Reminiscing: Stories of My Youth

By Kenrick B. Maharaj

This book is a compendium of short stories of my youth growing up in the island of Trinidad in the 1950s and 60s.

My 32 Chevy

The year was 1961, and I was still in high school. I lived in Trinidad at the time. This 32 Chevy was the apple of my eye. Trinidad was a British colony, and all we had were English cars. An American car was a luxury, and a 32 Chevy was a rarity. I would dream about this car. I would picture myself sitting behind the steering wheel cruising up High Street (the main drag in San Fernando, my hometown). My friends would be envious, and the girls would dote over me for having such a cool car. Some time passed, and I stopped seeing this car on the road.

The Racing Bike

I got my first bike at the age of twelve. In Trinidad in the 1950s, a bicycle was an essential means of transport. Few people could afford cars. The bicycle was the dependable machine that took you everywhere on the island: to work, to school, to the beach, across town to visit friends and relatives, to the shop to buy goods, and downtown to hang with the boys.

A Memorable Tobago Adventure

The first time I visited Tobago was in 1963. I went with my best friends Wahid, Bissoon, Karl, George, and Hamid (Wahids younger brother). It was Easter, and we had carefully planned this adventure to see the famous Tobago crab races and attend other Easter boat races and sport festivities on the beach.

Fondest Memories of Christmases Past

Christmas is the happiest time of the year for mealways was and always will be. Growing up in Trinidad, Christmas was celebrated by everyone. The whole island celebrated Christmas. Christmas was spree time. Every house stocked up with sweet drinks (Coca Cola, Pepsi, Solo, Red Spot, and Cannings), Fernandes Rum, babash (homemade rum), Cherry Brandy, Guinness, Mackeson XXX Stout, and Carib beer to offer friends, relatives, and neighbors who could drop in at any time for a Christmas toast.

An Avocado Story

The avocado fruit is native to Central and South America and has been around in these areas since 8000 BC. It was introduced to the Caribbean (Jamaica) in the mid-seventeenth century and the Tropical Asian regions in the mid-1800s. The avocado arrived in the United States in the early twentieth century, specifically in California and Florida.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984541062

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Copyright © 2018 by Kenrick B. Maharaj.

Library of Congress Control Number:                 2018908372

ISBN:                   Hardcover                       978-1-9845-4108-6

                             Softcover                         978-1-9845-4107-9

                             eBook                               978-1-9845-4106-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 07/20/2018

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PREFACE

YOU ARE ONLY YOUNG ONCE! This is indeed a truism. Fact is that your youth stands out as the most impressionable part of your life. My head is so full of these memories of my youth that shaped my life and helped to make me who I am today, that I decided to empty them out on paper before they fade, so that my family and friends could share them and maybe get a little laughter and historical tidbits from some of my escapades and adventures while growing up in Trinidad in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

Some of these stories have been rolling around in my head for 50, and up to 60 years. Most of the names and characters are real. I have chosen to change the names of a few, seeing that we were all up to serious mischief at the time or had some habits that Miss Manners would frown upon today. But they depict life as enterprising young men growing up and having the freedom to roam and explore our beloved islands of Trinidad and Tobago.

These stories are my account of the events that occurred in my youth and are written purely from memory with of course, my slant of what actually occurred at the time. Some of my friends who are part of these stories may tell a slightly different version, challenging the veracity of what actually took place in our youthful adventures. I have to insist that because of my photographic memory (a rare and valuable talent that I have always possessed), the pictures painted in these youthful adventures are deeply etched in my mind as if Mr. Kodak put them there. What better proof can I offer on the authenticity of these stories of my youth?

I entreat you to read on and capture the moments of my youthful bliss, innocence, and the dreams that I enjoyed, at a time when we were in too much of a hurry to grow up.

This book is

dedicated to my wife Jean, my son Anthony, and my grandchildren, Madeline and Michael.

