When George Odlum Sang For His Supper!

On the evening of 16 September 1979, several hours before St. Lucia officially became the 152^nd member of the United Nations, George Odlum and his official entourage that included Peter Josie, Winston Cenac and Barry Auguste, attended a party hosted in their honor by the New York branch of the St. Lucia Association. After a while the organization’s president Desmond

George addressed the gathering. “We in the United States take a keen interest in what happens at home,” he said. “Whether things are going well or otherwise in St. Lucia, we are affected, physically as well as emotionally.”

There was sustained applause when George reminded his Brooklyn audience that their country was about to take its place in the U.N. Assembly. “We are a small nation,” he acknowledged, “dimensionally and in economic terms. When it comes to human resources, however, we can match any nation in the world.” Fueled by limitless alcohol, hyperbole would rule the night.

George ended his speech in the hope that St. Lucia would remain as democratic and as stable as before it attained political independence from Britain seven months earlier. Moreover, that all St. Lucians, regardless of status or ideology or political affiliation, “will reap the benefits to which they are entitled.”

The next speaker was Peter Josie. He emphasized that the recently elected Labour Party government was never against the idea of independence. “Our main question was whether independence was in keeping with the wishes of the people of St. Lucia.” He was of the opinion that the John Compton government had dug its own grave by proceeding without first consulting with “the masses of the people.” In an attempt to reassure those in his audience who had read negative articles about their country in the American press, in particular the New York Times, Josie said: “I realize that while we were the opposition party we took some unpopular actions and said what some may have wished had never been said. But truth is truth and not always easy on the ear. We do not believe in the colonial notion that only an overseas massa can do for us what needs to be done for our country in these times.”

When St. Lucians decide “to take up their beds and walk,” he promised, “only then will prosperity be theirs to enjoy.” Although it was proving an extremely difficult task, his government was “determined to solve St. Lucia’s unemployment problem.” Already there were plans to establish training quarters for young citizens, to say nothing of guidance programs and home industry classes for unemployed young females. The government fully expected to take some three hundred people off the streets before Christmas. Referencing the widely publicized riot that had destroyed the commercial center in Castries, Josie explained that the Labour Party’s election victory had brought with it “a new sense of freedom that had resulted in certain incidents not in St. Lucia’s best interests.” His government had met with those responsible for the counter-productive “incidents” and there was good reason to believe there would be no further rebel behavior.

He had a final reassurance: “We are not about to victimize anyone. Many of our supporters feel we should’ve dismissed a number of key public servants who campaigned against our party at election time. We do not believe in this sort of thing. However, I promise you this: we will use   our power to benefit St. Lucia in the long run.” If in some ears Peter Josie’s pledge delivered an ominous ring, not a mouth spoke!

Ever careful in his use of words, the recently appointed attorney general Winston Cenac was succinct: “I know we have several shades of opinion here. Just as we do at home in St. Lucia. Rest assured the government you now have in your native country is a government by the people, of the people, and for the people.”

George Odlum had personally head-hunted Barry Auguste for “the job of launching St. Lucia on the sea of nationhood.” Auguste had served in Addis Ababba, in Brussels and throughout the Caribbean. By Odlum’s measure he was “the man most qualifed for the job of our country’s Permanent Representative at the U.N.” But this was all Auguste added to what had been said before he took his turn at the mic: “An overseas mission is an arm of the External Affairs Ministry that is expected to provide the quality of international support that will make your domestic policies come into existence.”

In his own turn George Odlum said: “I can see the faces here that have understood for a long time where we are coming from, what we are all about. We talked with you when we were in the opposition and we’ll continue to consult with you now that we are the government of St. Lucia. We place a lot of importance on communication with our nationals abroad because while one is in the maelstrom of politics the people who are at a distance can have a perspective and a judgment superior to that of the people on the spot.” Ever the chameleon, he had often said the precise opposite on home ground, in response to off-island criticism of his confrontational   politics. Besides, the pervading atmosphere suggested house-party bonhomie. And party pooper was the one sobriquet never associated with George Odlum—as famous for his oratorial skills as for his ability to blend in with his environment.

He noted than many of the writers on Caribbean affairs usefully carry out their function only after they had lived abroad. “Only then were they able to look at the region with detachment and objectivity.” New York-based St. Lucians could also be objective critics, he said, if they would first take time to inform themselves and not base their opinions on what they read in the New York Times. “Don’t bother with people who tell you we are communists, fascists or capitalists. These are labels placed on us by people with their own selfish motives.” What mattered was that this new government of St. Lucia will be working only in the interests of our countrymen and women.”

Someone asked about the rumor that he had sent a batch of young St. Lucians to Grenada to undergo secret military training. His response, delivered behind a Denzel Washington smile: “A Cuban ship actually came to St. Lucia and yes, it took aboard some passengers. But I assure you, not for surreptitious purpose.” He paused, flashed the Denzel smile one more time before continuing. “Unless, of course, there is something ominous about Carifesta that we know nothing about!”

At the end of his speech, the applause threatened the ceiling. More proof of the mind-bending effects of tax-funded expensive booze. It was way past midnight when the last dozen or so brothers and sisters left the party. The next day, shortly before the ceremony honoring St. Lucia’s membership to the United Nations, George Odlum and his entourage, as well as some one hundred invited travel agents and writers, lunched at New York’s chic Bibliotheque restaurant, not far from the U.N. building. The St. Lucia Tourist Board picked up the $20,000 tab. While the visiting government personnel, their overseas representatives and guests savored their multi-course orders—beluga caviar, Louisana oysters, Dom Perignon, followed by Chateau briand, lobster termidore, pheasant, wines from the exclusive cellars of Lafite Rothschild, and cherries Jubilee au flambé (for the less sophisticated palate, the restaurant also served gallons of Heineken)—former House Speaker Wilfred St. Clair Daniel, in his immaculate three-piece suit, dished out home-grown witticisms.

