Michael Usher died a couple weeks ago, and there was nothing said here. Pele died a few days ago, and there was a lot said worldwide.

Insofar as the crazy killings on Ambergris Caye and in Belmopan over the New Year’s weekend, for me to comment I would have to go back to late 1984 and a conspiracy to murder me which came out  of the highest level of the security forces, originating with the police. Rufus X essentially saved my life on that occasion, but nobody from any of the two major parties or the media has ever wanted to have any conversation about this. So, even though one of the murdered Ramnarace brothers’ wives who was shot up is a close relative of mine, I will let other people talk about the New Year’s weekend violence. 

When Pele came to our attention in British Honduras at the 1958 World Cup in Sweden, it was through the world news snippets which used to be a feature at Palace Theater before the actual movie was shown. Pele was only 17 years old when he led Brazil to that nation’s first World Cup victory in 1958, and he was black-skinned, not brown or tan. The roots people in Palace Theater let out a roar when we saw brief footage of Pele on the movie screen.

Understand the times of which we speak. In 1958, there was no television in the colony, and only the one British-controlled radio station in British Honduras – British Honduras Broadcasting Service (BHBS). I guess maybe black-skinned Belizeans were admiring Nat King Cole, the African American singer of ballads, but I’m not sure jukeboxes in the population center had started playing Mighty Sparrow music and other Caribbean music by Lord Kitchener, Lord Melody, and others. What I’m trying to say is that roots black people in Belize did not have any international black heroes before Pele. (Well, I guess Sugar Ray Robinson, and our own Ludwig.)

Now, let’s turn to the late Michael Usher, the nephew of Patrick Scott and the older brother of Veronica Usher Jones, my comadre. In 1958, we Holy Redeemer boys would go to basketball games at the old Parish Hall (destroyed by Hurricane Hattie in 1961), and the championship senior basketball team in the city was the St. John’s College team, led by the aforementioned Patrick Scott, the high post center, with players like Leo Vasquez, two brothers from Chetumal – Oscar and Jorge Aguilar, Ira Pommells, Jimmy Turton, and so on. 

The team was coached by a Jesuit scholastic named James Carney. He was a great coach. After his scholastic years here, he became a priest and went to the republic of Honduras, where he became a revolutionary. (You can read about Carney, apart from in the autobiography he wrote, in Malachi Martin’s THE JESUITS, a book published in 1987 by Simon and Schuster.)

When his uncle was leading SJC to senior championship, Michael Usher was a guard on the SJC junior team called the Externos. There was another SJC junior team comprised of Spanish-speaking students who had come to SJC to learn English from Central and South America. They were called SJC Internos.

As a young Roman Catholic primary school student, I totally admired Patrick Scott and the senior SJC team, but Michael Usher blew my mind with his astounding creativity on the Parish Hall basketball court.

Two decades or so later, I went to live on First Street in the King’s Park area, just a few houses from where Mike lived with his wife and children. In 1981, I organized a senior basketball team (Island Flyers) with youth from the neighbourhood, and asked Mike to coach them, which he did. Mike and I had already become acquainted and friends at Mike’s Club in the early 1970s.

Stretch Lightburn told me this story, and I will end this brief column with it. He said in one game Mike Usher drove to the basket and, meeting a defender, changed the ball from his right hand to his left hand and laid it in. No one had ever done this before in Belize. The Jesuit coach, one Luce, immediately benched Mike for that daring move. You were simply not supposed to do that back in 1958 in Belize. 

There is a lot I would like to say about what Luce’s decision means to me, but I’ll just leave it like that, apart from saying that there is some creativity in black people which often appears to be unique, a special gift from the Almighty. (Respect, John Coltrane.)

I wanted to give some kind of tribute to my friend Michael Usher. He was a good man, a family man, a religious man. I honour him through this column, and regret only that I did not honour Mike immediately after he passed. Sincere sympathies to all his family and friends.