Wednesday, January 17, 2018

How language lives and culture travels*

Bert Sylvester was one of my hometown idols. He was a stand-out among our generation. They called him Slide, because he had James Brown’s signature skid across the stage down pat. He was part of a short-lived quartet led by my uncle, whose name was John, but who went by the sobriquet Nick. Obviously because living with one hand, he had mastered the art of the “nick” in the fast game among card jumbies known as Wappie. He had a good voice as well, among many varied talents.  He organised this singing group and named it The Unfortunates. They rehearsed for a short while in the living room in our house on the Oilfield Road, Los Bajos. 

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