In Trini parlance, Glenn Davis is an example of being a "saltfish." A veteran thespian born to a sporting family, Davis is a husband of 44 years and father to five sons, has been a masquerader for over half a century, works with the Catholic church and in December he will celebrate 50 years of playing Santa Claus.
Actually born on May 1, 1946 to Charles Allan and Kathleen Davis (nee Lambie), mysteriously all documentation of Davis' existence state that he was born on May 2. He was born in a nursing home on Edward Street, Port-of-Spain, and has six siblings, including famous West Indies cricketers Bryan and Charlie Davis.
Davis described his childhood as "a mixed one" as it was interrupted when he was seven by the separation of his parents. He describes this early life experience as being "traumatic", but added: "You come to accept it, but one has to control the hurt."
Schooling is significant in Davis' life and his primary tutelage was at Belmont Boys' Intermediate RC School. About his earliest school days, he said: "I enjoyed it immensely; the boys were fabulous and the teachers, oh my God, they went beyond the call of duty for the students. My opinion of teachers has certainly changed, from the principals right across the board."
Davis migrated to Canada in 1970 and completed his education at George Brown College and Ryerson Polytechnic University where he obtained a Bachelor of Applied Arts degree in Hotel and Tourism Management (now called Hospitality).
Unlike his siblings, sports was definitely not Davis' calling. Of this he said: "My family did try with me, first football with Mr Geoff Chambers, with most of the boys going on to represent Trinidad–not me. Cricket was a disaster. All the guys from Cipriani Boulevard where we lived went to the Oval to be coached by Noel Guillen.
They tried me everywhere, from batsman to wicketkeeper, to fast bowler to slow bowler to fieldsman and even umpiring. One Sunday morning Mr Guillen just could not take it anymore, he called me to the pavilion and asked me very nicely to go home and never come back. My last attempt for sport was at the (Queen's Park) Oval and it was lawn tennis.
As my opponent served the first ball I hit the ball right into Invaders' panyard across Tragarete Road. I again was politely asked: 'Take your racquet and go home, young Davis'.
"I was fortunate, though, to have started cycling, and sort of came into my own. I made great friends and for the first two years I had a fair amount of success. But at the end of the second year, tragedy struck and I was too young to deal with it. My good friend, coach and mentor, Fitzroy Hoyte, took me to dinner one night and said: 'Either get serious, or get off the bicycle'. You see how I started to become the comic?"
All jokes aside, one of Davis' true loves is theatre. He said: "My love for theatre, I believe, is innate. Everyone in our family did some sort of performance.
My father was a stand-up comic, my mother was a dancer and played hockey for Trinidad, my youngest sister Allana danced with Marcia Turner, Charlie (Dave) played sport, Bryan also did a play as a young boy. He then went on to perform in the middle of the cricket field but it was our eldest sister Astrid who was an acceptable actress in her time and who dragged me along to all of her rehearsals and I got little parts, usually crowd scenes.
"My very first play was Drums and Colours by Derek Walcott and I was just nine years of age. It was held in the Botanical Gardens. That is where I first met Peter Minshall, he played Sir Walter Raleigh's son. I also acted in the Passion Play in the Gardens.
"When we lived on the Boulevard–actually we lived where is now 51 degrees Lounge–on a Sunday afternoon I would go over to Tranquility Church Hall–the side door was never locked–and I would do all sort of performances there all by myself. It was a great escape.
"As a young boy I did several minor parts in numerous plays but, somewhere in the mid 60s, I got a part in Trinidad Dramatic Club's Christmas Pantomime Robinson Crusoe. Derek Walcott did a critique and said that I gave a good account of myself.
"Also, as children we went to the pantomimes at Roxy Theatre. There was an actor named Jack Spector who was the comic and I always wanted to do that type of character. He was a master of the lip sync. The experience of rubbing shoulders with Trinidad's top male and female actors–what a trip that was. I just did not want any play to end. I always got depressed on closing nights, something like the feeling you get on Carnival Tuesday night."
Carnival is another of Davis' passions. He began playing mas at age nine and, living a stone's throw from Silver Stars panyard, it was a natural progression for him to be there.
He said: "Our parents allowed us to go on the road at that young age once Mac Ward gave his consent to supervise us. On Friday nights during the Carnival season we were allowed to go to the panyard until 9 pm. That was very exciting.
"The first time I played mas on a Tuesday in a costume was in 1960. I was 13. In those days we made our own costumes and I portrayed an American Indian–bolero and long pants in white corduroy with red fringe on the sides of the pants. The front and back of the bolero was decorated with mirrors, with rhinestones and swansdown all over. My father told me not to cut my hair and he made a very simple pair of wool plaits coming down to my chest. This he sewed on to the red headband which was decorated with diamond-shaped mirrors and rhinestones. It was natural looking and very comfortable.
"My father also made me an axe which was painted black and red. My brother Bryan gave me a pair of moccasins that were painted white and also decorated. The shoes were too tight and became most uncomfortable, but I would not stop. When I got home and removed the shoes, there were two giant blisters at the top of my feet–it worked for me as I could not go to school for the rest of the week."
Already a dedicated masquerader, Davis added: "I never allowed any of the guys in the Boulevard to see any part of the making of the costume, so when I came onto the street, the compliments just started from them, and it continued for the whole day.
"I was on top of the world–photographs for days from people while on the streets and especially going through the (Queen's Park) Savannah. Everyone was so friendly and happy, both masqueraders and people in the streets, smiling faces everywhere, it was like a dream."
Davis kept that dream alive from 1960 to 1967 when he began playing with Harts. "Last Carnival was 50 years I have played mas with Harts, the last family Carnival band," said Davis.
"Basically, Harts is still a family band. People come and go, but over 90 per cent of the masqueraders are loyal Harts. I know exactly where I am going to see who. The band is a family, and as in all families, there is always a little disagreement. You should hear Luis and Gerard (Hart) argue, you think it will come to blows, then ten minutes later they are hugging and speaking civil to each other."
"Edmund (Hart) is retired and with Lil's passing it created a great void and an era certainly came to an end; but fortunately the children have accepted the mantle and we still have the band today. I have played a section leader for a little over 30 years and while Carnival has changed, I still get a thrill to meet all the fabulous people who play mas with and consider themselves part of the great family band–Harts."
Davis is quite cynical when comparing Carnival of yore to that of today. He said: "I almost said: What Carnival of today? But that would be unfair, for there may be a Carnival, but there is no mas. The Carnival of yesterday was disciplined and had meaning, both of which are lacking today in the mas and in the society.
"Carnival of yesterday masqueraders had pride in the mas and wore their costumes with respect. Today the bandleaders give the people what they want. One may say basic marketing, but to what end. It is sort of a two-edged sword. If I am spending my money, give me what I want. So almost all of the men's costumes–in what is considered the big bands–is a pair of short pants. Then the girls, especially in what is called the 'front line', basically they compete with each other on who can be more daring, all with their lovely feathers and plumes. And for what?
"There is practically no one in the Grand Stand, less in the North Stand and not as much in the streets as before. Why should they come out–to see what? Almost every band is the same thing. When you think of bands of yesterday–bleachers east and west of the Grand and North Stands were overflowing with people applauding, and children were allowed on the side of the bands as the masqueraders passed by, taking a little jump up. (Compared to that), it is certainly a dead era."