My Cousin Fred

Fred, What aman!

Today I lost a cousin, Fred. As I grew up being close with the following cousins; Valerie, Paul, Leon, Babes, Marva, Maureen, and Fred. They weren’t just cousins, they were protectors; except for Leon, who only wanted to tickle me till i cried. Other cousins were younger, and I later found fondness for them. They did not go to the bushes with me.

There was something special about Fred, however. As an older cousin, he was enthusiastic, cheerful, optimistic, helpful, hard-working, and hopeful, and he provided me the will to want to do better than I was then “to be an “Mt Industry Country boy.” Each summer, there were many occasions I spent my time (me and my sisters, of course) in Mount Industry with my grandmother, Lucrtta Scott (Aunt Lue or Miss Lue).

Sometimes, three or four sister children would all spend the summer there. That means 12 to 15 children would pack the single bedroom we were offered to sleep;n the ground, on a chair, and several older ones on the bed.

I remember Fred, however, because he took me under his wing as a trainee; he took me into every district around Mt Industry every day after he was done with his chores. I had to help find firewood, carry water, cut bananas, pick Ackee, whatever grandma wanted Fred to do; I was there with him pee-pee-cluck-click.

He taught me about cutting sugarcane, country life, and even raiding cousin Cunnyman’s blackie mango tree. Just behind Grandma’s house, the land broke off; Fred would teach me how to get to the bottom of the gully fast, using banana trees to break speed. Fred took me to the river down to catch swims and bathe. The hills were so steep; however, when we got home, we sweated so much that it was time to bathe again.

We would walk what seemed like miles to get sweet up. He would suck them up a called me fool-fool because I didn’t like the slimy texture. We would eat guineps and star apples by the branches. The big number eleven mango tree is always in ripened season. So we are our belly-full.

Fred didn’t leave me. Wherever he went, I was with him during those summers. I couldn’t tell if it were that Fred needed a younger brother, a trainee, or if he just loved me as a cousin. Whatever it was, we were close. All I know is that it was sad when I had to leave Fred when it was time to head back to Oracabessa. The last time I went to the country as a youth, I visited with my mom, who went to look for Grandma. Fred was not there, so it wasn’t fun. Mon and I only spent overnight. However, I wouldn’t want to be there any longer since Fred was not there.

The summer I graduated high school was interesting. Mamma said I could go to Kingston to spend time with Aunt Una. Aunt Una didn’t see me. However, she knew I was in town and with Fred. I found my way up to Aunt Cutie’s home instead, where Fred was. Nothing changed. I was 17, and Fred may have been 19 or 20. He was a full-fledged man. Fred was strong and no longer had a boy’s voice, but his laugh was striking bigger than God’s. During the late 70s, a flurry of karate movies flooded Jamaica, and Fred was a filly grown “Chinese man” more skilled in karate than Bruce Lee. At the back of the house was a large Ackee tree with a long rope hanging from the top. Each day, Fred would practice climbing the cord all the way up to the top of the Ackee with the speed of a monkey. He started training me, but I couldn’t get it. Then he would practice his karate moves with me, showing the different kinds of kicks and punches he learned from the movies and adding a few of his creations. Fred was also breaking pieces of wood with his bare hands.

I am still determining how long Fred moved to Kingston, but he loved it there. He was Mr. King Kingstonl; he knew every nook and cranny and could walk and bike through areas no one cared to venture. But Fred was well known and loved. He helped many people with their car problems. Again, Fred treated me like he treated me in the Mt. Industry during the summers. No different. He owned a bicycle and a scooter. I was a pillan on his scooter every evening going to various communities to check a brethren here and a brethren there, East, West, and South Kingston. Fred was not afraid; he just thought he was a conqueror. I was there as a younger brother. Sometimes heading home, he would let me drive; that made me happy.

In the daytime, two machine shops around Kingston hired Fred. He was that good at what he did. He brought me on-site to both workplaces, and the bosses had no problem with my presence. Fred was always busy, always with something to do in Kingston.

He did what he did, and later we headed up the street and to the house. We bathed, he took me to the movies, and we hung out.

We should have kept in touch; however, we didn’t have cell phones then. Who spends their coins to call a cousin from a booth? The money took a lot of work to come by. Making a call was wasting money. Further, who writes to their cousin? That wasn’t what we did in Jamaica. Whenever we saw each other, we were family. That’s an undisputed fact.

Fast forward six years. I heard sometime during that period that Fred had migrated to New York. In 1984, when I first visited New York, Fred picked me up at the airport and took me to see my mom, whom I hadn’t seen in six years. As he hurried and scurried through the snowy streets of New York, Fred again took on the big-brother role. Before we got to Mom, Fred drove me to many stops, including a boarded-up building he told me, “building I will own soon.”

