Magetta Chantiloupe is currently residing in San Diego, California,

United States of America. After leaving Jamaica West Indies in

1967, she resided in New York for almost 30 years. She is a
Certified Financial Planner with the Certified Financial Planner
Board of Standards, a retired General Stock Broker with the
Financial Industry Regulatory Authority (FINRA), formerly
National Association of Securities Dealers (NASD) and Registered
Investment Advisor with the Securities and Exchange Commission.
She has four children two boys and two girls and nine
grandchildren, seven girls and two boys. Her hobbies are golfing
and tennis. She is an ardent opera lover, (she was offered to sit on
the board of the San Diego opera, but because of time constraint,
she had to refuse) symphony, plays music and the movies. She is a
world traveler. She has cruised the world, 41 of which were on the
CUNARD Line.

Also written by Magetta Chantiloupe

Iraq: The War That Shouldn't Be You Decide

Magetta Chantiloupe

DRIVEN: WHEN
OBSTACLES TAKE
CENTRE STAGE

Copyright Magetta Chantiloupe

The right of Magetta Chantiloupe to be identified as author of this
work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78
of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims
for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.

ISBN 978 1 78455 007 3

www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2014)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Acknowledgments
I would be remiss if I didnt thank my friend Mary Quigley for
her assistance with proof-reading my manuscript.
It is to my mother and father Lela and Raphael Chantiloupe,
my grandmother Margaret Strangh-Mahoney, and my four
children, Gilfoyle, Andrea, Widmark and Michelle that I
dedicate this book. I owe them a tremendous debt of gratitude
and they have made me proud. My parents (eventual) faith in
me (especially my mom) and their continued encouragement
throughout my life that I could be anything I wanted to be if I
put my mind to it, and my children whose cooperation
throughout my tumultuous tribulations and difficulties have
never wavered, have enabled me to achieve success. I especially
want to thank Gilfoyle and Andrea who inspired me to write my
memoir.
With all my love.
Pictures of Roger Flore and Maxine Waters are used with
written permissions.

New York
Leaving Jamaica
When I left Jamaica I was so distraught. I left everything behind
and eventually lost all my furniture and all my photographs,
including those of the children. I had packed some of my
clothing and the childrens clothing and toys. But I left all of the
household and furniture and appliances. I never realized that I
could have sold at least some of the furniture and appliances as
well as my beautiful wedding gown. I could have used the extra
money while I looked for a job.
When my husband went to the house the following day he
noticed that our clothing was missing. When he asked the
neighbour, Mrs Sharpe, if she knew where we had gone, she
told him I had left the country and the children were being
boarded out.
When my first child Gil was born, every month of his first
year a photographer came to the house and took his progress
pictures. I couldnt afford to do that for my other two children,
but we took quite a few pictures of them. Decades later when
my daughter Andrea needed a baby picture for a workplace
event, I was unable to produce one. I felt so bad that I started to
cry. It had never crossed my mind that I should have at least
taken all of my pictures.
This was a pivotal moment in my life. Any decision I made
could be critical. I recalled one of Grandma Lurrys comments:
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Moms advice: There is
nothing you cant do if you put your mind to it, and Nothing
good comes easy, also came to mind. My parents had taught
me to be self-reliant and I felt I had the necessary drive and
determination. But that didnt make the decisions I faced any
less difficult.
While in elementary school, I received a letter from Linda,
an elementary school student in Utah saying that her teacher

wanted her class to have pen pals from other countries. Her
teacher had provided them with a list of elementary schools
from various countries listing the names of the attending
students. Our school, the Richmond Elementary School, was on
the list. Linda had chosen my name Magetta because she
thought it was cute. Her letter was the beginning of a
correspondence that lasted for several years.
Now that I was leaving my husband and my mothercountry, I wrote to Linda asking her if she could send me a letter
of invitation to visit the US. I told her I would not be staying
with her because I would be traveling to New York where I
would be staying with my two sisters in Queens. Linda sent the
letter.
I then went to my boss, Dr Velasco, and told him that I was
planning to take my vacation and would like to visit the United
States and needed a letter to take to the American Embassy in
Kingston to apply for a visitors visa. An Argentinean, he
jokingly replied that if I were going to the United States to find
a husband I should find a South American. He then told me to
prepare a letter for his signature. The letter I drew up stated that
after my vacation I would return to my current employment. I
knew I could not get a visa if they suspected I might overstay
my visit. My letter also said: I would conduct myself with
utmost decorum while in the United States, and I would not
become a public charge. After he signed the letter I took it to
the American Embassy. I was granted a six-month visa. I then
called the person at Thomas Cooke who handled airline
reservations for Pan American Health Organization/World
Health Organization PAHO/ WHO and had him arrange my
reservation to America.

