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Friday, August 29, 2025

Unapologetic and loud - he always did it his way

by

20140511

The fol­low­ing is the eu­lo­gy de­liv­ered by Richard Gor­don, nephew of the late Ho­race Gor­don, for­mer sports ed­i­tor of the Trinidad Guardian. Gor­don died on April 27, and was laid to rest fol­low­ing a ser­vice at the Tu­na­puna Methodist Church on May 3.

The leg­endary Frank Sina­tra was the best known for singing the all-too-fa­mil­iar lyrics:

"And now, the end is here

And so I face the fi­nal cur­tain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm cer­tain

I've lived a life that's full

I trav­eled each and every high­way

And more, much more than this, I did it my way"

It should be no sur­prise that this Sina­tra clas­sic was on of Ho­race's favourites among the hun­dreds of records he col­lect­ed over the years, be­cause�above all else�Ho­race Gor­don al­ways did it his way.

Even this re­mem­brance of him that I am shar­ing to­day is a tes­ta­ment to his unique per­spec­tive on life and his sin­gu­lar pen­chant for sto­ry­telling, as many parts of this are tak­en ver­ba­tim from his painstak­ing­ly craft­ed mem­oir for his beloved broth­er Law­ton, who al­so passed on ear­li­er this year.

Ho­race Patrick Gor­don was born on March 16, 1933, in the tiny vil­lage of Cal­i­for­nia in Cen­tral Trinidad. He was the third child of Vic­tor Gor­don and In­ez Gor­don (nee Yallery), who were proud par­ents to six boys and two girls. Ho­race was al­ways quick to point out, how­ev­er that he ac­tu­al­ly grew up in a house­hold of 12 chil­dren, as his moth­er took in five chil­dren whose moth­er lived and died sud­den­ly in the USA, and they pre­ferred to live with "Miss In­ez" in­stead of their blood fam­i­ly. His broth­ers are Rudolph, Ho­race, George, Cle­bert and Cuth­bert (de­ceased) and his sis­ters are Myr­tle (de­ceased) and Muriel. His 'un­of­fi­cial' broth­ers are George, Earl and Trevor Hut­ton, and sis­ters Lor­na Gilkes (now Cleve­land) and Ly­dia Grey.

Ho­race of­ten rem­i­nisced about his child­hood, paint­ing vivid pic­tures with his words about his youth­ful days: catch­ing the train to his pri­ma­ry school (Nel­son Street Boys RC in Port-of-Spain), play­ing foot­ball with his sib­lings, en­joy­ing the var­i­ous fruits that grew in abun­dance near their home.

Ho­race's fa­ther, Vic­tor, was a chemist who worked at var­i­ous sug­ar es­tates and it was that work ul­ti­mate­ly led the fam­i­ly to move from Cal­i­for­nia to Or­ange Grove, Tacarigua, where they took up res­i­dence in one of the em­ploy­ee's quar­ters of "The Beaulieu"-a his­toric 100�win­dow man­sion next to where now sits the East­ern Re­gion­al In­door Sport Com­plex.

It was here that Ho­race and the oth­er Gor­don broth­ers learned the rudi­ments of the games of foot­ball and crick­et. With eight "broth­ers" (Gor­dons and Hut­tons com­bined), they on­ly had to find three more play­ers to make up a full eleven-mem­ber team.

Af­ter Nel­son St Boys' RC, Ho­race went on to at­tend Mod­ern Acad­e­my, and then Amow's Com­mer­cial School, where he learned short­hand and typ­ing.

His fa­ther died when he was 11 years old, and�in Ho­race's own words: "Were it not for the strength and de­ter­mi­na­tion of (his moth­er) In­ez, the 12 chil­dren would have end­ed up in the near­by Tacarigua Or­phan­age (now re­named the St Mary's Chil­dren's Home)."

Im­me­di­ate­ly fol­low­ing his school­ing, Ho­race start­ed work at the now-de­funct Sal­va­tori as a cash boy, and lat­er went on to work as a check­er in con­struc­tion.

Ul­ti­mate­ly, Ho­race would fi­nal­ly find his life's pur­pose when he joined the Chron­i­cle news­pa­per as a cub re­porter.

The Chron­i­cle even­tu­al­ly closed down, lead­ing him to work at the Guardian�a place that would be­come the site of his jour­nal­is­tic lega­cy for decades to come.

In ad­di­tion to his work, he led a vi­brant so­cial life, mar­ry­ing twice over the years and fa­ther­ing three chil­dren. His son Vic­tor (named in ho­n­our of Ho­race's fa­ther) and his daugh­ter Wendy from his first mar­riage mi­grat­ed to the Unit­ed States with their moth­er af­ter they part­ed ways. Lat­er on, he had an­oth­er the son Patrick Ho­race (this son shar­ing his first and mid­dle names, but in re­verse or­der).