Contents

I          My 32 Chevy

II        The Racing Bike

III       A Memorable Tobago Adventure

IV       Hiking Over The Northern Range

V        Adventures With Freddie

VI       Touring The Island Of Trinidad

VI       Fondest Memories Of Christmases Past

VIII    My Most Favorite Cousin

IX       An Avocado Story

X        Badman, The Baddest Cock In South Texas

XI       Ketchup Chips From Canada

XII      A Bit On Your Daily Horoscope

XIII     An Ode To Graham

XIV     A Lucky Penny

XV      To Catch A Thief

XVI     Best Friends Since ABC

About The Author

Glossary Of Trinidadian English

I

MY 32 CHEVY

This story is dedicated to Rich Pollack who inspired me to write a story about my favorite Chevy to commemorate Chevrolet’s 100 year anniversary in October of 2011.

MY 32 CHEVY - 1932

CHEVROLET CONFEDERATE

My32Chevy.jpg

1932 Confederate Coach, 215 CI Straight 6 with a 3 Speed Gear Box, Electric Start, Rear Spare, Front Fender Lights, Single Tail / Brake Light.

The year was 1961 and I was still in high school. I lived in Trinidad at the time. This 32 Chevy was the apple of my eye. Trinidad was a British colony and all we had were English cars. An American car was a luxury and a 32 Chevy was a rarity. It was owned by an older man, Mr. Carter, who worked in the oil refinery at Pointe-a- Pierre and he used it to work every day. Every time he passed me on my bicycle coming home from school, I would dream about this car. I would picture myself sitting behind the steering wheel cruising up High Street (the main drag in San Fernando, my home town). My friends would be envious and the girls would dote over me for having such a cool car. Some time passed and I stopped seeing this car on the road. The owner was now driving a fancy new English car.

I became concerned that he may have traded it in for the new car and my dream car would be no more. So I followed him home one day on my bike. He lived 2 villages away from my home in Ste. Madeleine, a distance of about 2 miles. When I got to his place, I saw my dream car parked on the side of his house towards the back, all abandoned and neglected. I was saddened by this sight, all my dreams going down the drain. I gathered up my courage and knocked on his door. He came out and gave me an annoying look as if I had interrupted his dinner. I asked him about the car, if he was selling it. He replied that it was not for sale and he had plans for restoring it.

His wife came out as she must have overheard our conversation. She scolded him for being rude and abrupt with me. She then announced to me, that the car was definitely for sale. It was becoming an eyesore on the property she said, and while her husband had good intentions he would never get around to restoring the car as he was too busy. Besides, she had lots of other projects that she wanted him to do around the house. This was a heavenly moment for me. The next question was a dreaded one: how much do they want for it? He replied that the least he would take was $35 for the car, thinking that this great amount would scare me away and he would have his way. He was right. This was indeed a large sum for me at that time.

I was only 16 years old and barely had $16 in my name. But I was an optimist and figured that a way would be found for me to get the rest of the money. After all, I had lots of assets: my tennis racquet, my Kodak Brownie Camera, my bike (once I got the car, I would not be caught dead on a bike), some of my school books (I could borrow these from my friends in class). So I said to him very timidly and politely that I would like to buy the car, but I needed 2 weeks to get all the money together. He smiled at me like a Cheshire cat and said that he would wait the 2 weeks, but if I did not show up with the cash in 2 weeks time, he would change his mind. He even said to me out of earshot of his wife that he was the one in charge at his house and not the woman.

I was overjoyed and left feeling on top of the world. I went into action right away to sell off my stuff and get the rest of the money together because I wanted that car so badly. I decided that I would not tell my parents. I would surprise them. I had learned a long time ago, that it was better to ask forgiveness after the deed was done, than permission ahead of time. Besides they were always telling me that I should become an engineer as I liked to tinker with stuff. They would be proud of me. I decided I would not tell my friends or my cousins who lived next door. I would just shock them and show them that I was a man of greater plans and big dreams.