What to do with the children

My biggest fear was my children. Gil was six, Andrea five and
Mark two. I knew that if I left them with my parents they would
be well taken care of. However, I did not want to leave them in
New Hall where they would have to be taken out of Catholic

school and placed into a public school since there was not a
Catholic school within a reasonable distance from my parents
home. It was enough of a change for them to adjust to being
without their parents.
How would I find someone trustworthy enough to take care
of my three children while I was away? Just after I was married
we had rented a bedroom and bath from the Gouls family in
which we shared the kitchen. They were a nice quiet family with
two well behaved children, Cherry and Courtney. I contacted
them and they agreed to keep the children for me. I transferred
them to a Catholic school closer to their new home.
Contemplating leaving the children with strangers for an
indefinite length of time filled me with fear and trepidation. I
tried to explain to Gil and Andrea (Mark was too young to
understand.) why I was going to the United States. I told them I
would send for them as soon as I was settled. But deep in my
heart I was scared to death. I had no idea how things would
work out.
To say my feelings were divided when I dropped my
children off at the boarders would be an understatement. What if
I were unable to find an employer willing to file for a permanent
residency for me? What would happen to my children? What
would happen to them if several years went by and I was still
not able to bring them to the United States? And what if the
boarder decided not to keep them any longer? As I watched
them go into their new home, I cried.
Deciding to move to the United States and leave my
children behind was heart wrenching enough. My situation was
no more encouraging. What if I failed in my endeavor? What
gave me strength in this time of doubt was the realization that
failure could not be an option because if I failed so would my
children my failure would also be their failure. I was well
aware of the steps I was about to take, but I never wavered in
my resolution.
I faced what seemed an incredible opportunity. However, I
appreciated the fact that, practically speaking, not many options
were open to me. I needed to make a fresh start. I felt I did not
have that option if I stayed in Jamaica.

A few days after leaving my children in their new home, I

boarded a Pan Am flight to the United States. I was beginning a
new journey; a new chapter in my life. I was setting out to face
the unknown, and to encounter new customs and cultures.
Nonetheless, I cried throughout the flight. This was my first
time on an airplane and I was scared sick. I trembled throughout
the flight. While holding my silverware, I heard the couple
beside me remarking about how much my hands trembled.
My mind was as nervous as my hands. I could not stop
asking myself: Am I making the right decision leaving my
children thousands of miles away in the hands of strangers?
What if they needed me and I wasnt there to help them?
Will the strangers treat them as their own or will they be
treated like orphans? What if they became ill or were abused
how would I know? The flight seemed as if it would never end.
Three and a half hours later, the plane touched down at JFK
International Airport in New York. It was the spring of 67, I
was still in my twenties and I felt a stranger in a strange land.

Seeing my sisters
Two of my sisters had preceded me to the United States.
Yvonne, a younger sister, was the first to visit the United States.
Pamela, an older sister, was next. I got off the plane, collected
my luggage and was met by Pamela and Yvonne and Linda and
Bonnie, two other friends from Jamaica. Bonnie drove me to
Yvonnes place in St Albans where I would stay temporarily
with Yvonne, her husband Robert, her son, and my sister
Pamela until I found a job and my own place. Their first bit of
advice was that I needed to get a job with a family willing to
sponsor me as a permanent resident. After I accomplished this, I
would need to go to the Immigration office in Manhattan a
month before my visa was to expire and apply for a visa
extension.

Finding work and getting around

A Jamaican friend of mine, Grace, had moved to the United
States several years earlier as a domestic helper. Later she
brought her family to the US. She knew potential resident
procedures very well and would guide me through the
employment process and the visa process and showed me how
to navigate the subway system.
The following day, she took me to an employment agency in
Forest Hills, Queens. The agency specialized in finding
domestic live-in work for non-resident aliens looking to be
sponsored within a reasonable period of time. They found me
work in Forest Hills, Queens. Sonya and David headed a family
of six two boys and two girls. The kids ranged in ages from
one to fifteen years old. They agreed that they would sponsor
me as a domestic helper. If the paperwork went through
smoothly it would give me the permanent resident status I
wanted and would allow me to eventually bring my children to
the United States.
To get to Forest Hills from St Albans, I had to take a bus
and a subway. Getting around in this way was new to me the
subway was especially daunting. In Jamaica I always travelled
by car or bus. I was overwhelmed and fearful of getting lost and
ending up in some strange far-away place. Grace took me on a
trial run to make sure I took the right numbered bus; transferred
to the right subway; and then got off at the correct subway
station. There was no bus service from the subway to my
employers house so I waited there for my employer to pick me
up.
The first day I was petrified. My employer was very
considerate. Their children were well-mannered. I was given
only a few rules to follow. One was that I was instructed to wear
my uniform whenever I left the house with the children.
To supplement my income from the full-time domestic
work, I worked on my off days. I arranged with the agency to
send me out, one day a week, to work as a house cleaner. One
day I was sent to Flushing, Queens to do a day job. After getting
off the train, I could not find the place. It was in the dead of

winter. I wasnt properly dressed for winter and the stiff biting
winds penetrated my clothes. I was wearing a dress and opentoe shoes and did not have a pair of gloves or earmuffs. My legs,
hands and feet felt frozen. Eventually, I gave up. I took a train
back to the Forest Hills subway station and called my employer
to pick me up. When I got there my legs were frozen and blue.
They took me to their doctor. He said I had arthritis. I stayed in
bed for several days before feeling well enough to move about.
My employers took very good care of me while I was sick. I am
still grateful to them.
It was a while before I bought a pair of closed shoes. I was
sending most of my salary to my home country to pay for the
childrens boarding and tuition. I bought their clothing and
shipped it to Jamaica.

