Melville CookePolice a pressa we true we naa sell no crack fi dem. 100 bway dem a sell crack fi dem an a no so eart fi run Heard along Red Hills Road, Wednesday, Jan. 16, 1:00 a.m.
I FIRST smoked marijuana as a Munro College student, but not at the city on the hill. Alas, like Bill the Willie Clinton, I smoked but did not inhale.
The spliffs were badly made and the only high I got for my efforts was the tension of a certain young lady threatening to tell her father what we were up to. She didn't. She didn't try to get money out of me either.
I can also remember coming from Munro with my left front pants pocket laden with ganja seeds. I must have been about 13 or 14 and I eliminated drug mule from my career options that day, because I got extremely nervous as we passed a spot check where the cops barely glanced at the car before mot-ioning us to move on. I had wet hands, wet feet and, I am almost sure, wet pants.
As far back as those eons ago when I was there, marijuana was a part of Munro and there are stories about illustrious men and sons thereof who have been caught with or kicked out for the stuff. Which is not to say, naturally, that the College is full of boys trading Rizzlas and high grade at least, not for the seven years I was there.
It was a highly surreptitious thing and restricted to the very, very few as was cigarette smoking. When I heard about the boys being caught (they weren't held with spliffs smoking by the school's administration), my initial reaction was get rid of them, lock, stock and barrel. Smokers, extortionists, everybody. I held that position for weeks, even up to the night before I wrote these couple words until I thought about myself. We always seem to forget about ourselves when we claim some moral high ground, don't we.
I was not caught with marijuana at Munro, but I was given several chances, some of which I did not deserve. Hell, most of which I did not deserve. They were not expulsion level offences, but they could have been worked up to suspension, I am sure. In fact, I cannot recall anyone who had committed a major offence who was not given at least one chance to stay at Munro (save for dem man deh. Bway haffi pack an lef same time. Or suffer).
If the pound of flesh had been extracted from each Munro student who had transgressed, there would have been a deficiency of graduates. But while in some subliminal way we were taught second chances, we were also taught that breaking the rules carries consequences.
The consequence, in this case, is suspension and, I hope, a good caning from a very strong arm. Although it is highly unlikely that it will be half as strong as that of Kevin Roper who, as Coke House housemaster 18 years ago, gave me a few forehands I will never forget. And a second chance. I never thanked him for it before, even though I have not taken the Christian witness he gave me to heart. Thank you, Sir.
The former board members and the headmaster will have reasons for their stance that we will never know, in an official capacity at least. Maybe this incident is the escalation of a breakdown in discipline at Munro and they feel they have to get rid of a few bad eggs and set an example. Maybe, as Munro gets stronger in sports it is experiencing the disciplinary difficulties that seem to attach themselves to reaching the DaCosta Cup finals, or even doing well. Or badly, come to think of it. But what this whole brouhaha has reinforced is the esteem in which Munro College, that mysterious school high in the hills of St. Elizabeth, is held.
It is legendary, but it does not turn out saints. Neither is it isolated from the wider society. The impact may be reduced because of its location and well over a century of tradition, but it is not a perfect vacuum within a chaotic society. It is not an assembly line for perfect Jamaicans. I understand the concerns of the parents, though, because for boarders Munro College is not a home away from home. It is home. When you are on holidays at your parents' yard, you wish to return home to your friends. (Damn, I'm getting all nostalgic here. The Munro Memories film is playing in my head). The school has more influence on the boys than their families, but I do not think they should be worried about their sons hanging out at Top Rock and burning high grade all day.
Some of the most strident calls for expulsion came from Munro College Old Boys. The strength of schools like Munro, their Old Boy network, is oftentimes their greatest hindrance as well. Man who left Munro before World War II decides that he knows what is best for his school and things were not that way when he was there (forgetting that those were pit toilet days) blah blah blah. Assistance to and interest in the institution is always appreciated. But some Munro, KC, JC, Cornwall and such the like Old Boys need to let go. You can only be a high school student once.
Next week: Juanita Jordan
Melville Cooke is a freelance writer.