With all my hustle and bustle, quickly disposing of my assets and serious fund raising by doing odd jobs, I came up short. On the day of the sale I only had $27. I even went to see my grandmother and tried to talk her into giving me a cash birthday and Christmas present in advance so I could make up the difference. She said no deal and that I should not count on chickens before they were hatched.

With a lot of trepidation, I went over to see Mr. Carter, the owner of my dream 32 Chevy to explain that I would like some more time because I needed just a few more dollars to make up the full amount. He laughed out loud in my face and said: No Tikee, No Laundry (a local Chinese expression meaning, if you did not have the cash, you could not get the goods). He was having fun with me, and he was getting to keep his car despite the wife. His wife must have overheard his laughter, as she poked her head out the door to see what was going on. When she saw me she gave me a big smile and said that she was glad that I came for the car as she wanted to clear the yard of that old car. It was taking away from the beauty of their fancy new English car. The neighbors were complaining.

I told her that I came by to ask for more time because I did not have all the money. She asked me how much I had, and I told her that I was only able to come up with $27 altogether. She said to me that that was enough and I could have the car for that amount. She added that her husband was asking too much in her opinion, and that a bird in the hand was better than two in the bush. I became completely flabbergasted, and overjoyed at the same time. I was in shock. I thanked her profusely and told Mr. Carter that I would be back later that day with my friends to move the car.

I rushed home and went straight over to my cousins’ house to announce the news. I also needed their help to get the car home. Armed with a tow rope and with all of us loaded up in my dad’s car we arrived at Mr. Carter’s to tow my baby home. It was only then that I decided to look over my purchase to see what it needed to get it running. I was assuming that all it would need would be a general clean up and the battery charged up and I would be in business. To my dismay when I opened the bonnet, I saw missing ignition wires and the tappet pan cover loose in the engine. It needed more work to get it running than I assumed. But I was undaunted, and besides I could not complain because I got a price break, and also I did not want my cousins to think that I had bought a pig in a poke. They were all excited and were so proud of me and my first car. After all, they too had designs and dreams about cruising up High Street in a cool car.

We got My 32 Chevy home and I found the right place for it at the side of our house (so it would not be in the way of my dad’s car). My dad was surprised all right but more annoyed because I had used his car to tow that piece of junk as he referred to my baby. He was not ready to listen to my dreams and kept reminding me that I would need some serious cash to put my baby on the road. He was telling me in advance that he was not going to put one red cent of his hard earned dollars into that piece of junk. He even told me that he knew Mr. Carter, (now the former owner) as they worked together at the oil refinery in Pointe a Pierre. He said that Mr. Carter was always complaining that he could not get parts for that piece of junk, as it was too old. Mr. Carter told him that this was the real reason that he had put it to pasture.

Even my sisters had objections, as they saw it as an eyesore: what would their boyfriends say? they wondered. They saw it more as a chicken coop than as an automobile. The only person who was encouraging was my mother. She kept telling my dad that this would be good for me as it would put me on a path to become an Engineer. They always needed Engineers at the refinery and Engineers made big bucks. An added point of hers was that it would keep me busy and out of mischief.

After all of the commotion, bragging on my part, and general showing off to my school friends and neighbors in the village, it was time to start work on the car. The first goal was to get it running. I went down to the local junk yard and got some ignition wires of the right lengths to replace the ones that were missing. I made a tappet pan cover gasket from a sheet of cork material and put that on. I took the battery down to the local gas station to get it charged up. It was a 6 volt battery and the apprentice at the gas station told me that he would drain the acid and put new acid to wake up the battery, as it was sitting too long. He was going to do this for free and he expected endless rides in the car once I got it running. I picked up all of the ignition wires and used spark plugs on this basis, from another apprentice at the junk yard. So far it was not costing me a penny to get my baby going. What did my father know? My fame preceded me and wherever I went I got freebies: at the tire shop, at the junk yard, at the local gas station, at the hardware store and even at the upholstery store. I got promises of huge discounts whenever I was ready to do the seats, door panels, mats, and headliner.