Missing the Children

Despite feeling more comfortable in my new country I missed
my children terribly. I would lie in bed at night crying my heart
out thinking about my children. I didnt know if they were
eating properly, dressing properly, or attending school as they
should. Mark was less than two years old. He was living without
a mother or a father to tuck him in at night or to console him
when he had a bad dream. Gil and Andrea, though a little older,
were still too young to understand what was happening and why
their parents were not there with them. I imagined they had no
one to talk to when they came home from school or to help them
with their school work.
Although their father knew where they were staying, he
never once went to see them. He moved in with his girlfriend.
After a while he quit the insurance business. He opened an
accounting firm and later a brassier factory. Although he
became financially wealthy, he made no effort to support our
children.
I was never one to wear my heart on my sleeve. I made it a
point not to discuss any of my personal problems with anyone. I
didnt even talk about my problems with my mother, my sisters,

or my friends. I kept my feelings, my fears and my hurt inside.

My sisters say I am too secretive. They are probably right.
I had trouble sleeping at night. It was so bad that one of my
sisters suggested I take a nightly over-the-counter sleeping aide.
As the months passed, I got adjusted to my new
environment. I got along very well with my new family
including the children. I would regularly watch television with
them. Everything was going well with my employer. One day I
decided to take the baby with me to the store. Someone saw me
and called Sonya at work to tell her. When she came home she
instructed me not to go on the street ever again without my
uniform. That was the only time she corrected me during the
time I worked for her.
For me this was a strange existence. After having domestic
maids take care of my children in Jamaica, I was now a
domestic maid in the United States. Nonetheless, I had always
treated my domestic helpers with respect and was now treated in
kind. I strongly believe that what goes around comes around.

Deciding to Stay in the US

At the first opportunity, Grace took me to see a lawyer who
specialized in filing permanent residency paperwork. He
contacted my employer and proceeded with the filing. I later
learned that I didnt have to work as a domestic. I could have
immigrated as a secretary or administrative assistant and I could
have applied directly to the American Consulate in Jamaica. A
few years later when my sister Winnet was moving to the States,
I recommended that she use these approaches. I had become so
well informed about permanent residency matters that I also
advised some of my other friends. Several years later when I
needed help finding a place to stay, one of those whom I helped
with US residency came through for me. I was reminded of
Grandma Lurrys remark: If you cast your bread on the water
you will receive it after many days.
It was now the winter of 1967. Jamaica had gained its
independence from Britain five years earlier. But the country

was still in turmoil. Michael Manley from the Peoples National

Party had just become Prime Minister. He said he wanted all of
the capitalists out of the country. Many feared Jamaica would
become a communist country. Many tried to leave the country.
Citizens were allowed to take $50.00 Jamaican out of the
country. Business owners trying to leave the country with cash
hidden in briefcases were caught and put in jail. I was in a
capitalist country, separated from my children, and I was
concerned.
But I was also afraid of the United States because it was still
having racial tensions. Martin Luther King had been
assassinated. On that day, because people were rioting all over
the country, my employer sent me home to St Albans where I
was staying with my sisters on my weekends. Two months later,
just after he received the Democratic presidential nomination,
Robert Kennedy was assassinated. It was truly a scary time in
my life living in a foreign country where major assassinations
occurred so close to each other.
A part of Kings prophecy came to life in 2008 when
America elected its first black president in history. But that
didnt stop the hatred and bigotry. Obamas opponents were
quick to fabricate charges regarding his birth certificate and call
him an illegitimate president.
I had been in the country close to six months and my visas
expiration date was rapidly approaching. My sponsorship still
had not come through, and I could not afford for it to expire, so
I took the train to the immigration office in downtown
Manhattan and applied for an extension. My friends said I
should tell the interviewer that the reason I was asking for an
extension was that I had never seen snow and would like to stay
in the country to see a snowy winter. I was given a form to be
completed. The interviewer wanted to ascertain if I had been
working illegally or if I was planning to work. I gave them a
copy of the letter from my Jamaican employer stating that I
would be returning to Jamaica to resume my position as a
secretary/administrative assistant at the World Health
Organization. I was given a six-month extension. I was ecstatic,