His Havana cigar held between the bejeweled middle and index fingers of his right hand, Daniel said: “Ladies and gentlemen, there are duties that one must perform when called upon to perform. Some are pleasant, some not. This afternoon, however, it is indeed my pleasant duty to introduce our Minister of Tourism, who also happens to be St. Lucia’s deputy prime minister.”

When he was House speaker, a close friend of Prime Minister John Compton, and one of the more loyal gatekeepers of the United Workers Party, Daniel not-so-secretly considered George Odlum too educated for his own good, a threat to St. Lucia’s political stability, not to say Daniel’s more personal circumstances. On at least one occasion he had taken the opportunity to teach the ostensible radical a lesson in good manners. Lately Odlum, publisher of the notorious Crusader newspaper, had taken to playing the role of journalist, showing up among regular reporters at special events. On one unforgettable occasion, during a particularly engaging House session, the speaker’s voice suddenly boomed: “Stop that man!” A palpable silence followed as all heads turned like one in the direction of the public gallery. A few feet from the entrance, the man who had caught the speaker’s attention on his way to the press box stood out like a pachyderm in a sheep pen. The image he projected was at once comical and ironic. He had entered Daniel’s den attired for war: U.S. Army fatigues and boots, when the dress code demanded a look indicative of genteelism and good breeding—especially in the press enclosure. Obviously, George Odlum had not taken his famous eviction to heart. 

“When one speaks as chairman of the St. Lucia Tourist Board,” said the former House speaker, “the small toe finds it very difficult to say anything wrong about the head, lest the toe be cut off. But there are some persons that, because of one’s association with them, one has difficulty introducing. It is not an easy matter to gild a lily or to burnish the brass when the brass has been highly polished, but with that kind of admonition, that kind of advice, it gives me great pleasure to call upon the deputy prime minister of St. Lucia to address you.” Never before had Shakespeare been so mocked on the altar of self-serving politics!

All eyes were on George Odlum as he rose from his seat at the head table and strode toward the flower-bedecked lectern. If in places his once muscular “flying darkie” physique had softened, enough to sag, let us say, never mind. A Saville Row wizard had more than made up for such imperfections. At the lectern, he put up his hands to arrest the applause. He flashed his characteristic smile that signaled the explosion of a hundred camera flashbulbs. He surveyed the room, hands now gripping the sides of the lectern. He spoke with his honeyed Martin Luther King voice: “My friends, if Tommy Tucker had to sing for his supper, who am I?” He certainly was not the xenophobic monster painted by the New York Times. On the remembered occasion he metamorphosed into an accomplished flatterer of egos, a political Don Juan-cum-Sidney Poitier delivering exactly what instinctively he knew his stud-worshipping congregation hungered for. Oh, yes, they gobbled up every inch of that George Odlum. Yes, like Oliver Twist, they begged for more. And this time Mr. Bumble was generous.

“I assure you that it is a far more pleasant experience to deliver my address here than over there.” He nodded in the direction of the U.N. building across the street. “Here, the company is fine and the meal has been wonderful. Best of all, I’ve had a great time talking here with friends from St. Lucia.” (Applause! Applause! Applause!)

He took his shots at both the overseas media and “sections of the Caribbean press” whose coverage of his activities had at times been less than fawning. Oh, but while some in his entourage had resorted to crapulous barbs that bordered on boorishness, the much-advertised first Afro-Caribbean head of the University of Bristol Union, and lauded debater, chose on the occasion to be subtle. Pointless taking a baseball bat to heads already anesthetized by his aura and his free booze. “I have been a newspaperman,” he said, “and I’ve sometimes wondered whether or not there’s a natural corollary between being a member of the press and suffering at the hands of the press.” (More applause!)

He said St. Lucia’s image had taken a beating from the overseas media. “Simple domestic incidents” had been distorted. Nevertheless, the island would endure the “unwarranted negative publicity. Odlum spoke for close to an hour and was awarded a standing ovation—mostly by the females in his audience, some of whom seemed in danger of losing their balance.

Two or three hours later, during the ceremony that marked St. Lucia’s acceptance to the U.N. Assembly (Secretary General Kurt Waldheim advised that while small, St. Lucia should bear in mind that “sovereignty is not limited by size) George Odlum pointedly pledged his country’s “support of every legitimate, regionally recognized liberation movement in realizing its quest for justice.” Did he have in mind Nicaragua? Libya? Cuba? Grenada? He offered confirmation that the cornerstone of his government’s foreign policy was “to hold sacred our willingness to enjoy the best relations with all states of the international community and to appreciate fully any measure of assistance and partnership, singly or collectively, they might wish to provide in cementing the bonds of friendship between our people and theirs.”

The following day most of George Odlum’s entourage—all of whom had booked separate suites at New York’s Statler-Hilton—returned home to St. Lucia. But not the deputy prime minister of the latest member of the United Nations Assembly. Odlum stayed behind “to do a little shopping.” It later turned out that his purchases from a small store on West 14^th Street, included camouflage headgear, boots, U.S. Army fatigues, green wool socks and leather gloves and other related paraphernalia. By reliable account, as he rummaged through bin after army surplus bin, “George was like a kid in a candy store.”