Hartley Neita, Contributor
MY FATHER was a Mico man. I do not know the exact years he attended this college, but it must have been in the 1920s.
He was the only son of a small farmer in St. Catherine. The farm was named "Corisoe". To get there in my youth to spend part of the Christmas holidays, we travelled by train to Kingston, then by bus through Stony Hill, Lawrence Tavern and Glengoffe.
The road then was narrow and winding. The bus left Kingston at 4.00 p.m., but did not arrive at Corisoe until 9.00 p.m.
We were met at the entrance to the farm by our grandfather carrying a lantern. There was no electricity and no street lights, and apart from the lantern, the only other light was that of the peenie wallies.
This was where our father grew in his young years. He went to an elementary school in the district. I have forgotten the name of the Headmaster, but he and his staff must have been brilliant teachers.
BROAD LEARNING
Our father left from there to Mico College with a thorough grasp of the Three Rs (reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic). His handwriting, too, was also absolutely perfect light strokes up and dark lines down and each letter tilted slightly to the right and perfectly, vertically, parallel.
Mico was, to him, a university of knowledge. He told me he learnt a little Greek, was taught about and read the great English novels, essays and poetry, the geography of the world, history, religion, carpentry, biology, a little chemistry and a range of other subjects.
His learning was broad enough and deep enough to make him comfortable discussing the problems affecting Jamaica and their solutions with his Member of the House of Representatives, barrister J.A.G. Smith. He was the village correspondent for the Daily Gleaner and he read every issue of this newspaper as well as Public Opinion and the Jamaica Times, and so kept himself informed about national and international events.
He always credited Mico for his persistent inquisitiveness and thirst for knowledge and information.
HISTORY-MAKING GRADUATES
I never saw a diploma or certificate proclaiming his graduation, and so perhaps Mico did not present its graduates with these forms in his time.
So he would have been pleased that his alma mater is now an affiliate of the University of the West Indies, Mona, and that it has produced its first 31 graduates from the Bachelor of Science degree programme in guidance and counselling.
I was sad when I saw a photograph of these first graduates in The Gleaner with their faces beaming with smiles of joy, and no identification of their names "from left to right".
They have made history and this should have been recorded. It was just not enough recording the names of the head of the guidance and counselling division of the college, or the head of the professional studies unit, or the gentleman who conferred the degrees and the other worthies who participated "in the evening's proceedings".
To me, they were incidentals, and would not have been there had it not been for the graduates.
Maybe, of course, a supplement with the information about the graduates will be published anon, but I must say that I was disappointed they were not identified in their first public Kodak-snapped glory.
NO GALLERY
Then I read last week about the passing of a piece of my history with the news that the waving galleries at the Sangster and Manley International Airports were going to be phased out.
From these galleries, thousands of Jamaicans have seen phases of world history. It was from the Norman Manley International Airport (then known as the Palisadoes Airport) that thousands and thousands of Rastafarians from every town and village in Jamaica crowded to hail Haile Selassie in the 1960s.
For 24 hours before His Majesty arrived, they had captured the waving gallery drumming and chanting and smoking. That the gallery withstood the weight of their presence was testament to the engineering quality of its construction.
From the gallery, too, British Royal visitors were waved to, and Prime Ministers were greeted on their return from conferences when we were seeking our independence.
And when travel was still a novelty, thousands of families sat on this gallery on Sunday afternoons to see planes taking off and landing.
All that will now become a fading memory for those still alive. Goodbye yesterday, Good morning today.
