By Clayton Goodwin
Joseph “Reds” Perreira and the late Tony Cozier are often described as being the two pivotal figures of West Indian cricket media communication – radio/television and the written word. That is true, and it is appropriate that the Barbadian has written the foreword to Perreira’s biography Living My Dreams. It is also misleading because each has contributed to a wider and different aspect of the game in which they are the master non pareil. This book, which has come to me rather late after its publication, shows just how deep and varied Reds’ interest, activity and commitment have been – and, indeed, continues. Can any one person, communicator or not, have such expansive knowledge of the Caribbean region? He was born in Guyana, settled now in St Lucia and lived for a while, at least, in territories from Barbados[U1] , Jamaica and Trinidad, to the diaspora in the United Kingdom, touching in at various other places along the way.
I have known Reds Perreira, as our paths crossed professionally, particularly during the years that West Indies ruled the cricket roost, but not nearly as much as I should, and have liked to, have done. For here is a man who has had even more lives than the proverbial cat, each one in answer to a dream that he has lived through. Few biographies have been so aptly titled. The number of letters of testimonial and tributes to the man, and the professional, contained within its pages is in truth quite amazing in their variety. And as of the honours, rounded off, but not concluded, by the doctorate from the University of Guyana received quite recently, it would require a further, and specific, appendix. Those who complain that Caribbean cricket has not been documented and recorded as it deserves may be correct but they overlook the work of Perreira, Cozier, Tony Becca – and the others which Reds cites here – to their peril.
It hasn’t been all plain-sailing. Reds has faced set-backs and disadvantage, and faced them down. The story of how he overcame a childhood stutter to become master of the microphone has become a legend. The severe illness which he suffered at the turn of 1996 was not only serious to himself, who describes it as “a life changing event”, but to his colleagues who, for a time, feared for the worst. The messages of concern, good wishes and support which he received from those colleagues in the media, world-renowned and influential figures from the world of sport (both playing and administration), politics and current affairs, people whom he had met along life’s pathway, and members of the public, testify to have widely he is regarded.
My initial intention has been to chronicle the life and achievements of a commentator who, as boy, man, enthusiastic amateur and equally enthusiastic professional, has witnessed West Indies cricket from its re-birth immediately after the Second World War, through its halcyon days (all of them), to their present performance in minor key. This issue of this website-journal, after all, is to draw attention to the effect players, umpires, writers/commentators of Guyanese heritage have contributed to the appreciation of West Indies cricket in the round. By that, however, I would have to exclude Reds’ contributions to other sports and administration. So, I have decided to eschew what could be considered as a normal biography and appreciation, and request readers to search to buy a copy of Living My Dreams. If it has been good enough for Michael Findlay, Ricky Skerritt, Ian McDonald, Edwin W. Carrington, Sonny Ramphal and Peter Roebuck, whose names adorn the back cover, and the many others included in the pages inside, it is good enough to grace any domestic library.
I was particularly interested to note how our paths must have crossed without us being aware of it in the early 1960s – the so-called Summers of Camelot – when Reds was living in London and I had just come up from my home in rural Kent. The many evenings at the West Indian Students Centre – was he the man that bought me a drink at the bar and I forgot to pay him back ? – and when he criss-crossed the various countries of northern Western Europe. Yes, he did all that, as well as travelled repeatedly to almost everywhere that cricket is played and to just as many where athletics is run, thrown or jumped. It would be simpler to list the events of much moment in these years at which he was not present. Where else do pictures of Dr Janet Jagan and Fidel Castro sit so easily alongside those of the giants of our game – whom I am not going to name individually lest the fans of those whom the requirements of space force me to omit should take umbrage. Truly, as the man says, he has been Meeting The Legends.
The Appendices in this book are particularly interesting. After outlining in some detail the aims, history and achievement of The Reds Perreira Sports Foundation, Reds looks at those Commentators throughout the region who worked for the love of the game and have made a difference, those cricketers who might have played for West Indies if fortune’s coin had landed differently, and the demise of captain Carl Hooper. The story of the methods/machinations by which Hooper was deprived of the West Indies’ captaincy are especially intriguing, most pertinently because Perreira, himself, had been close to being a first-hand witness. I would love to more of the off-stated contention that Allan Rae had been offered captaincy of the West Indian team which toured England in 1957.
There is one trite episode of which Mr Perreira will not be aware – and of the beneficial effect which it has had on my own health. I was standing by the boundary for a match in which West Indies were playing somebody – probably Pakistan – at Southampton in 2004. Somebody passed by, stopped, wishing me a good-day, and started a conversation. Not recognising the figure, who was just a blur in my sight, I mumbled what must have been incongruous jibberish. It was only as the man walked away I recognised that he was Reds Perreira. Immediately on reaching home, I arranged an appointment with the optician, who diagnosed cataracts and other blemishes. Thankfully the ensuing operations were so successful that my sight was restored to an even better state than it was before.
My first appreciation of the extent of Reds Perreira’s fame and popularity came far from the cricket pitch. He was guest of honour at a dinner for the Caribbean and African Association of Hairdressers in the City of London. The Master of Ceremonies introduced him as being with Tony Cozier the two pillars of West Indian cricket journalism and broadcasting. (Isn’t that where we came in?). It was then that I realised how far he – whose name was not particularly well-known to an English audience and readership at the time – had reached into the soul and understanding of communities across the region. Most of my colleagues from that era – Cozier, Becca, John Figueroa, George John, Hugh Crosskill, too many – have taken back their bat to play at the Elysian Oval. It is comforting to know that Joseph “Reds” Perreira is still around to cast his eye over this piece.