I learned little about the place he showed me, but it didn’t matter; Fred wanted to share his dream with me. He was again there teaching, explaining, and planning. Fred picked me up daily and took me from one place to the next in the Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Queens, looking for old car engine blocks. He stored them in an old car he owned and threw them in. I knew he was a machine shop guy, but I didn’t have the vision he had. I spent two weeks in New York, and Fred had me for about ten of those days driving and planning.

By the time I left New York, I was fully involved in Fred’s plans and hopes. I only spent three weeks in Jamaica before I returned to New York. But I made sure to keep Fred abreast of my planned return. My return flight was on time, but they held me in immigration for an extra two and a half hours. While I sweated in immigration, many things were going through my mind, will they return me to Jamaica? I sweated harder. Next, who will pick me up if they let me enter the US? It was snowing, cold, and late, and I was tired. I was penniless and didn’t know my way around. They received me in the USA. When I got out of customs, before I saw Fred, I felt this big hug and heard the heartiest laugh. “Welcome back, cuz” It was Fred. Fred didn’t leave. He waited for me. Those days you could double and triple park in the airport with the other “million taxis” trying to get customers. Fred stayed with a warm jacket and food. He knew I would be cold and hungry. He picked me up, and we headed to the City. We went to Manhattan and enjoyed eating with friends at a bar. I dont recall Fred being a drinker; we were both non-drinkers. Some of his buddies from My Industry were there.

We got to my mom’s home about midnight. She was up waiting, and he stayed and slept next to me on the mattress on the floor. He was gone before morning, however. When Fred returned to get me the next day, we headed to East 98th Street. He reintroduced me to the place he once said he would own. We kicked in the planks used to block up the space and walked in. Upon entering, I was in shock. I saw things I could not imagine being in America. It was the most filth I had seen. In my disappointment, I turned to Fred and was about to say let’s get out. Fred turned to me instead and asked with a smile, “Do you see it?” In my mind, im asking myself what he is smiling about. What should I see? But Fred had already visioned out the entire place. He must have been here a hundred times. This was the first time he decided to enter officially and claim the location.

Fred stepped in, and I followed. He then told me that we would clean out this place, and it would be his machine shop. We went upstairs; he showed me that this place was an actual home. I saw the bathtub hanging, a light fixture that seemed eaten by rust, and a few other remnants of a household. However, we could also see the entire downstairs through the floor holes. That meant we had to be careful not to fall through stepping rotted wood.

Many nights we spent cleaning up the space. It was cold, and I wasn’t doing well, even wearing winter gear. During the days, Fred and I would travel from borough to borough searching for head cleaning equipment that he could get for free or buy cheaply. We purchased three pieces, and within two weeks, we were cleaning engine heads, painted, and stocking them. I didn’t get the skill down to a science, but he taught me how to clean the heads and identify the ones that need excess work or others to scrap because they are irreparable. The work was hard for me but seemed a singe for Fred. I wasn’t enjoying the working conditions, without heat and electricity. Fred paid me fifty dollars a week. It was ok. I was living with mom. He didn’t tell me, but he probably, needed more to connect light and gas; or the proper documentation.

I left New York and headed to California. Three years after I returned and the first person I wanted to see was Fred. I called him, and he was happy to hear from me. He said, “I can’t come to get you now cuz, mi busy, but you know where the place is. Come check me.” Excited to hear from Fred, I hurried over to E98 Street, where he lived. He no longer lived in the apartment, but the tenant knew him and showed me where the business was. I walked up to the building but was unable to recognize exactly where Fred’s shop was. That’s because I passed it more than three times, not knowing it was the same broken-down place I had left three years prior. There were about five ambulances and probably ten police cars parked up in front of the shop. Employees were walking around in uniform with the branded shirts name Bryans…. They all referred to him as, Nr. Bryan. This was unbelievable. My eyes went dark for a minute, trying to bring the past to the present. Upon seeing me, Fred’s hug and laughter multiplied 10-folds. He bear-hugged me and introduced me to his entire staff as his cuz who helped him start this location. I was proud.

My surprise was not done yet. Later, Fred told me, “Oh, Patsy is upstairs; I am sure she would like to see you.” I sat babies for them very frequently while I lived in New York. First, I was blown away to see that the stairs I was so afraid to climb a few years ago were brand new. Secondly, upstairs was a. fully furnished and beautifully decorated home. I was in shock. However, I was so proud you could scrape it off me.

Fred had made his dream come through. What a man!