Man with the Gift of 'Gaf'

26, Apr 1999
'Joe Hope could talk. And he did so with a clarity of diction that was way beyond the average. Only the calypsonians of yesteryear could have functioned comparatively'.

You know for sure that you have become "old" when suddenly your most frequent social activity seems to be attending wakes and burials.

Friends are passing on with a strange regularity. One returned home on Monday night, after visiting at the "Battery" in Fort George where Relator regaled us with the nostalgia of the great calypso classics, only to be informed that numerous phone calls had come announcing the death of Joseph Hope.

Ironically, much of the conversation during the return from the "Battery" centred around how much of the artistry and poetic language of calypso has been lost and is in danger of completely disappearing due to the goings-on of today's exponents and the machinations of the present music market that panders merely to loudness and speed and frenetic energy.

In much the same way Joe Hope's passing underlines the death of that particular love for the turn of phrase, the twist of tongue, the gift of "gaf" as the Guyanese would say, that was once so much a part of Caribbean culture and existence, so crucial to the "joie de vivre" and spiritual exuberances that clearly demarcated us from the rest of the world.

Joe Hope could talk. And he did so with a clarity of diction that was way beyond the average. Only the calypsonians of yesteryear could have functioned comparatively.

How does one pay homage to such passing of identity?

With great pleasure he would say his correct name, "Joseph Churchill Roosevelt Hope," enamoured with the sound and the feel and the rhythm of those names rolling off his tongue.

However, the fact that he couldn't help but be the centre of attraction in all interesting and humorous incidents and pranks whether at St Mary's College, where he was schooled, or in the Mount Hope / Mount Lambert / Petit-Bourg community where he lived, forced people to have to say, in wonder, again and again: "It had to be, Hope!"

When, for example, the pail of ice-cream or the steaming-hot pot of pelau disappeared from the wedding or from the Christmas party, everyone knew, "it just had to be, Hope!" So the terminology was adopted and he came to be known by all and sundry as "Joe Had To Be".

The things this fellow did and/or said, the stories he told and the spontaneous responses to verbal challenges that he miraculously came up with could fill a book probably best titled: Marvellous Mirth.

When the young lady walked into the Panorama North Stand wearing the skimpiest red shorts, Joe Hope exclaimed in feigned disbelief: "Murder, police, jail, arrest, poison, shooting, stab, choke & cat-tastrophe!" The lady turned and glared at Hope. He then pleaded: "Ah know yuh want to treat mih with contumely, but is alright, ah will remove myself before ah get arc-eyes."

The ferocious argument outside CHEX in Mount Lambert, one night, concerned a query about which of two persons was the uglier Daniel, a Bajan ex-policeman who was caught stealing at Bonanza Stores, or Tobias, then still a member of the protective services.

Both the goodly gentlemen had just gone into CHEX to make purchases. They came back out together and were confounded by the laughter that emanated from the youngsters outside. Joe "Had To Be" had declared Daniel the winner "by photo-finish."

And the politics of the time also lent itself readily to the cut and thrust of Hope's wit.

The 1966 PNM march from San Juan to Tunapuna was shot at by hostile opponents in St Joseph.

Joe "Had To Be" claimed that after the shot was fired he began to run back to San Juan. He said that he was running well, quite fast actually, stimulated by the fact that he felt from time to time the heat of the bullet at the nape of his neck.

When he swung into Mt Hope Road, he did so at such great speed that his ear touched the ground and the bullet "went down San Juan."

After an Inter-Col that St Mary's won, the same Inter-Col at which he wore his own designed outfit with a big red spot between his legs and a similar brown spot on his buttocks, the former of which he claimed signified "menstruation", the latter, "defecation", Joe Hope came off the train and decided to roll into Mt Lambert. He laid himself across the street and rolled all the way in, down to the house in which lived the girl that he would eventually marry.

All the while a crowd of rowdy, merry youths followed shouting: "Roll, Hopey, roll!" It may have been funny but not to the few drivers that were forced to negotiate their vehicles around his prostrate body.

But that was life to Joseph Hope, he lived for the spirit of the moment and enjoyed every nuance. Prior to 1962 and the advent of commercial television in T&T, localised entertainment was provided particularly when one such as our Hope clashed with the likes of Mosic Jones of Barataria and Beef Pollard of Belmont in a bantering war of words.

After television did come, one recalls that Hope would hustle home only to see the cartoon Top Cat because he committed himself never to miss TC's gift of language, powers of articulation and tremendous wit.

Probably TC was his only natural, equal rival, for who else could ever contemplate responding to the Spanish-language teacher's question: "Que pasa, senor?" (How are you, sir?) with the following: "Un dia, hombre." (A day, man.) Who else but Joe "Had To Be".

Finally to him we say: You lived your life, brother, and now make certain those angels sing and laugh.