There is so much to write about our union at the Daily Observer, but I will be brief. When the newspaper was launched in 1981, our boss Kenneth Y. Best was very lucky to have gathered a team of dedicated staff of oneness of principle and purpose. Black Baby (BB), you were one of those young men who helped to navigate the ship through turbulence waters. Many nights we risked our lives driving through the newly powerful military guys, during the infamous curfew hours.
Despite the curfew passes given to us by the military during odd hours, some of the soldiers were adamant in allowing us to go through their checkpoints. When we presented to the soldiers our general curfew pass, they would read curfew pass outside down, only looking for the seal of the Republic. God was so good to us, none of us got killed in our line of duty, though we were imprisoned by the military.
BB was the final gate keeper who would put the Daily Observer to bed each night. We were all in our early twenties, but we were determined to give up the good things of life, just to produce a good newspaper for our country. There were two major columns that helped to increase a bigger circulation of the newspaper: THE CANDID CAMERA and Dr. OWL. I did the CANDID CAMERA, while BB did Dr. OWL.
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I did not record any day that I saw BB angry, he always wore a smile on his face. It was always jokes and laughter that kept us long nights at work. My final encounter with BB was when I travelled to the United States of America to learn about Digital Photography. Imagine I was placed in a class of high professionals from News Week, Times Magazine and the likes of others. I was a very good photographer but knew nothing about Digital Photography. During my first day of class, I was dumbfounded. During the break, I went to the professor and explained my ordeal to him. He was very helpful to me; he recommended couple of books to me.
I immediately got the books. Among them was Dummy Digital. My boss, KY Best, had told me to contact BB, to help me out. BB was engaged with the World Bank, doing a lot for them in the area of Digital. I immediately called BB, and he spent the night tutoring me. Two days later, I was prepared for the class. KY Best got me a small digital camera which landed me in the world of digital photography. BB became my real teacher in digital photography. To his family, I say BB home-going is a loss to us all.
May his soul rest in eternal peace.
Good bye, BB.
Tribute to Black Baby
By Isaac Thompson ("Rasta Ike")
BB, and that's how I always called you, BB: You were more than a colleague and an apartment mate. You were also my brother. On Lynch Street, Monrovia. Back in the day. In our twenties. The prime of our lives, when the future was a large expanse of endless possibilities. Death was a distant probability.
We were also "bad boys" -- good "bad boys", I must emphasize- who managed to mix work and fun and excelled at both! You were more than an artist and the layout editor of the Daily Observer, where we both worked. As sub-editor, I might have been the coach, but you were the midfielder -- the one who brought all those stories (produced from the clatter of typewriters) and photographs into a formidable tapestry of a newspaper that even the military feared. They had to shut us down. Over and over again. But each time, we rose, like the Phoenix, from the ashes, thanks to the indomitable leadership of the publisher, Kenneth Yarkpawolo Best -- he didn't only offer us the opportunity to make history at a time when others were fleeing from a military regime, but he taught us character, like professionalism and perseverance.
Occasionally, when we put the paper to bed on Thursday night, the last day of the week for us, we would hop into my beat-up VW Brazilia and paint the whole town red! From Panjebota night club in Sinkor all the way to Hotel Africa, we owned the town. Neither of us drank or smoked. But we had fun in more ways than one to make up for that.
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We formed bonds that neither time nor distance could break. When I met you in Washington last year, you looked as youthful and healthy as ever, save for the little gray hair on your beard. But who among us has not grayed in 40 years?
I was shocked when you told me you were receiving treatment for cancer. You looked rather calm for someone under such weight of fate. But that's the BB I knew from Lynch Street: always calm when others would be losing their minds in a crisis.
I'm glad I was able to see you one last time before you left us - laughing and joking as you faced easily the biggest challenge of your life. As Bob Marley sings in the song, Rasta Man Chant, "When Jah work is over, I'll fly away home"
BB, your earthly work is indeed over. Now you must fly away home where you can take your much needed rest. Till we meet again - and form another Daily Observer in heaven, where we can have fun again with all those who have taken the lead -- I say rest in perfect peace.
