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I was deeply saddened to learn of the passing of David “Aboolon” Joseph about a fortnight ago. Students of Saint Mary’s College (SMC) between the mid-1960s and early 1970s will forever remember David fondly, as he was a key contributor to the rich folklore that has clothed the College since its inception. Very early in David’s time at SMC, consensus had emerged among fellow students and teachers alike that academic excellence was not among his top priorities. His main interest was cars; but cars were not on the school’s syllabus. The closest thing to cars was metalwork which was taught in the Technical Wing by Mr. O. P. Jules, aka “Tet Shob.” While guys walked around with their French, Chemistry and Biology textbooks, David proudly carried car magazines in his perennially, oil-stained hands. That’s because after school, and on weekends, he helped in his father’s garage. His pre-occupation was helping fellow “car-natics” to get more pep from their car engines. David drove his way into SMC folklore with his frenetic driving, which he displayed before hundreds of his adoring fans, every weekday morning. It’s necessary to set the scene for David’s manifest madness. David’s open air theatre was the Vigie peninsular road that connects Vide-Bouteille and St. Mary’s College. Regular users of this road would know that it has not changed much since it was built centuries ago, save for major re-paving works which were done about 5 years ago, that has produced a smoother ride for motorists and a safer walk for pedestrians. It remains a single lane road that starts at its eastern end and runs westward, parallel to the airport runway for about a thousand metres, after which there is a slight incline, starting near what was once a fruit orchard owned by Harold Belizaire that often relieved our hunger. After another sharp right turn, there is a gentle climb for another 200 metres, before a slight decline at a 3-way road junction, near the entrance to the home of the Presentation Brothers. Thereafter, two sharp right turns beckon: the first, near the former Bachelor’s quarters, and the second between the tennis courts and the main school building that runs from north to south. Tucked at the southern end of that 50-metre stretch of road, is a mature tree. The wide verandah wrapped around both floors of the school building offered students an uninhibited view of the car races and broadsides that were being staged for our benefit by Aboolon and his sidekicks. Before it was renamed “Mandela Drive” after South Africa’s venerable President, Nelson Mandela in 1998, the 1200 metre section of the Drive, called the “Vigie Stretch” was the only part of the road that allowed one vehicle to overtake another. No sane person would contemplate racing on this part of the road. But Aboolon had long made it clear that he and sanity were not on good terms. On mornings, before the Presentation Brothers turned up, we would assemble on the top floor of the school to see Aboolon and his coterie of “mad hatters” –that included of Munir Tohme and Andre Wiliams—try to out-perform each other in races and broadsides. One afternoon, a broadside almost ended badly for David, as his car careened against the trunk of the tree at the southern end of the SMC road. After school, we would gather along Vigie Beach to watch David propel his souped-up Ford Cortina to its limits, before easing up on the accelerator, mere inches before the road’s end. It was always a mystery to me how these competitions went on for so long, before they were outlawed by the Brothers. Equally perplexing was that no one was badly hurt during these perilous events. David’s other love was as an avid creator and dispenser of mischief. He lived for the opening day of the school year, when he would dispense kalotts with all the joy of Santa Claus at a children’s Christmas party. For the rest of the school year, he would just saunter around, dishing out mischief with his belly-full laugh. Sometimes, he won’t laugh, which caused fellow sufferers like me to forlornly hope that boredom was setting in. Daivd’s mischief was steeped in laziness. Often, he would sit on a bench at the bottom of the stairs on the eastern side of the school building and stretch out a beefy leg. If you can’t see the mischief in that, neither did scores of us who, at the first peel of the lunch bell, ran down the stairs with our lunch boxes and flasks on our way “down the cliff.” I was an early casualty of David’s mischief. I was carrying a thermos flask filled to its brim with liquid custard. On falling, the flask broke into smithereens and licks from Mamma came tumbling after. She simply would not accept that anyone with a Christian name like David was capable of such Goliathan mischief. At that time, Mamma had not met David, and when she did, she would consider him a Saint sent directly from heaven. When I suffered a fractured skull in an accident on the Vigie Stretch on the morning of November 22, 1966, it was David who drove me to the hospital, reportedly at break-neck speed. It was probably a good thing that I was unconscious during that trip. Much later, a fellow Samarian Fessal A, who had cradled my bleeding head in his arms, shared his conviction that Boolon’s driving skills helped to save my life. About 20 years later, I was walking past a jacked-up car with an open hood on a quiet street in Oxford, UK, when my name rang out: “SPRINGER” I paused to see a beaming Boolon pull himself out from beneath the car. Naturally, we were thrilled to see each other. We spent the next hour in a nearby pub, reminiscing about the good ole days of races and broadsides.
