‘Butch’ Stewart was a gem of a human
THE message sent to me around 10:45 pm last Monday night was so shocking that I refused to believe that Gordon Stewart, the man we all call Butch, or Chairman, had departed this life.
The same feeling that hit me when my father died many years ago had returned. He was that kind of fatherly figure who inspired thousands.
I was never a part of his inner circle but whenever we met, you could never believe that. Our handful of overseas trips in his private aircraft, twice with then retired Prime Minister Michael Manley, and meeting at his offices in Miami, or the Corporate Area over the years had set the stage for a foundation of respect that was never lost.
The story has been told before, but it is worth repeating, of the time that photographer Michael Gordon (now deceased) and I journeyed to Antigua to cover a cricket Test match in 1994 in which Brian Lara broke the world individual batting record, scoring 375 against England.
There was no room available for us at Sandals Antigua — like the Observer, a member of Stewart’s group of companies — and we were forced to ‘rough it’ for few hours at the Red Cross building in St John’s, the capital.
But we could take it no longer, and went back to Sandals to see if there could be a kind of miracle. As we walked into the lobby there was one Gordon Stewart, who spotted us from a distance, walked over to me and asked “Wha happen, baby? You alright?” “No, Mr Stewart,” was the prompt answer. I told him of our dilemma.
He walked over to one of the hotel’s managers, spoke to him for no more than 30 seconds, walked back over to us and said: “Tell me something, you guys would share a room? I looked at Mikey, who looked back at me...“yes Sir, we would,” I responded, without getting confirmation from my colleague.
Butch Stewart had given up his room to us. The fact that I was sharing a hotel room and bed with a man for the first (and only) time didn’t matter. It was his caring spirit that brightened the resort better than the most powerful bulb. He kept in touch with us at times during the night, and days after, until he left, just to ensure that we were okay. It is something that I will never forget.
The taxi drivers, security personnel, and bell hops at Sandals Antigua, for sure, will tell you of the many hours that he spent with them close to the entrance playing dominoes way into the morning. That was Butch — a powerful man, but hugely simple. It will be difficult to see another man like he, in these parts, anytime soon. I maintain that such an individual emerges every 100 years. Stewart’s departure is, in my estimation, the greatest loss of an individual who meant so much to so many people, since the death of Anglican Bishop Percival William Gibson in 1970.