My father was the last born child of Helen Sinclaire Fox and Frederick Gawthorpe Martindale Foggo weighing exactly 3 lbs., and infected with a flu virus. Mama Helen kept him at home in a cotton-lined shoe box which had previously held a pair of my grandfathers size 13 shoes. Each morning she rose more determined that he would survive. Accessing  a doctor's office for professional medical care in those early years was a luxury that few St. David's Islanders could not easily attain. While the hospital was centrally located, it was a long journey to travel by horse and carriage, or bicycle. considering the roads in Bermuda were unpaved. Automobiles had yet to be imported as in 1908 the Motor Vehicle Act had banned all but a few official vehicles and remained unchanged until abolished in 1946. 

I guess you could say my Daddy thought he was "royalty" since birth, having all his siblings watch over him, serving his every wish, responding to every whimper, laying there in that cushioned, softly lined shoe box with his loving mother observing their every move. He grew into a 6'2" tall, and handsome young man, with shiny black hair, deep blue eyes, and lovely tanned skin. He attended Eva Minors School, St. David's ad East End Elementary School to the 6th Standard. By this time, he was eager to start his apprentice with an uncle, Chesley Foggo, who was a Master Carpenter and boat builder. He learned quickly, and within a few short years became a Master Carpenter himself, choosing cabinet-making, as his speciality. He opened his own business, preferring to work with Bermuda's native cedar. He would fashion brooches in circles, or squares with a person's initial carved in the opening out of cedar wood  long before it became a popular item made locally for tourist sales.  He had vision at an early age. He had always been high spirited, adventuresome, and wanted nothing but the best.  My father had a delightful sense of humour and was well liked, and respected. His taste for the finer things in life frequently kept him away from his family more often than not. 

He worked for a while on the "Mid Ocean" tender which ferried passengers from the cruise ships to the Castle Harbour Hotel dock. Having both an appealing nature, and handsome appearance he later became a model for The English Sports Shop, one of the "in" places to purchase expensive clothing at the time, and showed off  their fine Scottish wool suits and coats, and wore fine silk shirts and handsome ties. Adorned with the best of leather shoes, he strutted his stuff. His statuesque appearance and his handsome face graced the newspapers at a very early age. His popularity had no boundaries as he was already an accomplished cricketer and well known over the island for his skills in this field as well as his carpentry work.

But, this was not enough. He thirsted to travel. With Mama Helen's encouragement and knowledge about the "big world out there", he was soon on his way to New York City, as well as to Chicago to visit his siter. This, too, was not enough to satisfy him, so he turned to the cruise ship industry as they were hiring crew from Bermuda. He applied for work on the cruise ships, and with his charm and ability to persuade, he was offered a position. A young man had to be at least 18 years old to be considered.
Daddy was thrilled to become an apprentice deck hand on The "Queen of Bermuda", one of the luxury liners that travelled to Bermuda, and away he went to see the world.  Soon, "The Bermuda Monarch" joined the weekly sailing schedule between New York and sometimes the New Jersey ports. He decided it was time to join as a crew member of the newer ship. He enjoyed meeting the wealthy passengers, the jet setters of their time, who were frequent visitors to Bermuda's shores.  A paradise and a playground for the rich and famous, and still remains so today. He wanted a part of that lifestyle eventually for his family. He stopped working the cruise ships because of sea sickness.

Daddy often collected artifacts in lieu of payment from the captains of other ships when he started his carpentry business. Using his chosen profession, he would put in extra  hours in order to prepare the ships to sail.  Because he could not buy these precious items, he would barter for whatever he fancied. He would then either sell these wonderful pieces or give them to family and friends as gifts. Sometimes my sister and I would end up getting a valuable treasure of our very own. My most prized piece is a Waterford finger bowl embezzled with a gold ship's wheel, from the Queen of England's yacht, "Britannica". It was offered as a "thank-you" to him after helping a crew member who nearly found himself unemployed. The crew member, who was on shore leave, was having such an enjoyable time at one of the local pubs that before he realized it he was not able to board before call. He had to spent the night in my Daddy's carpenter shop and early the next morning while my father kept the captain engrossed in conversation about repairs to the yacht, his mate was able to get onboard unobserved. The reason, my friends, for this particular cherished piece of tableware.  I have artifacts from ships from all corners of the globe which my father has given to me over the years. I cherish them and will eventually pass them on to my grandchildren.

He served in the Bermuda Malitia Artillary as a gunner from 1936-1942 during World War II and was also a cook and carpenter.