thanked the interviewer, and left. In the meantime my attorney

was filing my application for a permanent visa.
My application for permanent residency was finally
approved in 1968. I would need to go back to Jamaica for a final
interview with the American Embassy and to get my green card.
A friend of mine heard that I was going back to Jamaica. She
asked me to take the baby of a friend of hers to Jamaica. The
mother was on a temporary visa and if she left the country she
might not have been able to get another visitors visa. The baby
seemed less than six months old. I met the mother and baby at
the airport and took the baby.
When I arrived in Jamaica, my sisters husband, Calvin,
who was still waiting for his permanent visa, came to pick me
up at the airport. When he saw me with the baby in my arms he
thought it was my baby. Later he said, I was so disappointed. I
couldnt believe you were so bad-lucky to have a child when
you were trying to get your life in order. The babys
grandmother was waiting at the airport to take the child away. I
have never heard from that family since that day.
I went to the American Embassy in Kingston and was
granted a permanent visa. I felt so relieved. It felt as if a heavy
burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I could now freely visit
my children; bring them up for visits; and ultimately file for
their permanent residency.
After my successful interview at the American Embassy I
remained in Jamaica for two weeks. I took the children to the
movies, to the park, to dinners and the beach and to visit my
family in New Hall. They had been well taken care of. The
daughter, Cherry, spent a lot of time with them. She made sure
they did their homework, and so on. Apart from missing me, my
children never had any complaints.
But the time had come to again leave the children in
Jamaica and return to the United States. Again my heart was
heavy. I didnt want to leave them but had no choice. I had
promised to work for David and Sonya for another year after
receiving my visa. I had to go back to the United States to fulfil
my obligation with them. My children didnt want me to leave
them again.

When I returned, we talked about my children how they

missed me and I them. Sonya knew that I had suffered many
sleepless nights because at night she heard me crying in my
room. I think they felt sorry for me leaving my young children
so far away with strangers. I couldnt call my children because it
was too expensive. After about four months, Sonya told me she
believed it would be best for me to find a job as a secretary. She
said she was letting me go. At first I was disappointed because I
needed the money, but it didnt take me long to realize she was
thinking of what was best for my children and me. I was grateful
to her for being so kind and considerate.
But now I was without a job or a home.

Confrontation
Realizing it might take some time before I found a job, I thought
this would be as good a time as any to try and find and take my
estranged husband to court for child support. Clifford was one
of the capitalists Michael Manley had referred to when he took
over the country. Clifford and his girlfriend were now living in
the United States.
While trying to locate him, I received a call from a friend
telling me that Clifford was living in New York and that my
former neighbour from Pembroke Hall in Jamaica ran into him
in downtown Manhattan. Clifford had told him that he was
working at City Bank on Wall Street. I immediately went to a
legal stationery store, picked up a divorce form, typed it up,
went to Queens Supreme Court and filed for child support and a
divorce. My brother Beck, who had moved to the United States
and was sharing an apartment in the Bronx, served the papers on
him. When he saw Beck he asked if he were looking for a job.
Beck handed him the summons to appear in court and left.
At the court hearing, Clifford explained to the judge that he
was barely making enough money to take care of his expenses.
He offered $25 per month child support for three children. The
judge replied that he had two children, and $25 cannot buy milk
for a month for two children. The judge ordered him to pay $75

per month, but he never even paid the $25 per month that he
said he could afford.

Finding employment and a place to live

I needed to find a job as quickly as possible. Besides my daily
expenses, I had many financial obligations, including all the
money required to pay for boarding the children, their clothing
and school tuition. I also needed a place to live. I had been
staying with Yvonne but she said I could not stay there any
longer. My ex-husbands aunt, Francis, had an apartment house
in Brooklyn. She rented me a room on the third floor. However,
part of the deal was that I would have to find some place to stay
on the weekends. Yvonne allowed me to continue to spend
weekends with her and her family.
Job-wise, my first priority was to find a professional resume
purveyor. I contacted someone in Manhattan. He offered to
write my resume and update it as many times as I wished for a
one-time charge. He went step by step over my job experiences
and developed a very impressive resume leaving out my
domestic job. Armed with my resume, I set out to find
employment as a secretary or administrative assistant.
Despite what I thought to be an excellent resume, and
despite having sent it to dozens of companies, my employment
search was futile. I was interviewed several times, but was
repeatedly rejected because I did not have any New York
experience. Despite acing aptitude tests, the rejections
continued.
There was another obstacle. No one wanted to hire a single
woman with three children. I lied and said that I didnt have any
children. I had to lie if I were ever going to find a job that would
enable me to support my children back home. Sometimes I
tripped up during a conversation and mentioned my children in
Jamaica.
Eventually, I found an agency that specialized in placing
secretaries and administrative assistants. They found me a job as
a secretary with Eppinger Furniture, a store in downtown

Manhattan owned by a father and his two sons. The salary was
low, but it was my first secretarial job in the United States. Now
I could add New York secretarial experience to my resume.
The three men argued and yelled all the time. They yelled at
each other and they yelled at the other employees but not at
me. I believe they realized I could not tolerate yelling. I was one
of three secretaries in the office. One of them said to me one
day, You speak too softly. People will take advantage of you.
One day she said, If its the last thing I do before I quit this job,
I am going to teach you to yell. My soft voice probably saved
me from being yelled at. I worked for the company for about a
year. Before that year was out, and with my New York
experience I decided to look for a better- paying job.

