Serendipity or Design: My Life's Journey

By C. M. Phillip

About the Book
This work is a result of several decades of material uncovered through an archival dive during recent Covid-19 mandated home confinement. The opportunity for personal reflections during this period led the author to contemplate his life’s journey. In so doing he wonders aloud; was the meandering route traveled between early island life to retirement an accident or was it a path carefully laid out by the Master Designer? His hope is that the stories and incidents included in this work will enable each reader to not only contemplate this bit of life’s mystery, but also like him, find similar affirmation regarding their individual life's path.
About the Author
C. M. Phillip is a boomer born on the 108-square mile Caribbean Island of Antigua. He is the younger of two brothers, among eight siblings born to parents Amaletha and Solomon Phillip, who are both deceased. After completion of his early education in his birthplace, he migrated to the United States in pursuit of higher education. This pursuit paved a path for a career in Public Health. Following his recent retirement, he settled in Scottsdale, Arizona with his wife Annette. From this location, they both continue to pursue their passion for hospitality and mentoring, while enjoying their love for the outdoors and travel.
In addition to family commitments, the author continues to carve out space and time to volunteer as a teacher, participate in various local choirs and musical ensembles, while continuing to train for his next marathon.
Phillip's travels include various global ventures with his wife Annette. Together they have journeyed throughout the Caribbean, North, South and Central America, Asia (to include Thailand, Vietnam &; Japan) and the African Continent (including stops in South Africa, Robben Island and Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe). Also, the Pacific islands and most of the United States and its major cities.
This writer will tell you that his journey from the islands, through the South and East Coasts, and finally being led to exchange his slice of Paradise with its 365 beaches, to enjoy the beauty of the McDowell Mountain Range, has been no accident.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Dec 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886838756

Book preview

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The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 by C. M. Phillip

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Intro

It is a cool morning in the McDowell Mountains. I have just returned from my morning’s workout. This morning, as with most of my runs or hikes, various thoughts and reflections raced through my mind. Somehow today’s run seems to have kicked into high gear a long-held desire to document my life’s journey. The sudden trigger for this undertaking may have come from the fact that some aspects of today’s reflections drew me back to my earliest memories from my Liberta days. Considering the many decades that have transpired since those days, recounting the various twists and turns of my life would require me to not only rely on those random reflections but to delve deep into my mental archive.

This undertaking, while quite intriguing, comes with its fair share of challenges. First, how do I organize those reflections to ensure that any life-changing moments, including the highs and lows of my life experiences, are all included? Next, how do I sort out the noteworthy thoughts, from the transient and irrelevant in the scheme of life. Equally critical to this sorting process, is the task of ensuring those less-than-flattering steps taken along my journey, are accurately reported without generating any future negative implications. In my effort to address such realities, I have decided to utilize the following outline to organize these reflections and mental delving:

1. Early childhood – Liberta Years

2. Adolescent (the Hill Years)

3. Antigua Early Employment

4. Antigua Later Work Life (the Insurance years)

5. Attempts to migrate (NYC, FL, Canada, UK)

6. Moving away (off to Scooba)

7. EMJC (Mississippi Orientation)

8. EMJC (graduation and farewell)

9. Summer ’81 (NYC Hustle in the shadow)

10. Fall ’81 (Eastern-shore Maryland)

11. Fall ’81 (Murray State University, Kentucky)

12. Summer ’82 (NYC)

13. Fall ’82 (NYC LIU experience)

14. NYC (goodbye)

15. Arizona (Part One 1997 to 1999)

16. Arizona (Contract years on the road)

17. Arizona (AZDHS Immunization years)

18. Atlanta (Early CDC years)

19. Atlanta (Later years 2005–2016)

20. AZ (Return to Desert living – 2016 Retirement)

21. Period of National Turbulence (2016 and beyond)

22. Social Life and Travel Adventures

23. His Hand on Me

24. Closing Thoughts and Reflections

25. Thanksgiving and Gratitude

To provide as comprehensive a life sketch as possible, I will focus on lessons learned through the various seasons of my life. I will draw from both my early childhood (the Antigua years) and my years living in the USA. Included in this manuscript will be stories of people, places, and encounters that have significantly impacted my life’s journey. In my effort to maintain the privacy of any actors involved in my life’s drama, I will resist any desire to name names in the slight chance that some less-than-flattering or incriminating occurrences recounted here may involve anyone whose name was mentioned.