Mama Helen remained contended taking care of me while my father was away.  I will always remember how excited and happy I was when he returned home to see me. He would throw me up in the air and I would laugh, and squeal with delight and eventually hug him.  He always had a wonderful gift that I knew had come from far off shores. Something that no one else had on the island. My friends and I would "ooh" and "aah" over the unusual pieces of treasure. I soon decided to ask for specific gifts, and was desirous of owning more books, as they had become a passion in my life. Besides, it gave me a chance to read something new and different to my grandparents, who continually enjoyed the opportunity to learn new things. My Daddy once gave me a collection of poetry which contained two of the longest poems I had ever seen. I learned to recite them from memory and with great emphasis.  They were "The Charge of the Light Brigade" and "The Touch of the Master's Hand".  Soon there was heavy demand for me as an "Orator" at churches throughout the island. I recited these poems many times over, and each time, as I gained more confidence, I would add gestures and would bring people to tears with my ability, at such a very young age, to have mastered these extremely difficult pieces to memory. I had help though - my grandmother, she too, had put these two pieces to memory. For once she started to memorize the words - it became her passion for me to recite them to other people. She would proudly, and emphatically, tell folk that the book had been a gift from her youngest son to his first born. It was during one of these recitations that I met the Reverends Billy Graham and Jack Wurtzen, who ran the Word of Life Camp in up-State New York. At age 12, with Mama Helen's persistence, she and I invited 632 people to attend one of their tent meetings in the St. George's Town Square. They had come to hear me recite , but it turned out that there was a contest for the most people invited. The prize was a trip to the Word of Life Camp in the Adrondicks Mountains for two weeks. You guessed it. Mama Helen purchased me a lovely flowing pink dress, packed a small bag and had me at the airport before I could breathe. This was my first plane trip to the United States. The experience was awesome for in two days I had travelled by plane, bus, and boat to Schroon Lake, where I was to stay for those two weeks. I interacted with young Christian people from many walks of life. I had no fear of the unknown, I was not homesick. The realization hit me that my grandparents had been preparing me all of my life to be brave, open-minded and to grab the gold ring and go with it. God Blessed these two wonderful people, even though both could not read or write, with a gift for sharing and encouraging their young people to use their wings and fly.

On the homefront, all hopes that my mother may have harboured internally about a reunion with my father dissolved in her memory of him. It did not take a miracle for her to realize that this was the life he wanted to pursue. Eventually my father re-married a lady who had one son, Jack, who was the only brother I have ever known.

In later years my father worked for the Castle Harbour (now the Marriott Hotel in Bermuda) beginning as a porter and later became its in-house carpenter. For a time, he was employed by Percy Hinson at his carpenter shop on Queen Street in Hamilton. Not one used to working for others, he eventually turned back to his roots to earn a living at being both a commercial fisherman and a farmer. He also continued in the field of carpentry and cabinet-making. He had his tools which he very meticuously cared for over the years, but he had secured new machinery and equipment "for a song" he said, by bartering with the director and the film crew when they were finished filming a movie called "The Deep". The underwater scenes were shot in Bermuda and they wished to dispose of the machinery they used to build their film sets. My father was hired to assist with the carpentry work, and recognized the value of such expensive and sturdy equipment. With this new equipment, he again opened his own carpenter shop and did remarkably well in his later years. This shop was located  near the harbour which was an ideal spot to capture the attention of potential customers. A heavily travelled area by land, and by sea. Always ready to embark on a new venture he quickly saw another avenue to make extra money by exporting blocks of solid copper, which shined as bright as gold, to an agent in Canada.  My father would gather copper wire that had been discarded, such as old telephone cables, and would patiently strip away the outside insulation before melting the copper in huge black steel pots and pouring the boiling liquid into the ready moulds. 

 He came to live with me in the winter of 1997-98 for a few months.  I got to know him better as an adult, and I am pleased that he took time out to come and spend those months with me in the United States. The Winter months proved to be too cold for his liking, and he longed to return to his beloved Bermuda.  He was so homesick, he told me one day, "I want to go home to my native Bermuda", with great emphasis and a stump of his foot and a crash with his walking stick on the floor. That made me realize how serious he was and so we prepared him for his trip back to Bermuda. 

Today,  my father resides at the Yellow Roses Rest Home on St. David's Island which is owned by a cousin, Carlene (Minors) Griffith. She spoils him as though he were a king. Just as my grandmother had spoiled him as a child. My father assists with the chores around the home and enjoys preparing the rich "red dirt"; planting the roses; making flower beds; doing odd carpentry projects, and planting his beloved yellow sweet potatoes. He has continued to remain a "dapper gentleman", clean in his appearance and table manners, and will fuss when other residents do not eat properly at the table. He is an extremely vocal man, and never hesitates to voice his opinion. He loves to walk, and he travels each day by bus to St. George's where he sits in the Town Square and reminises with friends about the golden days of their youth. He is back near the wharf and the sea where the yachts, fishing boats and cruise ships sail in and out of the harbour. He has indeed returned to his roots and has come full circle - for he is a son of the soil - the Bermuda soil. His contributions are many and varied to Bermuda. Through his skillfully crafted cedar work he will be remembered. His work will be touched and admired for centuries to come.