Living in Two Places

Living in two places could be a challenge.
Yvonne, her husband Robert, their son Robbie and Pamela
had moved to Rosedale, Queens and I was staying with them on
the weekends. One Saturday night on my way from Brooklyn to
Rosedale I was caught in a blizzard. When I got off the train, the
busses were not running and only a limited number of taxis were
on the streets. I got in the last taxi going to the SpringfieldRosedale area. We got stuck in the snow. I could have walked
home from there but I didnt know that I was very close to my
bus stop because the darkness, strong winds and heavy snow
made it impossible for me to see the signs. Nonetheless, I
wanted to walk home. But the driver would have nothing of it.
He said I would freeze to death. Since I was not sure how far we
were from the house, he insisted that we wait out the snow in
the taxi a Lincoln Town Car. He was smart enough to keep the
gas tank full, and he kept the engine running until the next
morning when the snow plough came by. Then he took me back
to the train station where I waited for a bus to Rosedale. People
at the train station didnt believe that we had camped in the car
overnight. The driver never asked me to pay a fare or to help
with the gas. He was such a gentleman.

One Saturday, when I arrived at my sisters house for the

weekend, she told me that I couldnt stay there anymore. Once
again, I was without a home. I could not find words to describe
my feeling of loss and desperation. With nowhere to go, I
decided to bite the bullet and went back to Francis to plead
with her to allow me to stay with her for a little until I could find
a place to live. When I got back to Brooklyn and knocked on the
door, Francis was furious. She didnt want to let me in. But I
insisted because I had nowhere to go and she acquiesced. When
Yvonne and Francis said that I couldnt stay at their homes
anymore I felt lost, lonely and sad in the world.
A few days later she said she would be gone away for the
weekend. That Saturday I got the shock of my life. In the middle
of the night a man came in my room and tried to suffocate me. I
am a very light sleeper and heard footsteps, but when I looked
up I saw him coming down on my face with a pillow. I
screamed, waking the fourth-floor tenant who came down. We
called the police. They arrived but did very little, except to take
down the information I gave them.
When Francis came back I told her what happened. She
described a young man to me who matched the description I had
given the police and asked me if that was the person. I assumed
she had staged the incident to get me to leave.
Once again I was forced to stay with Yvonne, Bob, Pamela
and Robbie while I looked for a place to live. Again I
remembered my grandmother Lurry saying we should always
try to do good because whatever we do will come back to us. I
started brainstorming. I called Eva, a friend whom I had
coached through her permanent residency. I wanted to know if
she knew anyone who could rent me a room. I told her that I had
to move from Brooklyn and needed desperately to find a place.
She knew a couple in Laurelton, Queens who rented rooms to
single women. Ernie and Ivan did not have children, so I guess
that was their way of helping others. Eva introduced me to them,
and they agreed to rent me a room. They had two other young
ladies, Pat and Una, renting from them as well. Within days I
moved in.

With my office job at Eppinger Furniture, my evenings were

free for me to continue my education.
Because I had dropped out of school after junior high I
needed to get a GED certificate. I enrolled in Martin Van Buren
High School in Queens. It was about seven miles from my
apartment. On class evenings I rushed home from work;
grabbed something to eat; then dashed off to catch the bus to
school.
It was winter which didnt make school any easier.
Sometimes I was frozen and exhausted waiting to catch the bus.
It didnt help that I didnt have proper winter attire. It was a
long time before I bought myself a pair of winter boots.
However, I persevered.
Once I started taking the classes for my GED, I realized that
I didnt hate Math after all. I had no problem learning algebra
and was able to pass the GED examination on the first try. I
came to the conclusion that the reason I had hated Math was
because I was petrified of the teacher who used to beat me in
junior high.
I passed my GED exam in 1970. In 1971 I enrolled in La
Guardia Community College in Queens. I wanted an Associate
Management Degree.

Expanding my New York Experience

With New York experience on my resume, I decided to find a
better-paying job. I started job hunting by going on interviews
during my lunch hour and after work. I landed a job in mid-town
Manhattan in the Pan Am Building on Park Avenue working for
Parsons and Whittemore, an engineering company, as a
secretary in their secretarial pool. I was assigned to an engineer,
Mr Blair. I had to type his reports. It was a very detailed,
painstaking and challenging job. I had to use the typewriter to
manually create a type of spreadsheet. He always commended
me on my work and said he was amazed that I could catch and
correct his errors. Mr Blair told the secretarial pool supervisor
that he wanted me to type all of his work.