But first things first, I had to get the engine started. After putting all the wires in place, the tappet pan cover tightened up with the new homemade gasket, the battery all wakened up and connected, new gas in the tank and the carburetor all primed up, the final moment had arrived. My baby was ready to come alive. My dreams were ready to come through, High Street here I come. I turned the ignition key and checked for a spark at the points in the distributor and at the coil. I was ready to crank the engine. I had good coaching from the apprentice at the gas station that all the engine needed was gas and spark to fire up. Tune ups would come later. This car had an electric starter with the starter button on the floor. I pressed the starter button with my foot and cranked the engine. It turned over quite rapidly but did not start. I kept trying but still no action. My cousins were all encouraging and were optimistic and said to me that my baby would start after some more tries because it was sitting for such a long time. All it needed was spark and gas and we had both, so it should start with enough tries. Needless to say, I ran the battery down with all that trying. With the battery dead, that was the end of the show for the day.

I could not sleep that night and kept going over everything that I did, but could not figure out why the engine won’t start. My next move was to consult the apprentice at the gas station and see if he could shine some light on the problem. After he double checked me on the gas and spark prerequisites, he mentioned that I should check the timing and the firing order especially, since I had replaced ignition wires.

Of course I did not understand one word of what he was saying and he might as well be speaking Greek to me. I kept nodding my head as if this was all elementary stuff for me. I did not want to reveal any ignorance because I was considered one of the bright kids in our village. In those Colonial days of the British educational system, the bright students from elementary school went off on an academic path to high school and then off to university. The not so bright students took a vocational path through an apprenticeship and then on to become a journeyman. For me to admit to him that I did not know elementary things like timing and firing order would blow his mind completely. I realized that I would have to solve this problem on my own.

My next step was to head to the San Fernando Public Library to see if I could find a hand book or a repair manual for my 32 Chevy. Of course there was no such animal. We lived in a British colony at the time and the library was full of all kinds of handbooks and repair manuals for British cars such as Vauxhalls, Rovers, Austins, Hillman, MG’s and so on but not even one on American cars, let alone a Chevrolet. I picked up a repair manual for a Vauxhall Velox model as I remembered my Uncle Bud once saying that the Velox was the British version of a GM 6 cylinder car. From the pictures it looked like it had a 6 cylinder engine just like my 32 Chevy, a straight six as it was called, as all six cylinders were in line. I studied this manual day and night and began getting some knowledge of firing order, timing, TDC (top dead center), adjustment of breaker points, clockwise rotation of the rotor and distributor shaft and the numbering of the cylinders starting from the radiator to the firewall. All this technical stuff was new to me and just as mystifying then, as quantum physics is to me today.

The firing order was 1-5-3-6-2-4. I remembered this by heart as I needed the gas station apprentice to shed some more light on my problem. I wanted to sound knowledgeable enough for him to help me trouble shoot my problem. I wanted to know about TDC and how it related to starting the engine. I read about setting the timing to 5 degrees before TDC on the compression stroke. It just did not make sense to me. There were also the intake stroke, the power stroke, and the exhaust stroke. Too many strokes were involved and it was all confusing to my mind. I just wanted to get my car running and the repair manual, I thought, was making it too complicated. So off I went to see my savior (the gas station apprentice) under the guise that I needed another free charge up of the battery. He started chewing the fat with me about generators and regulators to make sure that the battery charging system on my car (which I feigned great knowledge of) was working properly. According to him, these were simple things that everyone should know.

We finally got around to firing order and such like mysteries of the ignition system. I noticed a Vauxhall Velox in the service bay with the hood up. This was my lucky day. Using the Vauxhall as an example, he was able to go over with me: strokes, TDC, firing order, wiring sequence, gapping of the points, rotor, distributor, capacitor, and all the little details of the ignition system. He showed me some of his tricks about taking out the spark plug on cylinder number one and poking the tip of screw driver inside to help determine near TDC on the compression stroke, and pointing the rotor to the number one wire in the distributor cap. I discovered that you can loosen the distributor clamp and turn the distributor to align the rotor pointing to the number one wire. Bingo, it all made sense now. The lights came on.

