Carolyn Cooper | Eulogy for Kingsley Cooper, my Baby Brods

Kingsley Cooper was born on the 3rd of June,1953 to Modesta and George Cooper. Our mother was a teacher at the Rollington Town Primary School. She certainly knew how to turn her hand mek fashion and stretch her modest salary. Kingsley learned entrepreneurship from her. Our father was a tailor who would make elegant suits for clients and not always collect appropriate pay. He definitely was not an entrepreneur. Our mother encouraged him to go to the UK to seek his fortune. She joined him there after three years and taught at a comprehensive school. Fortunately, she hated England and came home after a year.

Our father returned five years later and set up shop in Rollington Town. His shop sign announced that he was a merchant tailor, with London experience. Dadda was no more entrepreneurial than when he left Jamaica. At heart, he was a minister of the gospel. When he tried to get me to go to church, I would remind him of this Bible verse: “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” I would provokingly say, perhaps, I wasn’t trained, I’m not old or I haven’t departed.

Kingsley briefly studied tailoring with our father. Dadda was a perfectionist and Kingsley did not enjoy the laborious work. One summer, Kingsley made a pair of pants that he had been forced to pick out several times. When it was finally fashioned to the high standard of our father, Kingsley declared that, for all the effort, it should at least have been long pants. Kingsley’s apprenticeship with our father prepared him for his collaboration with the extraordinary British-Jamaican fashion designer Sandra Kennedy. She created the popular Chad label as well as her signature Sandra Kennedy brand. It was from Dadda that Kingsley inherited his sense of style and fashion. Our father was the original Pulse model.

THE SOUND OF LOVING

Kingsley attended the Rollington Town Primary School where he excelled, winning a scholarship to Kingston College. He became house captain, president of the debating society, editor of the school magazine, award-winning actor and, to crown it all, head boy. Then, he went to the University of the West Indies (UWI), Mona where he studied Law. In a wide-ranging tribute to Kingsley, published in The Observer, Desmond Allen, who bust me as a columnist in the 1990s, cited an interview in which Kingsley made this admission: “I spent my first year going to parties and fixing cars.”

One of Kingsley’s History lecturers, my friend Dr Beryl Allen, can definitely confirm this. He failed to attend class yet easily passed her course. All she could do was admire his brilliance. As for fixing cars, Kingsley said in that same interview, “I knew every VW garage in Kingston.” He bought four VWs for parts. Kingsley would much later graduate from cannibalised VWs to a Porsche. It was green but I don’t think the colour signified his political affiliation.

Kingsley went on to UWI, Cave Hill to complete his Law degree. There he set up his popular sound system, the Sound of Loving. Definitely not the sound of studying! But he passed all his courses. When Kingsley returned to Jamaica to earn his Certificate in Legal Education, he upgraded his sound system, rebranding it as Soul Construction. Kingsley was the soul and his long-time friend Donny Kong was the construction, providing transportation for the equipment.

When Kingsley was admitted to the bar, he first practiced conventional law. Then, he found his true calling in the field of entertainment law. He once told me his only client was Pulse. Regretfully, Kingsley didn’t manage to write his book on the history of Pulse Investments Ltd. and his many innovations. I offered to help but he graciously declined. I think he feared I would take over the project. If you’ve seen that iconic photo of Kingsley, me and my dolly, you’ll understand his reservations. That protective hand around the shoulder of my Baby Brods could, admittedly, be misinterpreted as proprietorial.

I must highlight one of Pulse’s far-reaching enterprises, the Caribbean Model Search. Kingsley made a life-changing discovery: a bright and beautiful high school student at the Alpha Academy, Romae Gordon. She surpassed a long line of aspirants to win the crown as Kingsley’s life partner and mother of his beloved son, Cole.

I hope some enterprising student in cultural studies will write a thesis on Pulse. It would be a textbook case for the degree in Entertainment and Cultural Enterprise Management, designed by Kam-Au Amen, himself a cultural entrepreneur. The Reggae Studies Unit at UWI, which I conceived, established the degree. My own entrepreneurship has been largely academic. I admired Kingsley’s much more risky vision and invested in his enterprises, often to my disadvantage, I must admit.

KINGSTON COLLEGE CENTENARY FUND

Kingsley almost didn’t make it to 71. One Sunday afternoon, when he was about three years old, he went for a walk with his babysitter. He was knocked down by a car and was rushed to the Kingston Public Hospital. Miraculously, his only injury was a big cut to his forehead. Several weeks later, Kingsley complained to our grandmother, “Baby head hurt.” Grandma took him to a private doctor who found fragments of glass in his forehead. Our public health system has long been dysfunctional. In later years, when I had disagreements with Kingsley, usually provoked by what I considered to be his unreasonableness, I would remind myself about the glass in his forehead and try to forgive him.

Kingsley took his final bow on the stage of this life on the 18th of June. For his memorial service, (https://vimeo.com/event/4446075), our sister Donnette made a magnificent quilt on which his urn was placed. Its primary motif is an Adinkra symbol from Ghana which means, “I live not when God is not.” The human spirit returns to the creator and lives on. In celebration of Kingsley’s life, the Cooper and Gordon families invite contributions to the Kingston College Centenary Fund: https://www.kcfortis100.com/donate-now/. There is an African proverb that always consoles me in times like these: “You never truly die until no one remembers you.” The unforgettable Kingsley Cooper will live on for generations.

Carolyn Cooper, PhD, is a teacher of English language and literature and a specialist on culture and development. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and karokupa@gmail.com