So long, My Immortal Friend!

I knew his name long before we met. I was domiciled in the United Kingdom when stories started reaching me of his prowess in the law courts of Saint Lucia, as well as in the boxing ring. He often featured in copies of the Voice that reached me from time to time, usually as the defense lawyer in police cases against members of the island’s more deprived population. More often than not the charges could not stand up to the lawyer’s formidable arsenal.

I often wondered how his clients paid his fees, which I imagined were for the most part beyond their means. Much later I learned the lawyer had represented the majority pro bono.

I had moved to the United States when he landed in the international press as the lead defense in the widely reported Trinidad murder trial of soi-disant black power leader Michael DeFreitas, better known as Michael X. The case later formed part of V.S. Naipaul’s renowned book entitled “The Return of Eva Peron.”

On returning home to Saint Lucia, where I’d been offered the job of Voice editor, I had the opportunity to meet the man himself. By then Kenneth Foster was also considered the St. Lucia Labour Party’s main man, even as he continued to practice law, mainly in defense of the poor and vulnerable. Although he led more than a few angry demonstrations against the policies of the day’s government, I cannot recall ever seeing Ken Foster’s face without a smile. Regardless of the seriousness of the situation, he always saw its funny side. He was blessed with the rarest gifts—the ability to laugh at himself. At any rate, much of the time.

The exception was one morning in late ’86 or early ’87, when he came to see me while I was visiting my mother at home in La Clery. He said he was on his way to Vigie when he spotted my parked vehicle. I knew something was wrong the moment I set eyes on him. Of course when I enquired about what might be the problem, his countenance immediately reverted to Ken-normal.

“I want a big favor,” he said. “Can we take a walk?” Of course he didn’t have to ask twice. He had given me some of my best interviews—scoops!—while at the Voice, and after that for other publications. Even when my pieces about his political adventures were a long way from flattering, he never uttered a word of displeasure. The moment we were alone on the remembered morning so many years ago, he told me the reason he wasn’t quite himself: he had received reliable word that the party he had kept alive at great sacrifice to self and dependents, that as a result of his voluntarily stepping down from his position as leader in the common interest had formed the government in 1979, was about to repay him with betrayal.

Eyes awash, Ken pleaded with me to do all I could to persuade the new party leader—with whom I enjoyed a close relationship—to permit him to run for the Anse la Raye-Canaries seat. For several years he had worked the constituency and was certain of victory. I promised I would do my best. Alas, the new party leader had other ideas unrelated to Ken’s ability to win the seat for their party. But then details of that sorry story are accessible elsewhere. Suffice it to say the government headed by John Compton was returned to office after two elections in less than a month.

Ken was still a government minister when I visited his office and was introduced to his son, of whom he had told me a million times he expected great things. I do not remember whether Peter had by this time been called to the Bar or whether he was a U.K. law student on vacation. Pride was written all over his dad’s face as he repeated his well known dreams for his son.

Much later, by which time much water had flowed under the Peter Foster-Rick Wayne bridge, I would entertain my own dream that one day the number one law firm in Saint Lucia would be known as Foster & Foster & Foster & Foster & Foster (phew!). It’s no secret, after all, that among Ken’s many talents was his ability to reproduce. And most of what he produced were destined to be chips off the old block. By which I mean, top tier lawyers.

I well remember Ken suggesting at the recalled meeting at his office that I should do a newspaper story “on my boy; it’ll be great for your paper.” Although he never actually said so, Peter seemed hot on the idea. In any event, somehow he was never available to be interviewed. Equally disappointing was that my dream of Foster & Foster squared multiple times never materialized.

Also disappointing, for me, was that much of the good Ken Foster did in a lifetime of public service to his country will likely be interred with his bones. Then again, perhaps I should take that back. The good that Ken Foster did will forever be reflected in the inherently fecund brood of lawyers and their offspring, all named Foster.

Rest in peace, my unforgettable friend!