EARLY CHILDHOOD – LIBERTA YEARS

My earliest memories were as a child growing up in Liberta Village, Antigua. As the fifth of eight children born to my parents, Amaletha and Samuel Phillip, I was generally shielded from much of the challenges faced by my elder siblings. I was surrounded by a loving family circle and a village community that looked out for the welfare of each other. Here, everyone knew everyone’s family and, in many instances, were related. These familial and community connections heavily influenced our general code of conduct as youngsters growing up in this community. Both parents and elders in this close-knit community took to heart the teaching of Proverbs 22:6 which provided critical instruction regarding how children should be trained. Briefly stated: Train up a child in the way he/she should grow and when he/she is old he/she will not depart from it.

Most of us as kids started our early education at Teacher Mona’s School. It was a private parochial early childhood learning center, operated by one of the community’s most respected and dearly loved citizens. This center was operated on the campus of our local Bethel SDA church. There, we became oriented to the fundamentals of the three Rs (Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic). From there, most of us moved on to the government-operated primary school. This public institution was first located at an area known as Gracehill, before being relocated to Barrel Beef. It provided a continuation for primary and postprimary education for most in the village.

Students at this school were expected to start each day with morning devotions. These sessions were often held in the main auditorium or on the lawn. No one was exempt from such gathering. Neither ploys to skip them nor tardiness were allowed. Music classes and choir practice were major parts of our school life. These sessions provided our introduction to music appreciation and harmonizing. Skills created here were further honed during our home devotions. Singing of morning and evening hymns were staples in our daily family worship. Family, Friday evening sessions were more extended and village-wide events. This routine was part of weekly ritual of welcoming the Sabbath, which started at sunset. Typically, on Fridays throughout our community, various vocal renderings could be enjoyed by neighbors and passersby as each family on their block held their own family worship.

Those of us with the slightest demonstrated ability to carry a tune were groomed for the school choir. The drama productions and musical recitals were all huge affairs. Students at this school enjoyed a full range of cultural, physical, and spiritual grooming. Fighting or hazing were never allowed. The mantra regarding training a child was taken very seriously by our teachers as well as every adult in the village.

After graduating from these local education centers, those who were well connected or exceptionally brilliant were awarded scholarships for the nation’s Boys or Girls high school. Later, a few private secondary schools were added as options. After my primary and postprimary studies, I was enrolled in one of those private secondary schools. At the Hill Secondary we as students studied for the general certificate of education (GCE). This was based on a syllabus of studies developed and administered by the British Government. The subject text and associated materials were specifically designed for students living in its colonies throughout the Caribbean. The intent was to provide an education that would be on par with that provided in the typical British High and Secondary institutions.

Also, quite vital in my early education was the religious training and influences gained through my local Bethel Seventh Day Adventist fellowship, of which my family were lifelong members. Along with those tenets espoused through these worship services and gatherings, subconsciously planted in our mind was a sense of appreciation for skilled delivery of the spoken word. In this space, daily bible reading and practical application of the written word were essential elements of the teaching, at home as well as school and worship. We were quite fortunate to be fed weekly by a combination of local elders such as Brothers Joseph, Brown, and Malone. These brothers managed the local congregation in the absence of the conference-assigned pastors such as Howell, Alleyne, Daniels, and others. They, like their leaders, were generally well prepared to bring the word. In addition to being well prepared, their presentations were usually thought provoking, inspirational, and relevant to the times. Absent from their presentations was much of the hype, shouting, and space fillers commonly used by many of today’s preachers. In addition to an appreciation for the spoken word at this stage of my early childhood education, I also developed an appreciation for the written word and reading.

