There are people for whom words can never be sufficient, but then again, sincere and heartfelt expressions are all that we can offer about people who are beautiful, kind-hearted, gentle, and exemplary human beings. Such was the Jones P Madeira, whom I had known for the 45 years of his professional life.
That takes me back to the golden days of journalism and communications within the circle of some of his illustrious colleagues and friends: the Guardian’s first female chief editor and later chief editor of Newsday—Therese Mills, the exceptional George John, the perfectionist Carl Jacobs, the affable stalwart John Babb, the remarkable Benedict White—Owen Baptiste, the cheery, wake-up voice of Bob Gittens, the poignant sports personality Raffie Knowles, the gentle soul—Billy Reece, the wise Rasta, Keith Sheppard, the daring Keith Smith, and who could forget the lady of radio and television, June Gonsalves?
There was the quiet gentleman Don Proudfoot—all those guardians of journalism now gone to a journalist’s heaven. Not forgetting to mention the living legends Tony Fraser, Peter Minshall, Trevor McDonald, and Ken Gordon. Many others graced the precious and memorable days of great journalism. I know that Jones P Maderia is smiling at the mention of those brave ones during his time. He’s probably now with all those amazing journalists who painted the Fourth Estate with excellence.
Jones P distinguished himself in the gamut of media businesses that comprise the Fourth Estate, making significant contributions to developing local and regional media. He left footprints of integrity, compassion, and calm under traumatic conditions.
He was a reliable media person, and one didn’t have to second-guess the veracity of his work. I don’t think anyone underestimated the mettle beneath the serene disposition, which was evident when, in 1996, the late Hon Basdeo Panday rashly and unjustly tried to brand him “racist’ over a front-page headline, “Chutney Rising”.
Jones P, the quintessential journalist with a strong backbone, resigned, and so too had other editors who had refused to compromise principle over political expediency and meddling in the media’s business. I recall that afterwards, he and fellow journalists decided to convene a conference on press freedom. They couldn’t get sponsors except for one—the local Royal Bank of T&T.
Jones’s unstinting support for press freedom made him an unconquered lion. The quintessential journalist would never kill a good and true story by giving in to pressure. He was calm, compassionate, and professional, with an authoritative personality that commanded respect and admiration by simply who he was. We could have relied on his words that had confidently informed us of the vagaries of local and Caribbean life without affectation and drama. Indeed, he was a mentor for those working with him.
He, Raoul Pantin, Hamilton Clement, and several others were heroes of the 1990 attempted coup. He was an essential link between evil insurgents and security forces. It was a traumatic time for the nation, but for some more so, and directly. Suffice it to say, I was called upon to tell him and Raoul that they would be freed. Jones P did not believe me at first, but the rest will remain our poignant, blessed, and thankful conversation.
Every year since the anniversary of the attempted coup, Jones P and I spoke on the phone and remembered those dark days, up to the year before last. Since then, he was too ill.
Farewell, dear Jones P. You were an incomparable journalist.
