Poet Dawad Philip called me from Trinidad on Dec. 20.
His telephone outreach was significant because the date resonated as the 39th anniversary of the Howard Beach murder of Trinidadian Michael Griffith.
Ironic too because, like Griffith, Philip was born on the twin island.
His telephone outreach was significant because the date resonated as the 39th anniversary of the Howard Beach murder of Trinidadian Michael Griffith.
Ironic too because, like Griffith, Philip was born on the twin island.
Griffith’s name became familiar to households across the nation to a generation of readers, radio listeners, and TV viewers in 1986 after he was chased by alleged racists who resented his presence in their hamlet. Along with friends, the immigrant adolescent found himself trapped by color and complexities from a bigoted community.
At the time, Philip was the editor-in-chief at the Daily Challenge. It was he who decided headlines, positioning apostrophes, paragraphs, style guide, and inverted pyramids.
Although renowned as a poet, Philip’s proficiency expanded when he was tasked with delivering news, sports, and entertainment at the family-owned Black newspaper.
I was a student under his tutelage.
Although renowned as a poet, Philip’s proficiency expanded when he was tasked with delivering news, sports, and entertainment at the family-owned Black newspaper.
I was a student under his tutelage.
Fresh from an internship at Trans-Urban News Service, I was clueless about the privileged opportunity that led to my elevation from buck to beat reporter.
It seemed incidental. Together, Philip and I worked to provide daily updates on the controversial New York criminal case, a significant moment for the publication and the community.
His words are now archived, accounting for an ode he penned titled “Sisyphus on the BQE.”
It seemed incidental. Together, Philip and I worked to provide daily updates on the controversial New York criminal case, a significant moment for the publication and the community.
His words are now archived, accounting for an ode he penned titled “Sisyphus on the BQE.”
Although he misidentified the tragic thoroughfare that ended Michael Griffith’s life, the association with a Greek tragedy resonated with a classic connection.
Last Saturday, the San Fernando repatriated national reconnected with this Brooklyn colleague. In his usual pace and unsuspecting tone, Philip extended greetings of the season before seguing to the “good and bad” reason for his phone call. I used the opportunity to remind him of the significance of the date. Trinidad, Michael Griffith, Dec. 20, Christmas, tragedy, ‘Sisyphus’ — I said.
“How about that?” he said.
“How about that?” he said.
Next, he blurted one of the reasons for the call —”Tommy died today.” Tommy was how we addressed Thomas H. Watkins, Jr., the publisher of the Daily Challenge.
He was a gentle giant. A force of nature. And a stealth to detect. We referred to each other by our first names.
He was a gentle giant. A force of nature. And a stealth to detect. We referred to each other by our first names.
Moreover, Tommy gained respect for establishing one of only three daily Black newspapers in the entire United States. The Chicago Defender and the Los Angeles Sentinel comprised the triumvirate.
Based in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, New York City’s only daily Black print source distinguished itself as the breaking news dispatcher of information related to the minority community, immigrants from the Caribbean, Africa, and the diaspora. “Tommy gave us a platform,” Philip added. I agreed.
At a certain point, Black press opinions mattered, and daily coverage was significant. Soon into the conversation, Philip sighed as if to compose thoughts for expression.
“The last time I spoke with him (Tommy), he wanted to have a reunion. He wanted to celebrate a milestone with us,” he said. Who knows?
That occasion might have rebonded like-minded souls.
“The last time I spoke with him (Tommy), he wanted to have a reunion. He wanted to celebrate a milestone with us,” he said. Who knows?
That occasion might have rebonded like-minded souls.
After reflecting on shared experiences, Philip and I reminisced about the alumni and contributors recalling names such as renowned Trinidadian, investigative reporter, Peter Noel, photographer Wilford Harewood, fellow twin island native and graphic designer Adrian Gangaram, as well as the elusive St. Lucian Bill Mortley.
“Mycie was the best type-setter we ever had,” the poetic chief interjected. She is also a proud daughter of the Eastern Caribbean region, born in St. Lucia.
“Have you spoken with Debbie?” I asked.
“Mycie was the best type-setter we ever had,” the poetic chief interjected. She is also a proud daughter of the Eastern Caribbean region, born in St. Lucia.
“Have you spoken with Debbie?” I asked.
Referring to a receptionist surnamed Mitchell, she was the sole non-Caribbean national among a diverse foreign-born majority.
Although sales and marketing staffers included Joyce, Muhammad, and Fred Hudson, the editorial crew was primarily comprised of Caribbean nationals.