It seems all of the teachers at any of the educational institutions serving our village were affiliated with some of the main religious organizations and churches in the village. With this closely knit community, deep religious connection, and affiliation it meant that any youth who dared to step out of line was not safe from the watchful eye of someone who would convey any indiscretion to the appropriate family. This was not considered snitching back then; rather it was the expected social behavior to keep each one accountable. Indeed, it did take a village to raise us as children.

During our early years, most of us usually enjoyed playing any of the popular table games (Snakes and Ladders, Chinese Checkers, and Dominoes) at home and with our neighbors. The older kids engaged in sports such as cricket, football, swimming, and associated aquatic activities. This was convenient since our village was not very far from Falmouth and English Harbor. These villages afforded us ready access to a fair share of the 365 beaches on our island. A typical pastime in any of these oceanside enclaves afforded us as residents opportunities for swimming, sailing, and such aquatic activities. The fact that I was a skinny frail child and generally fussed over by my folks, getting to the beach in my preteen years required significant cunning and strategizing.

Our quality and standard of living could be defined as middle class. We may have even been poor but did not know it since we were no different than most in our community. Neither was there the focus of keeping up with the Jones as is common in today’s US culture. My parents and many of their peers migrated to find work in the UK, US, the VI or other regions of the world. With their departure, many of us found support through the larger village community. Their guidance and molding have in part resulted in my becoming the man I am today. My first lessons in learning to ride a bike, driving, and swimming all came complements of my larger family circle of the village.

Another outgrowth of this community grooming was an appreciation for the fairer sex. This appreciation was a natural response to growing up in this community, which seemed especially endowed with its fair share of Nubian beauties within every age range. Interacting with these beauties was fostered by the elders in the extended village network. My elder brother and sisters along with their peers were not averse to having us tag along at social events and gatherings. This created significant opportunities to develop our own youthful attractions and interests.

Also planted in me back then was an appreciation for hard work. As a result, quite early in life I began considering possible career paths. Among such early options were to become a sailor or a medical doctor. The first of these options were based on my passion for reading about the exploits of world travelers and adventurers such as Jacques Cousteau, Admiral Nelson, and tales spun by local yacht crew from the Falmouth and English Harbour area. My next option was based on my frequent interaction with the local resident physician, Dr. Locker. The quality of service and care he provided to us as patients served as an inspiration for me. I had visions of being able to provide that type of care and expert service to residents of our local parish as he did. Another briefly considered career option was plumbing. This was inspired through my time shadowing three plumbers in my elder brother’s network of buddies. I fondly recall being allowed to shadow Sarge, Ivan, and Ian as a plumber’s help during my pre and early teens. For a brief while I considered becoming a plumber before the reality of the hot Antigua sun, the grind of breaking walls, and digging trenches, drove me in another direction.

Based on the reality that I was not cut out for that level of manual labor, I knew that I needed to explore other career options. Every alternate career path would require a higher level of education than that offered by the local public school. Back then, my brother Llewellyn and a few of his peers were heading abroad in search of education and career opportunities. Others who remained at home or in the region continued their roles as mentors and big brothers. In addition to the guidance provided by my grandparents, Miriam and Samuel Charles, and adults in the extended family circle, these brothers helped in laying the foundation for my growth towards manhood. Simultaneously a sisterhood of several young adult ladies in my village were making their impressions. Teachers Marie, Nancy, Bena, my cousin Lucy, and my older sisters were great models of feminine attributes still admired today. Their generally charming personalities, sense of style, natural beauty, and ladylike character traits would be factors to be considered during my search for a mate later in life.

These influencers were critical since both of our parents along with many of their peers and siblings left Antigua for life abroad. My folks migrated to the UK, while many of their peers left for the US or the Virgin Islands to work in the construction field or farming. Somehow, we thought that we would be joining our folks in due course, as many of our peers were joining their parents. That never happened. Instead, we were left under the watchful care of our grandparents.