One day, a Jamaican by the name of Janet Martin joined our

secretarial pool. Since she also lived in Queens, we would take
the train together after work. We became very friendly. One day
a report of Mr Blairs was given to Janet. Janet came to me and
said: Magetta, since you know how to type his reports, could
you show me how to do it? I helped her set up the report on the
typewriter and thoroughly described to her what Mr Blair
needed. When he received the completed work he went over to
thank Janet. He said that the only person in the secretarial pool
who did that kind of work was Magetta. Janet said she could not
take complete credit for it because I helped her. He said he
considered my work a trademark quality.
The Chief Executive Officers secretary was out on an
emergency two-week leave. He needed a secretary to fill in for
her. He asked for the best secretary in the pool. I was sent to his
office. I worked for him until his secretary returned. Despite my
expertise, accomplishments and commendations, I never got a
raise. I asked my supervisor for a raise several times to no
avail.
I like to be challenged on the job. If a job doesnt continue
to hold my attention I have to move on. I was getting bored in
the secretarial pool. I wanted a job as a private secretary one
that would pay me a better salary. Although not one to wear my
heart on my sleeve, my discontent must have shown.
One day the pool supervisor approached me. She asked me
if I had anything to tell her. I said, No. Later she said again,
Do you have anything to tell me? Again I replied, No. She
looked at her watch and said, Remember this date and time.
Remember you said you have nothing to tell me. I repeated that
I had nothing to tell her.
During that time I was looking for another job. She must
have heard. A week later I handed her my resignation and two
weeks notice.

Private Secretary
The job I had landed was as a private secretary with M&T
Chemicals, Inc., a subsidiary of American Can Company. M&T
Chemicals main office was in Rahway, New Jersey. However,
they also had an office in American Can Companys building on
Park Avenue in New York. I would work for Robert, the
manager for proprietary chemicals, in the International Division.
M&T manufactured specialty and non-specialty chemicals for
export to Europe, South America, South Africa, West Africa,
Asia, the Middle East and the Mediterranean.
I was one of three private secretaries: one served Buzz
Cuntz, the Vice President; one David Lurie, the Manager for
Non-Proprietary Chemicals; I worked for Robert Benner, the
Proprietary Chemicals Manager. Along with my job at the
World Health Organization, this was one of my most rewarding
jobs and my most rewarding job to date in the United States. I
learned a lot about chemicals and dealt with customers in
person, by telephone, by written correspondence and by telex.
After working at M&T for several years, Buzz retired. The
Vice President position was given to Richard Campbell, a
person from American Cans home office in Greenwich,
Connecticut. Although meeting customers face-to-face was very
important for the company, Buzz didnt like to travel overseas
and very seldom left the country instead relying on the
telephone and the few customers who would visit us. Richard
loved to travel. He kept Buzzs secretary Sylvia until she retired.
Then I became his secretary. Upon returning from each trip, he
would give me a broad outline of his report which I had to
arrange, consolidate and type for him to review before
forwarding to our home office in Rahway, New Jersey.

A Great Place to Work

M&T Chemicals was a great place to work. Our office consisted
of ten people. Four worked in the shipping department. The
secretaries were particularly close. We celebrated birthdays by
taking the birthday lady to lunch at Patricia Murphys

Candlelight Restaurant, an upscale restaurant in midtown

Manhattan. The men covered the phones while we took these
two-hour lunch breaks. Ana, my co-worker, arranged a baby
shower for me at this restaurant when I was expecting my
daughter Michelle. One day Ana said she was taking me out to
lunch before I went on maternity leave. When we got to Patricia
Murphys, all of the staff was there including the company Vice
President. Robert, my boss at the time, pinned a corsage on my
dress. I still have the picture Ana took of me with a surprised
look on my face and the picture of my boss pinning the corsage
on my dress.

As a subsidiary of American Can Company, we had

virtually the same benefits as our parent company and some
great Christmas parties!

The Children Come Home

No sooner had my life started to find some semblance of order I
began to get news that my children were being neglected. I
again turned to Eva. I asked her if she had friends back home
who might take care of the children until I could bring them to
the United States. She said her friend Peggy Richard had three
small children close in age to my children and that her mom
Ruby McFarlane lived with her and was taking care of the
children. She said she would ask Peggy if her mom would take
care of my children as well. She agreed. It was a blessing. In
2003, I heard that Peggy was visiting relatives in Del Mar, San
Diego. I went and picked her up, took her to my house so that I
could spend some quiet time telling her how much I appreciated
what she and her mom did for my children. I took her to The
French Market Grill for lunch, then took her shopping before
taking her back to Del Mar.
I wanted the children to visit me at least once per year.
However, it was too expensive for me to go and fetch them each
time. One morning on my way to work, I met a woman named
Clover at the bus stop. I discovered she worked in the same
building for Pan American Airlines. Because we both took the
same bus and subway to the city, we saw each other almost
every morning. One morning there was no air conditioning on
the train. It was extremely hot. I am not accustomed to extreme
heat because where I grew up in Jamaica the weather was
generally mild. Suddenly, I felt faint. I remember saying,
Clover! Im going to faint. She grabbed me just as I was going
down. Someone gave me a seat. She took me off the subway at
the next stop, went to the pharmacy, and bought me a bottle of
smelling salts. I kept this bottle for years and years and would
take it with me every time I took the subway. Since then I try to
avoid trains that do not have air-conditioning.
During one of our conversations, I told Clover that I had left
my children in Jamaica. She said she could bring them up for
me whenever I wished as well as take them back. All I would
have to pay was the tax that Pan Am charged her to fly. I
remembered how I had once taken a baby to Jamaica for a lady

