hen I saw Molo's photograph in Sunday's obituaries, I was shocked. The last time I saw him, he seemed his usual self, with not a care in the world, and not a hint of illness. But life is like that: here today, gone tomorrow. As young old boy Ted Donaldson put it a few days ago, the old guard is "slowly drifting off into the sunset; this is our common heritage."
Ever since I first became aware of him some 50 years ago, Molo was a KC old boy. He would appear at school in the afternoons with a small group of other old boys. They would stand at the edge of the playing field and just chat and have a good time, what we would today call "hanging out", watching soccer or track and field practice.
After university, I met him at Sproston's, where he was hiring sales engineers, and I was looking for work. Since then our paths have crossed many times. On those occasions, we generally exchange a few thoughts: at St. Andrew Prep where we were parents of children going there, at the stadium where he was always at Champs and other sporting events, in my office when he tried to show me the wisdom of thinking ahead and increasing my coverage.
He was essentially a people person, hardly ever seen alone except when he was driving somewhere to meet someone. His undoubted success as a life insurance man can be attributed to his ability to engage with people.
It is easy to think that he was always a spectator and supporter in sports, never a notable participant. But Molo's circle of closest friends, which included Lindy Headley, Patrick Robinson, Rupert Hoilette, Ray Harvey, and the late Earl Belcher, gives him away. Molo actually played on the forward line of KC's Manning Cup side in 1958 and 59. Even so, he was really just an ordinary guy, a very nice guy, excelling in the business of life among his fellowmen.
Sometimes my pen takes me by the hand and leads me to paper; when this happens, I tend to shoot from the hip. Unfortunately, the scars on my feet demonstrate one side-effect of this practice. Fourteen years ago, on the day when Douglas Forrest was buried, a long article appeared under my name in the Gleaner. It was headed "The passing of a master". I recall Molo at the funeral telling me that he thoroughly endorsed what I had written. But my friend Ruddy Wallace later pulled me aside and pointed out a factual error in the article. On Molo's passing, I've been at it again; but I can thank my classmate Trevor Ricketts for setting me straight.
My condolences to Molo's family and his many friends. May his soul rest in peace.