 My father. Oliver Milton Martindale Foggo had led a full, productive, wonderful and exciting life. I know I can say and sing with delight and conviction, "he did it his way".

Oliver Milton Martindale Foggo, crossed over on December 13, 2002 and here is my tribure to him:

"And, then one day, I'll cross the river, I'll fight life's final war with pain; And then, as death gives way to victory, I'll see the lights of glory - and I'll know He lives."

Precious Daddy - fought the battle of life and left us to hold the future because life to him was worth the living.

Daddy never sat on his accomplishments. He wanted to do and give of himself right up to the end. His last days in the hospital were full of fun and laughter. Even there, he made himself known to the doctors, nurses, interns, visitors, and his roommates. There was laughter everyday in his room even though he and his roommates were seriously ill, but he never complained about illness, only wanting more candy, which he was not supposed to have. He talked about bubble baths and wanted my sister, Millie and I, to go up to 'heaven with him in the bubbles'. He said he and his doctor had made the trip and it was a wonderful place to go. These things he had visualized as he patiently waited for the Creator to come and take him to heaven.

My Daddy's contributions to Bermuda are many and varied because through his skillfully crafted Bermuda cedar work he will be remembered. His work can be touched and admired for centuries to come. He made Cedar doors, furniture, lamps, railings in the Bermuda banks and his innovative jewellery he had learned to craft as a young man. Just as the Cedar grows tall and strong, so did Oliver "Corker", "Sun", "Flu" Foggo. He had many nicknames.

Born with the flu, he survived the times of his birth even though modern conveniences were not readily available on St. David's Island during those years. With love and care he grew. His siblings served his every whim and watched over him and pampered him, as did his loving mother, Mama Helen. From this humble beginning he grew into a tall, strong man, who was naturally gifted in whatever he chose to do. He was a perfectionist, choosing to work methodically in his craft. The end results of his work was something to behold and much appreciated by his clients.

Oliver Foggo was a true St. David's Islander, a son of the soil, who was much steeped in folklore of his Native American ancestry. He never let his heritage be forgotten. He loved his parents and spoke with quality respect for both of them throughout his life. Even as an elder himself, he still referred to them as "Mama" and "Daddy". He never lost his focus in life and passed those strengths on to his two daughers, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

His heart would flood open when any family member came into his presence, for he was always happy to have us around him. Oh, he would grouch and growl about being ill, but he never wanted to be placed in a rest home, or to go to the hospital, and felt it was our duty to care for him at home. This was the way he was raised where the young would care for the elders, but modern times made it necessary for him to be hospitalized.

It was in the hospital where he passed quietly in the night after minor surgery. His death was unexpected and a shock to his family because a day earlier he had smiled up at us and winked those twinkling blue eyes signallng he was doing okay. It was not meant to be. The Creator had called his name.

I shall never forget the burst of song in St. Luke's Church when Rev. Alex Smith, the minister, announced that he would sing "My Way", a song made popular by Frank Sinatra. The words memoralized the way my father had lived his life. Two relatives, both musicians - CarolAnn Foley and her sister-in-law, played the organ and piano and the full church sang the song four times before they would stop, some with tears and some with smiles on their faces. Each time they started to sing the song over, it got louder and more meaningful to those participating. I know within my heart that they were remembering the fun type person my father had been. I knew in my heart also that they were remembering how he had led a full, productive, wonderful and exciting life. They sang with gusto and conviction that it was indeed a song that depicted the life of my Daddy.

My father chose creamation and his wishes were granted. He had spoken with my cousin Carlene about it when he was living at her rest home and she coveyed his wishes to me. On January 10, 2002, a windy, but somewhat warm day, his family rode on the Bermuda Government Pilot Boat six-miles out to sea and spread his ashes near the area where he was born, where he grew up and where the tide could bring his ashes into the St. David's Great Bay where he swam, fished, sailed and played as a young boy.

Daddy had come full circle and even though his choice was different than what others thought it should have been, his last wishes were granted and I think he is smiling down on us, pleased that he had the last word. All of his life he did it his way, and "his way" was his last wish. I dedicate the following to his memory:

A lthough things are not perfect B ecause of trial or pain C ontinue in thanksgiving D o not begin to blame E ven when the times are hard F ierce winds are bound to blow G od is forever able H old on to what you know I magine life without His love J oy would cease to be K eep thanking Him for all the things L ove imparts to thee M ove out of "Camp Complaining" N o weapon that is known O n earth can yeild the power P raise can do alone Q uit looking at the future R edeem the time at hand S tart every day with worship T o "thank" is a command U ntil we see Him coming W e'll run the race with gratitude X alting God most high Y es, there'll be good times and yes, some will be bad, but... Z ion waits in glory...where none are ever sad!

So long to our parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. Their lives were in not in vain. Their voices are not silent. Their teaching will not die. Their memories will live on.