that I did not know now a stranger was extending the same
kindness to me. It was wonderful being able to see my children
more often. Clover and I became very good friends. When I got
married to my second husband, her husband Eddy gave me
away. She was my matron of honour and became godmother to
my daughter, Michelle.
I wanted to bring one child a year to the United States. It
would be difficult for me to have all three of them here while I
worked, and it would be much cheaper to keep them in Jamaica
while they were young. Gil, the oldest, came first. I found a onebedroom apartment for us. Located in Laurelton, Queens, it had
a dining and living room. I furnished it with a bed and a
convertible sofa bed.
I noticed that Gil was constantly sucking his thumb and
pushing his nose up with his other fingers so much it seemed he
was pushing his nose out of shape. I tried everything that I could
to get him to stop. I felt this bad habit was my fault that it was
a way for him to compensate not having had a mother or a father
for three years. I knew he was uncomfortable with his nose out
of shape, but he never complained. After he graduated from
high school, I was able to have his nose fixed.
I thought it would be better to bring Mark to New York
next. I believed it would be easier to have two boys together
than a boy and a girl. However, now I think I should have
brought my daughter first. An eight-year-old girl especially
needs her mother to guide and comfort her. It pained my heart to
send her back without her siblings. I could see the hurt in her
delicate face every time she was sent back alone.
Eventually, I brought Andrea home. When I explained to
her why it took me so long to keep her here, she said that she
would have been happy to have slept in the bathroom. It broke
my heart when she said that. Having been born and raised in
Jamaica, West Indies, in a family with ten siblings, I can
imagine how she felt being left alone in Jamaica. I was always
being pitted against the others and more often than not I would
end up being the loser.

New Hall: The Early Years

Childhood in Jamaica
I was born fifth in a family that would ultimately number
thirteen. My Uncle Horatio, while visiting from the Cayman
Islands, gave me the name Magetta. (I am aka Molly and
Maggie.) The name Magetta ultimately became my ticket to the
United States.
World War II meant that almost everyone in our community
faced poverty and deprivation. Yet despite those hard times, my
parents told us that we could be anything we wanted to be if we
put our minds to it. Little did I know how valuable this lesson
would be to me years later when I was abandoned by two
husbands and had to raise four children on my own.
Ultimately, my parents were the embodiment of what I
would become. Plato said the direction in which education starts
will determine the future.
We had no modern facilities. We had no running water.
Before my father built a water tank, we carried water in buckets
on our heads from Mount Nelson several miles away. Before my
father installed the pressure pump, we used a bucket tied to a
rope to draw the water from that tank. One year we had a
terrible drought. The water in the tank ran low. Everyone in the
district suffered from the drought, especially the cattle. As the
drought worsened, trucks would deliver water to our district
every couple of days.
We all had to take care of the animals. It wasnt an easy job.
Our property was divided into areas for the animals and for
vegetable cultivation. Although most were kept in a pasture, a
few of the milking cows were tied to stakes near the house so
that they would be convenient to get to and would not wreak
havoc with adjoining endeavours. Reaching the rest required a
three-mile walk to the pasture carrying water in eight-gallon

buckets. We milked the cows by hand. I liked the sound of the

milk shushing into the bucket. To pasteurize the milk, we boiled
it. In addition to the animals, there was soil to be tilled, seeds to
be planted and produce to be harvested.
We had no electricity. The electric company was installing
electricity in the area, but wouldnt reach our house for several
years. We used Jack-O-Lantern hurricane lamps and flashlights
for light. We did our cooking on a wood-burning stove built by
my father.
Growing up in Jamaica with so many siblings was not easy.
Because Mom was busy having children, helping Dad with the
farm and running a dress-making business, I had to help with
the cooking. I started cooking at age ten. I washed the floors on
my hands and knees using a water bucket and a piece of cloth.
After I had finished the washing I polished the floor with a
coconut-husk brush.
Going to school didnt just involve getting up in the
mornings. Housework, tending to the animals and feeding the
chickens had to be done both before school and when I returned
from school. I dont remember much about my initial school
days. I do know that the four-mile trip to school could be a
challenge.
While I was in junior high, Pamela broke her arm. She was
in a cast for six weeks. My parents took me out of school for
those six weeks so that I could take over her household tasks
and assist her with her cast.
I returned to school with misapprehension, fear and
trepidation. When I returned, Dexter, a class mate, asked me
about my broken arm. That was how I discovered the excuse my
parents had used to keep me home. During those six weeks I
was not able to do any school work. Now I was unable to catch
up to the other children.
My biggest problem was with Math. Furthermore, I was
petrified of my Math teacher who would hit me with a belt. The
more difficult the Math problems were for me, the more
frequent her beatings. She used the belt to beat me in the palm
of my hand. She would say, Put your hand out. If I didnt put
my hand out quickly enough she hit me across my back. I

dropped out of school after junior high. However, I love English

and world history. My English teacher was from the United
Kingdom and she was a great teacher.
My parents teaching and example was my best teacher.
Their experience and knowledge enabled me to meet the many
challenges that I would face. From them I learned that no
challenge or setback would prevent me from overcoming
adversity or achieving the things I set out to accomplish. Had it
not been for their foresight and had I not taken a page from their
lives, my life and the lives of my children could have been
disastrous. Because of my parents, what were obstacles were
now lessons that would test my resolve.