Ho­race al­so was a revered sports fig­ure in his home­town of Tu­na­puna, play­ing foot­ball for Ebony in the East St George Foot­ball League, along with his broth­ers. He had the ho­n­our of rep­re­sent­ing the East League at the In­ter-League com­pe­ti­tions for sev­er­al years.

As if all this was not enough to keep Ho­race busy, he joined with his broth­ers and a few friends (the very same Ebony boys) to or­gan­ise the renowned Gor­dons' Fete which he bragged in his lat­er years was "the best fete in the East back in those days."

His love for en­ter­tain­ing and the art of "fete­ing" would con­tin­ue on in­to the late 1980's as he would of­ten throw fetes in the yard of his Trinci­ty home, which would at­tract droves of friends and well-wish­ers to dance, "lime" and en­joy Ho­race's now-leg­endary "sweet hand" as a cook. Many an evening was spent at 159 Or­ange Grove Road with smil­ing faces all round, sat­is­fied mouths full of Ho­race's trade­mark dish­es (pelau, oil down, etc), and ul­ti­mate­ly the night would al­ways end with a eu­phor­ic Ho­race "beat­ing iron" in time to the ca­lyp­so records of the day as the DJ spun hit ater hit.

Ho­race's prowess as one of the best "iron men" of his day was al­so well known to those who loved him. Rarely would a j'ou­vert morn­ing or a Car­ni­val Tues­day pass with­out him mak­ing the iron per­cus­sion in­stru­ment sing in a steel­band some­where, be it in Port-of-Spain or (in more re­cent years), Tu­na­puna Car­ni­val.

Ho­race start­ed as a news re­porter at the Guardian and pro­gressed to sports writ­ing which al­lowed him to mar­ry his writ­ing skills with his life­long love for sport.

He was con­sid­ered one of the best sport writ­ers of his time�a fact he took great pride in.

His great­est sat­is­fac­tion was de­rived when he would scoop his ri­vals in the oth­er me­dia hous­es with a big sto­ry. He was a quin­tes­sen­tial in­ves­tiga­tive re­porter, whose knowl­edge of li­bel laws al­lowed him to tell the sto­ry be­hind the sto­ry, which up­set many sport­ing ad­min­is­tra­tors and helped many com­peti­tors. He was of­ten threat­ened with law­suits, which nev­er ma­te­ri­alised.

His cov­er­age of all the ma­jor sport­ing events and tour­na­ments in the west­ern hemi­sphere al­lowed him to trav­el ex­ten­sive­ly�yet an­oth­er as­pect of his pro­fes­sion­al life that he nev­er hes­i­tat­ed to proud­ly point out.

In ad­di­tion to the mighty mag­ic of his pen (or more specif­i­cal­ly his type­writer), Ho­race was al­so beloved by ath­letes, coach­es and oth­ers in the sport­ing world for the sheer flam­boy­ance of his per­son­al­i­ty and for be­ing the prover­bial life of the par­ty.

Even at some sport­ing events, he would bring out a bot­tle and spoon (in lieu of his trusty iron), and beat out a sweet rhythm loud­ly to lift lo­cal ath­letes' spir­its in the midst of a sport­ing event.

Ul­ti­mate­ly he be­came the Guardian's Sports Ed­i­tor�and one of the most fond­ly re­spect­ed in the Guardian's his­to­ry at that.

Many peo­ple ei­ther don't know or sim­ply can­not re­call, but Ho­race Gor­don was one of the first win­ners of the Trinidad and To­ba­go Sports Hall of Fame award for Sports Writer of the Year.

As a tes­ta­ment to his jour­nal­is­tic lega­cy, the Guardian print­ed a fi­nal farewell ar­ti­cle pay­ing trib­ute to Ho­race Gor­don. In it, the cur­rent Guardian sports ed­i­tor Valenti­no Singh de­scribed Ho­race as a very pas­sion­ate man, who was nev­er afraid to voice his views, adding that "the sport­ing world has lost an­oth­er stal­wart."

Any­one that knew Ho­race Gor­don knew that he was strong-willed, un­apolo­getic, and loud�in every sense of the word.

Ho­race leaves be­hind three broth­ers, 19 nieces and nephews, three chil­dren, eight grand­chil­dren, and three great grands thus far, to name just a few.

So with all of this said and done it is on­ly fair to end as this re­mem­brance be­gan�with the words of Ho­race's favourite Sina­tra:

"I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill, my share of los­ing

And now, as tears sub­side, I find it all so amus­ing

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way,

Oh no, oh no, not me....

I did it MY WAY"

May his soul rest in eter­nal peace.

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