In fact, along with numerous freelance writers and contributors who helped to establish a reputable reflection of the publication, English-language diasporans dominated.
Although sales and marketing staffers included Joyce, Muhammad, and Fred Hudson, the editorial crew was primarily comprised of Caribbean nationals.
In fact, along with numerous freelance writers and contributors who helped to establish a reputable reflection of the publication, English-language diasporans dominated.
Throughout the conversation, nostalgia recalled the name of now deceased jazz contributor Clarence Atkins. He was an avid fan of Betty Carter.
Unapologetic in his biased reviews of her concert performances and recorded releases, he was also a friend to the legendary singer.
Unapologetic in his biased reviews of her concert performances and recorded releases, he was also a friend to the legendary singer.
The name Ronnie Dyson was among those remembered. Philip’s memory banked that during the era, Dyson had already enjoyed youthful success from his appearance in the film “Putney Swope” when he made impromptu visits to the offices. Agreeably, I concurred that the celebrity status was heaped high on the Brooklynite from winning acclaim for a pop hit titled “If you make love to me, then why can’t I touch you.”
Dyson never veered from his beloved neighborhood. In later years, his accomplishments waned. He fell on hard times. On occasion, he would stop into the Fulton St. offices where the publication was assembled. Unfortunately, there was a final visitation and news of his untimely death. But that’s another story; Challenge alums will recall it at another time and place.
There in the heart of the borough, sporadic visits from poets, singers, dancers, artists, and talented musicians welcomed members of the British reggae band Steel Pulse, educator Jitu Weusi, activist Sonny Carson, expressionist Brother Valentino, and other vociferous supporters.
However, most significant to our retrospective and reflective conversation were the deadline-making events related to Brooklyn’s Labor Day Parade coverages, the US invasion of Grenada, Cuba’s Fidel Castro’s visit to Harlem, Grenadian Prime Minister Maurice Bishop’s visit to New York, South African freedom fighter Nelson Mandela’s prison release visit to NYC, Jamaica’s Prime Minister Michael Manley’s visit here and Michael Jackson’s “Victory” tour.
Perhaps, had it been a three-way link, Noel might have elaborated on numerous rallies and protest demonstrations organized by Rev. Alfred Sharpton. Without question asked, Watkins indulged Noel’s exposure of otherwise suppressed evidence surrounding cases against graffiti artist Michael Stewart; the police shooting of Eleanor Bumpurs, Larry Davis, and so many other groundbreaking news items of the era.
In retrospect, it was Tommy Sr., the senior, who invited me to meet his son, the beneficiary of his name and title. It might have been kismet that we connected when Brooklyn Borough President Howard Golden hosted a political affair at Borough Hall. At the time, the elder published a weekly summary read called the Afro Times.
Since the paper yielded meager advertising profits, the patriarch offered a more lucrative alternative by brokering an arrangement that suited my journalistic aspirations.
The senior scribe had worked at the New York Amsterdam News, the then-established weekly, a hallmark of Black reportage and information.
The senior scribe had worked at the New York Amsterdam News, the then-established weekly, a hallmark of Black reportage and information.
Tommy Jr. drove a powder blue Cadillac. He wore wide-brimmed hats and distinctive headgear. Quiet in demeanor, he knew when to roar.
From a column in his newspaper, he growled Philip’s placements bylined “from the publisher’s desk.” Tommy made an indelible mark.
From a column in his newspaper, he growled Philip’s placements bylined “from the publisher’s desk.” Tommy made an indelible mark.
I will not soon forget the night he escorted me to the reopening of the newly refurbished reopening of the Apollo Theatre. Though he rarely ventured to high-profile happenings.
He was encouraged to attend the gala affair. Invited guests rode a VIP express “A” train to Harlem. We walked on a red carpet to the landmark showplace.
Tommy looked challenging. Eventually, Philip and I ended our dialogue without further notice.
He was encouraged to attend the gala affair. Invited guests rode a VIP express “A” train to Harlem. We walked on a red carpet to the landmark showplace.
Tommy looked challenging. Eventually, Philip and I ended our dialogue without further notice.
Perhaps a follow-up call from his offspring, Kerri, Tina, or TJ, will provide memorial information about Thomas “Tommy” Watkins Jr.
Whether or not his grateful disciples will submit articles of expression for eternal peace.
Catch you On the Inside!
Whether or not his grateful disciples will submit articles of expression for eternal peace.
Catch you On the Inside!