My Parents
My parents had little education. They provided for us by
working the fields and raising livestock. My mothers
dressmaking occupation supplemented the farm income. My
mom was a great clothes designer. She was always in demand.
She put a lot more time into making the clothes than she
charged for them. At times she would let me use the sewing
machine to do some of the stitching for her.
My father couldnt afford to pay someone to help with the
cultivation, so he instituted what he called the Morning Sport.
Morning Sport consisted of the neighbours spending several
hours helping on the farm. In return, Dad provided them with
lunch. Soon everyone had their own Morning Sport.
My father was a resourceful man. He built our house and all
of our furniture. The house was sturdy. A very bad hurricane
one year failed to damage the house.
I was always a curious girl. I watched my dad while he
worked and learned the name of every tool he used. I even
learned a little about electric wires. Decades later when I needed
a thermostat installed in my house and couldnt afford to pay an
electrician, I installed it myself.
While struggling financially to provide for us, Mom would
say: We are trying to make ends meet. My father, would take

another tack, reminding us we should wear knee-covers because

of the amount of praying we should be doing on our knees to
give thanks to God for what we had.
There werent many jobs to be found except for farming.
Most people did their own. Public transportation was almost
nonexistent so it was difficult to get to Mandeville to find jobs.
Although there were no manufacturing companies in our area, in
Mount Nelson there was a dairy farm where some jobs could be
found. Despite the hardship, my father was a very proud man,
but never too proud to do any menial jobs to support his family.
He always wore a gold pocket watch and used a Watermans
fountain pen. Every year the dairy farm hired workers to harvest
the hay and my father would be one of the first there to get a
job. All of us helped bag the hay, including my mother.
My dad earned a bit of money as an organizer and speaker
for the Jamaica Labor Party. He travelled throughout our
constituency making campaign speeches. He would go wherever
his services were needed. Elaine took shorthand notes of my
fathers speeches and typed them for him so that he could
review what he had said and make adjustments for the next
speech. She was considered one of the fastest shorthand takers
and typists around.
After every campaign speech my dad would tell us about the
people he met and how he was threatened by some. He told us
time and time again that politics is dirty and you cant be too
careful because you never know who will attack you. There
was a man running to be prime minister who was found dead.
The report was that he was a somnambulist and fell out a
window while walking in his sleep. However, the consensus of
opinion was that he was pushed. My fathers words rang true
today. I remembered when, in 2010 after the Health Care plan
was approved, some Congress members who voted for the plan
were threatened and their offices shot at. On January 8, 2011 my
fathers words again came to mind when Arizona Democratic
Representative Gabrielle Giffords was hosting her first
Congress on Your Corner speech in Arizona, when she was
shot in the head and critically wounded and six others were
killed.

One night after a meeting my father had to take the back

roads home to avoid a threatened attack. Years later, faced with
a bitter divorce and custody battle, I did a similar thing to ensure
my safety and that of my children when I avoided my hostile
husband. My fathers political influence has been profound even
though my political involvements have been mostly from the
sidelines.
For my father there was a connection between religion and
politics. After a campaign meeting where my father campaigned
for Victor Bailey, a school teacher from Kingston, they sang, I
must have my Saviour with me for I dare not walk alone. I
sometimes find myself singing that song when I feel helpless
and alone or when it appears as if the whole world is caving in
on me.
Dad eventually became a delegate for the Labor Party in our
constituency. This position allowed him to select a number of
people to go to the United States as crop pickers. Because jobs
were scarce, people came to him asking for help from the Labor
Party. Every year, when the United States crop growers needed
people to harvest their crops, my dad was able to help many
families.
For the most part our family was self-sufficient. We grew a
wide range of crops. We even raised rabbits that we used for
stew. After leaving home, I never had rabbit stew again until my
first trip to Paris. We even grew and processed coffee and
chocolate for our personal use. Almost everything we grew, we
consumed. Later, we sold some of it. Mom made our clothes.
Food sales offset some of her clothing material expenses.
It was hard growing up in the 1940s because of the Great
Depression of 1929 which lasted into the 1940s and was
compounded by World War II. My mother said the expression
War is hell. so many times that I picked up the expression. I
dont have the stomach for blood and gore, so when I watched
our young men and women being injured and killed in the Iraq
War of 2003, I felt like my heart was being torn apart. I wrote a
book about it: Iraq: The War That Shouldnt Be You Decide. I
received a Blue Ribbon Award from the San Diego Public
Library.