In addition to the support of our grandparents and their extended circle, there was a support network in the village at large. This village ensured that we were well fed, cared for, and inculcated in the ways of proper breeding and good citizenship. Through this network, further training regarding the value of hard work was instilled as we were often in some way engaged with most of their creative enterprising efforts. My grandmother mainly grew flowers, and herbal seasonings such as thyme, chive etc. She also raised a fair number of chickens to provide eggs and meats on special occasions. Papa Sammy (my gramps) tended at least three plots where he farmed, sugar cane, cotton, pineapples, and vegetables. In addition, he reared various livestock, cattle, goats, and sheep. Reaping and marketing his produce were often a collaborative community effort. While our involvement was not allowed to interfere with our schooling, we were expected to pitch in after school, as well as during holiday breaks. In addition to these enterprises, there was the neighborhood quarry where stones were gathered for crushing or pounding for masonry aggregate. Youngsters would gain pocket money for collecting or packing these rocks, used in many of the better built masonry homes in the village.

The primary and postprimary course of study and guidance on good citizenship were first rate. Those of us who were successful with these programs were in general ready to enter the local workforce or move on to pursue higher education abroad. At that time, the only postsecondary education option on the island was the Leeward Islands Teachers Training College located in Golden Grove village.

Along with the secondary education offered on the island, we spent a considerable amount of time in church and various religious pursuits. Back then it did not dawn on us that the values and virtues instilled in us during those extracurricular engagements, would prove invaluable as a means of helping us navigate our path through life in the wider world. As part of this preparation, our folks were also training our young minds to be in a state attuned to hearing and responding to God’s leading in our lives.

My first incline that our Master Designer is constantly looking out for our best interest may have come during my early teens. It was during this period when I was a frequent visitor to the local public hospital. These trips were almost always in response to some asthmatic episode. Each time I awoke in the hospital bed without being attached to an oxygen tank and was being considered for discharge, it was evident that something special was happening. Somewhere within the dark recesses of my mind I found myself attributing these moments of relief to the prayers and tears of my elder sisters and other family members who paid regular visits to my bedside. Thanks to these prayers and great medical care, this frail, sickly child who grew up in Liberta, survived to have so far lived a full and productive life.

Most of these hospital episodes usually started with a trip to Sweets. This neighboring village was the home of our all-purpose community physician. It seems Dr. Locker was a general practitioner who was way ahead of his time. Still to this day I marvel at how he seemed to have found a treatment for the many ailments that plagued folks from the neighboring villages of Liberta, Sweets and All Saint without any sophisticated technology and laboratory testing. Yes, folks even came from farther afield to visit this local healthcare expert. My various childhood ailments, cuts, and bruises made me a frequent visitor to his office. Whether it was to address my bout with some of the worst chest colds and wheezing known to any child, or to stitch up some wound received though some of my rambunctious adventures or fights with neighborhood kids or siblings, it seems I was forever visiting the good doctor.

Considering the frequency and severity of my episodes of wheezing and colds, it seemed I would never make it out of my childhood. Somehow, I survived those days and arrived at my teenage years. During those days when my peers would be engaging in typical teenage activities, I often had to be cautious since any moment a normal youthful activity could trigger one of my wheezing spells. Amid that however, I found some time to get into my fair share of mischief.

Soon after what would be my last Holberton stint, the time came for me to be enrolled in high school. I was so scared that I told my folks not to waste money on me. In my mind, any potential for surviving high school was so bleak that I did not think it was worth the risk. Fortunately, no one paid me any mind and I was enrolled at the Hill Secondary School, which was one of the better private academies on the island. Thanks to the dedication and sacrifice of my brother Lou (Mackie), my school fees were paid.

