A true ca­lyp­so send-off it was for Win­ston “Mighty Shad­ow” Bai­ley in the Grand Stand of the Queen’s Park Sa­van­nah in Port-of-Spain yes­ter­day, where ren­di­tions of the “Din­go­lay” mas­ter’s more pop­u­lar songs were sung by fel­low ca­lyp­so­ni­ans in trib­ute.

The in­struc­tion to wear white ‑ a sym­bol of life and cel­e­bra­tion, which en­com­passed the essence of Bai­ley, 77, was well ad­hered to by all in at­ten­dance. Bai­ley, who died on Oc­to­ber 23 of di­a­betes-re­lat­ed com­pli­ca­tions, had ac­tu­al­ly told rel­a­tives his wish was that those at­tend­ing his fu­ner­al wear white in his ho­n­our, al­though he was well known for his black at­tire dur­ing per­for­mances.

There was no ‘weep­ing and gnash­ing of teeth’ at the four-hour long fu­ner­al ser­vice yes­ter­day. In fact, very few tears were shed, as for the most part it was a Car­ni­val cel­e­bra­tion, with singing, danc­ing and tra­di­tion­al moko jumbies who donned the coun­try’s na­tion­al colours and even one who wore a Shad­ow-like black out­fit.

From Austin “Su­per Blue” Lyons, to Kees Dif­f­en­thaller, to David Rud­der, each took to the mi­cro­phone pay­ing their re­spects in song, mov­ing the gath­er­ing with run­away hits like One Love, Din­go­lay, Bass­man and Pover­ty is Hell, some of the mas­ter­pieces Bai­ley had moved his au­di­ences with over his five decades in the busi­ness.

Pro­gramme co­or­di­na­tor for yes­ter­day’s pro­ceed­ings, Omari Ash­by, told mourn­ers if they had to cry it should be tears of joys. He sub­se­quent­ly de­scribed Bai­ley’s fu­ner­al “as the best ever.”

From 9 am, Shad­ow’s opened cas­ket was placed for pub­lic view­ing at the sa­van­nah, as throngs of peo­ple from all walks of life crowd­ed in to get a last glance of his body, forc­ing a ‘call for or­der’ to be made.

Shad­ow looked peace­ful in a non-tra­di­tion­al all-white suit com­plet­ed with a black suede hat—noth­ing like his cus­tom­ary wear likened to the Mid­night Rob­ber.

His fam­i­ly ful­filled his re­quest to spread joy and love at his fu­ner­al, hold­ing up brave faces de­spite their loss.

De­liv­er­ing the eu­lo­gy, Bai­ley’s son Shar­lan mad it clear his fa­ther had re­quest­ed that no one should cry at his fu­ner­al but should play his mu­sic.

“He didn’t want tears…he want­ed peo­ple to wear white for a cel­e­bra­tion. I wish he (Shad­ow) was here to see how many peo­ple loved him.”

Shar­lan ad­mit­ted his fa­ther’s height and size in­tim­i­dat­ed many peo­ple but in­sist­ed he was a “ted­dy bear.” He said in Curepe res­i­dents ad­dressed Shad­ow as the “King.”

De­scrib­ing his fa­ther as a vi­sion­ary and mu­si­cal sci­en­tist, Shar­lan said many peo­ple tried to mim­ic Shad­ow but none could have sound­ed, talked, looked or walked in his shoes.

Na­tion­al Car­ni­val Com­mis­sion chair­man Win­ston Gyp­sy Pe­ters, who had to be con­soled dur­ing the cer­e­mo­ny, could not hold back tears as he hov­ered over Bai­ley’s cas­ket and re­mem­bered his old friend.

In pay­ing trib­ute, Selvon Noel (Mis­tah Shak) sang Shad­ow’s in­fec­tious “Soucouyant,” which brought every­one to their feet. Wav­ing their hands, they chant­ed the hook line of the song to their de­light.

It was Rud­der who brought down the cur­tain with Bai­ley’s fa­mous Pover­ty is Hell, caus­ing mourn­ers to leave their seats and grav­i­tate to­wards the stage as they danced, pranced and sang to their hearts’ de­light, turn­ing the fu­ner­al ser­vice in­to a Car­ni­val-like at­mos­phere.

Rud­der was lat­er joined by mem­bers of the ca­lyp­so fra­ter­ni­ty as they belt­ed out a num­ber of Bai­ley’s hits, backed by a noisy rhythm sec­tion and the Des­per­a­does Steel Or­ches­tra.