A man called Theodore LAST WEEK a tree fell in the forest. The mighty oak fell, and though there were people all around it didn't make much of a noise for Theodore Sealy slipped into eternity with not much notice! I suppose the funeral could change all that, but then again it could be a sign of the times. Maybe he lived too long after completing his mission. I remember the advice from a long ago movie, I believe it was Richard Widmark in Pick Up On South Street: "Live fast, die young; and have a decent looking corpse!" Sure there were obituaries written but to me they were sort of perfunctory, revealing little of the pains with which such pieces were done in his reign at this newspaper. It was Sealy's custom to assign to his best writers the names of prominent people well in advance of sickness and death. Text and supporting photographs would be selected, and when the unfortunate moment came only a few paragraphs detailing the last moments and cause of death would be added. During his career in journalism Mr. Sealy acquired a reputation for being autocratic and tight on the purse strings. That might have been so, but it was not the whole story. One of the things most dreaded by a young reporter was to be called to his office, just a cubicle really. The expectation was at the end of that encounter all that would be left of you was "raw head and bloody bone!" I recall the day when Claude Robinson and I were instructed to visit with him. The unuttered concern on most faces were: "What dem do now?" and: "What gwine happen to dem?" They were rather surprised when we came out discussing something with enthusiasm rather than walking on our knees. For what we were given was an assignment to produce one of the first supplements on behalf of the Jamaica Manufacturers' Association. On another occasion there was an executive at The Gleaner who seemed to have developed an aversion to signing cheques. His routine was to go on an extended tea break near the end of the working day on Fridays so that you would not get your pay until after the weekend. Fed up with such a situation I informed the news editor that I would not be covering assignments on Saturday. Mr. Sutherland called me several times, eventually to say my cheque was ready, but I informed him that I would then have to do the things I should have done from Friday, so still no assignment! Such a thing had to reach Mr. Sealy which should have meant that "Di bway gone!" But Monday morning he paused briefly at my desk to say that he understood I pulled off a one-man strike on him and advising me that if the situation occurred again I should come to him and things would not come to that. Regarding his approach to monetary matters I found him rather schizophrenic. I remember when I started in this business it was under the late Percy Miller on the Farm Desk. I had done a few historical pieces before for fees ranging from one to two and a half guineas. I had been an ardent movie-goer and was fed-up with the degree of hooliganism I was witnessing at the cinemas so I wrote a short piece on the matter and submitted it to him. In a short time his secretary called me excitedly, informing me that it had been accepted, and even more surprising, for five guineas! It ran at the top with by-line of the Sunday Gleaner and created something of a stir, with even Prime Minister Sangster calling up to suggest I do something similar about the stadium and again this occupied a similar position in the Sunday Gleaner. It was at this time that I came face to face with the demon of youthful egotism: the name was allowed to become more important than the product. I was brought up sharply by a thing called the rejection slip, and believe me I got many of those. It was a polite way of informing you that your piece was not up to snuff. Only of course you don't think so and so you rant and rage, until finally if you allow reason to temper your ego you realise where you went wrong and resolve not to make the same mistake again. I am convinced that one of the things wrong in journalism today is that almost none of the practitioners is obliged to face their sins of ego and arrogance. Not so that they can kill these qualities, but so that they can learn to manage them. But he was tight with money in truth as I found when I decided to enter full-time in journalism. In a freelance capacity at 50 cents per column-inch I was making more than many senior reporters and they let me know it. Sealy made repeated efforts to convince me to come on staff but from what I heard it did not seem too financially prudent. Eventually I told him that I would do so for $80 dollars per week, but of course he admitted that that would throw the whole salary structure out of work. But Sealy was also a man to defend you, especially if in the course of your job you encountered some officious executive or politician. During the preparation of that JMA supplement a big business executive chased me from his office on Harbour Street, claiming that I had barged into his office, when all I did was to attempt to correct his secretary who was miscommunicating the message I had given her from the doorway. He had me know he was a director of The Gleaner and would deal with me. He never bargained for Theodore Sealy. Then there was the time when a Government Minister was sending me intimidating messages through a legal representative of his Ministry. Only my insistence that we waited to see if the situation would continue, stopped Theodore Sealy from taking the matter straight to the then Prime Minister. They say that all icons, all heroes have feet of clay, Sealy undoubtedly had his... but dem dere were big feet... and his shoes are still vacant! C. Roy Reynolds is a freelance journalist.
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