At Hill Secondary much of the values instilled during my preteen years by my grandparents, local SDA congregation as well as village elders, formed the standard for operating as a student there. Any deviation from that path had severe consequences. Thankfully as rough as those days of discipline seemed then, it has become quite clear that they were for my benefit. Looking back, I must express my gratitude for all those who played a part in my passage through those carefree mischief making years.

Back then there were no social promotions nor handouts neither at home nor at school. Relying on others to pay my way was never in the cards. By observing my grandparents’ work ethics and creative ways of supporting themselves and us as young ones left in their care, it seemed the only way to go. I do not recall lots of dollars being available to do much of anything, but somehow, they found a way. Each year when it was time for them to harvest their crops, whether cotton or sugar cane, they got it done. In general, it was accomplished through what seemed to be a well-coordinated system involving themselves and fellow farmhands. This arrangement and setting provided an ideal early training ground. Watching and learning from the older men (both from my grandfather’s era and younger), I soon learned the art of cutting cane. Before that however, I had to learn the art of loading a donkey with the cut canes that had to be transported to the sugar mill. It was an all-hands-on-deck approach. If my wheezing was not affecting me, my summers were spent working as a helper in gathering these crops. My tiny frame soon had to muster up enough strength to heave the bundles of cane onto the crooks of the donkey to make my own trip to the drop-off point. From there the product was loaded by some mechanism onto a caboose of a locomotive to continue its journey to the only sugar factory on the island.

Picking cotton was not as much fun as was the cutting and carrying of the sugar cane. This undertaking was mainly handled by the females. They would go to the fields to pick the ripened white pods of cotton, then bring them home to be cleaned. As a youngster, I would become involved in the cleaning phase of the operation.

During my formative years there was never a shortage of big brother and sister figures, aunts and uncles who helped in molding my personal development and growth. While my grandparents were in no way wealthy folks, their welcoming and giving spirit allowed me and my siblings to develop a great appreciation for community and a sense of hospitality. Our home often served as a gathering place where local young adults would come to hang out, partake of my grandmother’s baked goodies as well as enjoy their version of a gabfest. As a result of these connections, I was never alone or without friends and a social circle with which to interact. Loneliness or boredom were never part of my childhood experience.

Adolescent (the Hill years)

This circle of social interaction and space for youthful adventures, was further expanded as I left the confines of my village to attend the Hill Secondary Academy in St. Johns, the city. My school uniform of brown shirt and short khaki pants came complements of my eldest sister; Ignacy. Despite ongoing bouts of asthmatic attacks and other myriad of childhood ailments, I made it through high school.

Our older sisters Ignacy and Shirley would often warn us covertly on those occasions when they observed us cruising for a spanking. When the role of buffer became a bit too much, Nace would be seen on the back porch shedding a tear. This had a profound impact on me. It often did more to keep me in check than many a beating. On one occasion when my rowdy behavior brought me to the brink of being permanently displaced from my home, my sister Nace made sure that my clothes and meals were always secured. I would sneak into the house when my grandmother (Mammy) was not around. I’d grab a meal and be off before she returned.

You may be wondering what incident led to this situation? Let me ease your curiosity and let you in on the secret. This was about the time when a guy after being exposed to the opposite sex finds it almost impossible not be next to the object of such affection. One such moment of teenage, inspired infatuation came on the occasion of a neighborhood house party. I attended this party along with my older sisters. One of my earliest crushes attended the same party with her older sister. At the end of the party, my sisters returned home while I followed this young lady and her sister part the way to their home. Their home was farther in the village and the opportunity to walk and talk with the most beautiful girl in all the world could not be passed up. The next thing I knew it was later than I thought.