I could not wait to get home to give this new knowledge a try. I hooked up the battery and painstakingly got the number one cylinder near TDC on the compression stroke. I loosened the distributor and rotated it so that the rotor pointed to the number one wire on the distributor cap. I then placed the next wire from the distributor to cylinder number five and so on to cylinder number three, then to six, then to two and last of all to cylinder number four. The firing order made total sense now, 1-5-3-6-2-4. This is so imbedded in my head today that I sometimes use it as part of my computer passwords.

The moment had arrived to start the engine. I was sure it would work. With all of my serious research at the library, stroking of the gas station apprentice and his tutorial on the Vauxhall Velox in his service bay, I had done everything possible, even praying every night and day. With great anticipation, I turned on the ignition and pumped the gas pedal a few times. Then I stepped on the starter button and Whamo, the engine came to life. I was so happy, and elated. I felt on a high. Tears of joy rolled down my cheeks. The sweet throbbing sound of that exhaust was so enchanting. I left the engine running on idle, jumped out of the car and started to do a jig. That was how delighted I was. Of course, with this sweet music playing from the engine of My 32 Chevy, all of my cousins and the neighbors’ children ran over to witness this spectacular event. In those days in my village, the start up of My 32 Chevy was akin to the blast off of the space shuttle at Cape Canaveral today.

I finished high school, spending all of my pocket money, and spare change, (always asking for cash gifts from my family for birthdays, Christmas, scholastic awards) on My 32 Chevy. I was slowly getting it roadworthy. The local hardware store donated paint for my paint job. I painted the body a bright yellow and the fenders and running board in a shiny black. Right away the car took on a new personality and a new name, Yellowbird.

I applied for a scholarship to study Mechanical Engineering, from Shell Oil, one of the oil companies on the island that operated a huge refinery in Point Fortin, processing crude oil from Venezuela, and Nigeria into petroleum products for the US market. I attended a final interview with the Company’s Board of Directors. They were awarding the scholarships. There were 2 scholarships to study Mechanical Engineering at the University of The West Indies, St Augustine and four finalists. When it was my turn to be interviewed, there were seven board members sitting in the conference room each asking questions to determine the winners. I was asked the question: Why do you want to become a Mechanical Engineer? I gave the standard reasons of: a good learned technical profession; wanting to be part of the local oil industry Brain Trust; following in the footsteps of my dad, etc. I could see from the expressions on their faces that they were hearing the same old same old answers that they were given by the earlier candidates. So, with a lot of gumption, I asked if I could illustrate my ambitions and obsession to become an Engineer, by telling the story of My 32 Chevy. I told them the story, this story. They were immediately enthralled and mesmerized by my story. It demonstrated in a practical way, all of the attributes they were looking for in a scholarship candidate.

I won the scholarship and went on to study Mechanical Engineering. My parents were proud of me. My mother reminded my father about the 32 Chevy paving the way for me to be an Engineer. That is my Chevrolet story, on this 100 year anniversary.

II

THE RACING BIKE

This story is dedicated to my dear friend Bissoon for whom this story is all about.

THE RACING BIKE

THERACINGBIKE.jpg

I GOT MY FIRST BIKE at the age of twelve. In Trinidad in the 1950’s, a bicycle was an essential means of transport. Few people could afford cars. The bicycle was the dependable machine that took you everywhere on the island: to work, to school, to the beach, across town to visit friends and relatives, to the shop to buy goods, and downtown to lime with the boys.

My father’s bicycle was untouchable. If I were caught riding it without his permission, I might as well kill myself on the spot right there in front of him, because that was surely what he would do to me. Being the sole breadwinner in the family, his bike carried him to work to earn a living for our family and if his bike broke down or I damaged it in