My Point of View
'Who can fly?'
Pamela DaCosta
The October breezes are up again! Refreshing!This time of year always holds hints of optimism, like somethinggood is 'bout to burst round some corner and take us by sweetsurprise. And boy, do we ever need it...on this November election!
This time of year, I always think of one of the most optimistic,generous, kind-hearted, level-minded Caymanians that has evergraced us...Mr. Jim Bodden. Perhaps because his birthday is thistime of year...October 5th.
'Mr. Jim' spends endless hours, especially nights...chatting;debating with friends, cronies, and people who throng his office:"How can Cayman pump up sagging seasons until tourism picksback up? How can we better ourselves? What markets are 'best targets'for tourism? How can we get our own planes? What friends havewe made (here and internationally) that can help our isle accomplishits goals?" Worry? Not us Cayman islanders! No Way! Relax...Mr.Jim would always find a way to figure it out and fix it...andhe always did...seeking answers from us and everywhere else.
There's the story (lawyer, Steve McField has more details) ofhow Mr. Jim and his team (knowing no one) went to Washington,DC aiming to find assistance on a US flight moratorium.
It was to be a reprieve from US competition so as to enable CAL(Cayman Airways Limited) to get established...much like how PresidentReagan made Japan "hold off" for a four-year periodfrom selling motorcycles to the US market in order to allow HarleyDavidson to get back on its feet since Jap competitors had virtuallywiped them out back in the early 80's.
But the US Senators being sought out were unyielding and wouldn'tcut Cayman any slack. Mr. Jim didn't give up...his attitude wasalways "never say die!" The breakthrough came in a mostunusual way.
Texan, Mr. John Connolly (who rode with JFK on that fateful day)was a friend of Mr. Jim's. They'd made friends once when Connollywas on a trip here and was half an hour late from his return flight.Those days, CAL had limited outbound flights, so Mr. Jim contactedthe plane to return for him.
Connolly's payback was four-fold! He negotiated the US governmentinto giving Cayman a four-year moratorium (i.e., holding off theUS competition for four years). It was the break CAL needed tostruggle to its feet! Of course, doors opened for Mr. Jim! Theyhad to! After all, aren't angels ever- present at the sides ofthose who keep trying and whose motives are pure? Pushing theCayman Islands (not himself) to the highest heights was his sheerestjoy. Such purity eludes those who, instead, abuse elected powertoday.
Of course, Mr. Jim's detractors hurled gloom at him. CAL was the'hot' political football. I always felt the reason Mr. Jim's hairturned gray, way too fast, was caused by trying to explain hisfuturistic ideas to the myopic, who only hacked them to pieces.
He never let on if it bothered him; he only continued 'killin''em with kindness' while he remained positive. Single-handedlyhe put our isles on the map. Tourism expanded, allowing us tobe ambassadors of our own country. He empowered us with energeticpride that sang through our veins: "Yes! It can be done!Together, we can do it!" For a while, we puttered along ata humming pace, like the 'Little Red Engine That Could'!
I still envision Mr. Jim...intelligent; eyes gleaming like aneagle's, crinkling at the sides; the warming smile that alwaysstarts off slow then breaks into a beam. His winning personalitywas to eventually win over his pessimistic opponents. Like a wingmanthat never left us, he always had our backs. But, did this hummingpace set by Mr. Jim lull us to sleep and into thinking we'd neverever have to worry about our backs...is this where we made thegrave mistake...taking it for granted that each successive governmentis as goal-driven to see our isles excel and would be as protective?
It's now 2000! And, like Rip Van Winkle, we suddenly awake witha start, only to find that the cabin is oh, so dark and cold.We're alone! We yank the cockpit door open...empty! There's noone charting our course. Instead, there's an 'Out to Lunch' signstrapped across the steering. What'd they have...golden parachutes?How long have we been flying like this into the deep, dark void?
As our eyes adjust to the dark, we make out human forms on thefloor...bound and gagged...it's some of the backbenchers! Butthey're claiming they don't know about much of anything that'sbeen going on...so we can't even pick them up and plop them inthe seats! Worse yet, our eyes focus on the instrument panel andwe find: Autopilot: "on"; fuel: "low"; altimeter:"2,000 feet". It's the dead of night; there's "novisibility" and the radar is showing blimps of a mountainrange dead ahead!
Tower control doesn't answer. We yell to passengers: "Cananyone fly this plane?!" You can't help but stop and think:Mr. Jim would have never left us in such an awful mess...muchless have put us in it! There's some now stumbling forward; but,do they really know how to fly? "Tower control, Lord Almighty...helpus in our hour of need...remember...you said you'd 'never leaveus nor forsake us'...and we need your miracles now!"