As I arrived home, I sneaked in the house. Forgetting that nothing passed my grandmother, I got into my bed. A few moments later, I heard, Sammy is that the man who just came in? My grandfather replied, Marie, leave the boy alone and let him sleep. This had no effect, and I ran from the house rather than being whipped at this point. It was too late then for me to go to my Aunt Rosalyn. (She was one safe place where I would occasionally hide out until my grandmother’s rage subsided). My need for use of this safe space would generally arise when the rambunctious teenage nature common to me and my peers back then, gave way to my sense of reason. There were no streetlights in the village and as you may guess, it was pitch dark. I stayed on the porch for a while, waiting to see if the door would be reopened. It did not and I was getting sleepy. The idea of prying open the kitchen door seemed a wise move. After letting myself in the kitchen, I pulled a table next to a counter and in front of the door which led from the house. The plan was to make this my bed for the night. Since my grandfather was an early riser, I thought that when he awoke to tend his livestock or go to his farm, I would get up before anyone else saw me.

It so happened that my grandmother was first to rise. I turned in the morning to see her standing over me with her rod of correction aimed at me. Without a thought I darted for the nearest door. This sudden rush resulted in my grandmother’s perception that I was about to push her down. Talk of an unpardonable sin! I would be forever banished from the Charles household. There were more of these youthful infractions to follow and more of these spells of banishment to be inflicted. With my parents being away in England for most of our early childhood, whenever my zest for life and adventure drove me outside of the bounds of Sister Marie’s code of conduct, I often found refuge between Aunt Rosalyn’s home and the unoccupied family home on Tyrell or with my buddy Errol. As a matter of fact, when my mother finally returned home after several years in England, it was from Errol’s family home I was summoned to my grandparents’ place to meet her.

I still recall that first moment when I walked into my grandparents’ home, where my mom stayed for her first few days after returning from London. A combination of joy and foreboding accompanied my entrance. First, I was delighted to see my mother who had left during my early childhood days for England. She had gone in search of our father, as well as find employment to support her eight children. Now she was back. Somehow, I hoped that her return would have brought an end to the intense discipline my grandmother often meted out to us as rowdy teenagers. Also, in the back of my mind was the fear that my grandmother would take the opportunity to administer that last punishment or (ass whooping), from which I had escaped several months earlier. I was not sure whether she would opt for driving me out of her house. I did not know what to expect. It turned out that the evening went by rather uneventful and drama free.

We hugged and cried while my mother told how worried she was based on reports she had heard of our exploits. They were so serious that she had decided to return home. Now the freedom I had grown accustomed to was to come to an end. But at least, my mother was back. We spent the next few weeks with my grandparents while we cleaned and readied the family home on Tyrells for our return.

After the cleanup, we returned to live in our newly refurbished home. The addition of several pieces of European-style furniture, which my mother had shipped from London, made our family home a place of admiration in the neighborhood. Its location, which was just across the street from New Bethel SDA, served as a hangout spot for many of my peers. Here, on the porch we would spend many a night simply shooting the breeze, discussing sports or the issues of the day. The local politics and rivalry between the political foes of the time was quite often a source of much discussion. This became especially intense during the days leading up to the election, which would have swept V.C Bird senior from power. The slogan of the campaign was Spread the word and sweep out Bird. From these early days I developed a deep love for politics or should we say social justice. With a hot head and no reluctance to make my views known, you would imagine I became involved in many a heated discussion. While the hot head has cooled with the passing of years, my passion for social justice has only increased considering the array of social ills present in our current community and culture.

Respect for elders and children alike was the mantra that governed our community back then. On one occasion it seemed one inebriated lady from the Buxton area somehow lost sight of this rule. Apparently, some kid in our neighborhood offended this lady, and she was having none of it. I’m not sure what was this infraction, which brought her to our neighborhood or whether she may have had more than her share of drinks. What I can vividly recall was that a loud voice was heard cursing and swearing outside our door. There was a small foot path between our property and our nearest neighbors. It appears that there was an unspoken law that our grandparents were the sheriff in that part of the village. They would neither permit foul speech in their grandchildren nor allow anyone to pollute the airwaves in this pollution-free zone around their home. As this Miss came by cursing and swearing, she stopped outside our door and kept up her tirade.

