. Then the news came. Bagoon was GONE! It hit me like a ton of bricks. Bagoon was GONE, that is what the news said. It said that 69-year-old George ‘Bagoon’ O’Reilley, former Senator, cultural icon and radio personality for over 50 years was GONE.
I thought how he could be gone when only two days ago he was so lively and grand having a Caribbean party with me over the airwaves. I learnt later that day that my dear old boyfriend had been battling cancer for some time and on that dear morning when he did not sign on he had lost his battle. This struck me, as I thought, how could he be jamming so lively and happy each morning and never once break form, never once complain, never once up until that day disappoint me or his other listeners by not showing up to jam with us. I know that many people tuned in to vibes with him. I know that when many needed a smile or a pick me up that they knew that Bagoon would not disappoint.
Later that day that was talk about town, in the barber shop, on the streets, in the various workplaces and on the airwaves; there wasn’t a palpable sadness but more or less moments of fond reflection. In a news item, his son described him as “a true soldier, a real down to earth, true person, an original, a natural, no one else could fit in his shoes, they may wear it, but they couldn’t wear it as good as he did”. He closed by saying, “There is, was and will never be anybody else like Bagoon.” Imagine those words coming from a man’s son. He really had to be ‘someone of the remarkable’. Others described him as happy go-lucky, civic minded, a man with a great sense of humor and a tireless organiser of cultural event.
I was disappointed, in that I always said that I would make it my business to visit Bagoon at the radio station just to say hello and possibly share some old talk or a smile. I was certain that we would hit it off, but that never happened and it would never happen because he was gone. I can honestly tell you that had I known that he was ill, I would have rushed there to see him. I thought that there was time. Why would I think that something was wrong with this spirited, lively old soul? He had years to go and I had time to see him. It was only upon his passing did I gain insight into the life of this impressionable but rather humble man. I had no idea that he was once a Senator; he simply referred to himself and was always addressed as Bagoon and never once mentioned this on his programme. I learnt that he had revived steel pan, quadrille and quelbe music in his country and he had been a radio announcer for more than 50 years but, most importantly, that he was a family man who could relate to everyone. He was humble and he was loved by the masses. This was obvious. He was a real man!
The day I learnt of Bagoon’s passing was a somber day for me. I felt a tremendous loss. I mean until I plucked the article on him from the newspaper, I had never seen a picture of the man. It made me think, “Imagine I had never met this man, I only connected with him through the airwaves and without realising it, Bagoon had become a part of my life, an integral part of my circle. Bagoon partied with me each day…” I was in awe at what I felt at the passing of this man and wondered if he had any idea how much he had impacted the lives of others. I mean, I felt as if I really, really knew this man. I wondered if he had realised that just by his existence, his vibes that he was there for others. I linked with Bagoon each morning and because of that love for calypso and all things West Indian, I felt like we had a special connection, as if he was reading my mind and playing all the old calypso favourites for me. I often remarked, “Boy I just love that man’s spirit…that is my real boyfriend; that is my boy.”
Bagoon’s send off was a grand one. His funeral procession jammed through the streets of Christiansted to Stanley and the Ten Sleepless Knights Steel Orchestra, and I mean jammed through the streets. The irony was that mourners were jamming to the sound of the Caribbean. They were jamming to calypso and steel pan.