My grandfather (Papa Sammy) opened the door and asked her to move on. She failed to move on despite several attempts to have her peacefully comply. Instead, she became even more belligerent and verbally abusive. When Papa had about as much as he could take, he slowly opened the door and in his usually calm style he walked up to hold her around her waist. She began kicking, flailing her arms, and protesting. My gramps held her firmly and escorted her down to the street. He returned to the house and closed the door. After a few more seconds of protestation, her voice faded. She got the message and left.

Growing up in this close-knit community where it seemed everyone knew each other and were friends, pulling off a prank carried a certain level of risk. When the neighborhood boys felt the need for such mischief as picking a neighbor’s mango, coconut, banana, or orange, the risk of a smarting posterior was a real possibility. The faint of heart were often kept in check. On one occasion after venturing into such an activity, I found myself cowering for what seemed an eternity. My buddies pelted Mr. Jackson’s coconuts until one bunch of dried ones came crashing down. It so happened that that very instant the choir master, from my local church was passing by on his donkey. My home was on the way between his home and his farm. He yelled out one of our names and promised to report the deed. Even though he did not call my name and may not even have seem me, the thought of him reporting to my neighbor, teacher Ty, that Harry and a group were seen in such an act would inevitably mean that I was involved. (We lived just across the street from the James family and as boys, Harry and I were constant companions.) For days I remained on my p’s and q’s. Every hoof I heard while attending my flock made me quiver as a leaf in a storm. Often, we found ourselves scampering off at the sight of this brother as our paths crossed while in the woods. Should I be unfortunate enough to be at home when he passed and hailed greetings to my folks, it was pure terror. It turned out that my involvement was never revealed, and the stress was unwarranted.

That was not the last of the mischief with which my running buddies and I would be involved. Neither did all the incidents turn out to be as innocent or as uneventful. There would be those times when our wrong-way night speeding on market street in the city, was part of our group adventure during our access to our first wheels. There were also those interisland mischief-making on St. Kitts, Montserrat, and Dominica. Expanding on each of those encounters during our teens would indeed provide much material for a chapter or two.

This approach at crime and punishment was not limited to the boys in our community. My sister Sylvia learned firsthand that no wrong deed would go unpunished. No disrespectful act to an adult would escape the family court of justice. My sister’s transgression was that in her own usual style she passed a new bride without referring to her married name while greeting her on her way home from school. While everyone of her peers knew to greet the new bride as Mrs., my sister insisted that she would call her by her first name, since that was her name. News of this action got home to our grandmother. This news resulted in a whooping to drive home the point to the extent no such action was repeated, neither was further punishment necessary. A public apology to Mrs. B followed to complete this episode.

Not every one of my siblings had the same reaction to the disciplinarian code of Sister Marie’s home and the community at large. While still in his teens, my brother had his fill and left home for life overseas. He settled in the Virgin Islands briefly before heading for the Big Apple. My two oldest sisters served as a buffer between the more daring younger members of our clan and our loving grandparents. This was crucial since our grandmother saw no gray areas between proper conduct for children and those who deserve the application of the rod of correction. Those of us who dared to cross into the gray area got the full weight of our grandmother’s conduct control application. Although

Reviews for Serendipity or Design

[Annette Phillip · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

As I read the author's artful recounting of his life's journey, I found myself drawn in by his spirit of perseverance and resolve to defy the odds in pursuit of his own path. His journey from growing up on the Caribbean island of Antigua, through his rude awakening to Southern Hospitality, to his taxi driving days in New York City and his retirement during a period of National turbulence, were all quite captivating. Also intriguing was the way he navigated the numerous twists and turns while adapting to life in the United States. I read with great anticipation while also observing just how several of the incidents shared reflect our common human experiences. This thought provoking page-turner gave me the desire to make my own self-reflection and self-discovery journey. As I read, I could not help but conclude that regardless of our place of origin or our present station in life, a path has been clearly designed for each of us as humans; and finding and following that path could save us all a great deal of anxiety.

Thank you for being so vulnerable and for letting us tag along on your life's journey C. M. Phillip.