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I reflect. I analyze. I speak my mind. ~ I Keep it Irie ~

Veteran NPR journalist Wade Goodwyn leaves an incredible legacy

My first time meeting my NPR colleague Wade Goodwyn in person and what better place than in his hometown Dallas, Texas. He died today at age 63.

I only met Wade Goodwyn once in person. But that delightful meeting on a perfect fall evening in his beloved Dallas, Texas last year was all I needed for him to leave a lasting, positive impact on me.

Sure, as a longtime NPR listener, I knew of Wade, his big voice and incredible storytelling before I joined the organization.

Once I got to NPR, I interacted with him sporadically (and virtually) in my role as lead weekend editor. Those interactions became more regular when I joined the National Desk. Not only have I had the honor in this capacity to edit Wade’s work for digital but I’ve also had the pleasure of editing his wonderful wife, Sharon, when she wrote a personal essay for NPR.

Although I’d worked with Wade on stories, I didn’t quite know him, but had heard many glowing remarks about him. So when I knew I was headed to the Texas State Fair, I wrote him to say I’d be in town and asked if we could meet. His response was an immediate yes. He said to get in touch once I landed in Dallas.

Once in Dallas, I reached out to Wade.

“Do you like Mexican food?” he asked.

“Of course,” I responded.

“Good,” he said, recommending we meet at a favorite restaurant of his that served some of the “best Mexican food in Dallas.”

I told him I’ll book a Lyft to pick me up after I logged off work. He dismissed the idea and said he’ll come get me from my hotel. Later that evening I came down to the lobby early so I won’t keep Wade waiting. He was already there.

Like his voice, Wade’s personality was big and magnetic. I was pleasantly surprised at how funny, warm, easygoing and liberal he was on various issues. That didn’t get past him, he jokingly said, “Most people don’t expect this from a big white man from Texas.”

For almost three hours we chatted about his 30-year tenure at NPR; how he got there after working as an advocate and the early influences of his dad, a former professor at Duke University, to stoke his interest in civil rights.

We traded newsroom stories and realized we were fond of many of the same people and also had in common some whose company we were content to limit. We talked about our respective pasts as athletes and then the inevitable, death. Yes, Wade shared that he’d long been battling cancer and at the time we met, he was doing fine after an incredibly challenging year. He gave credit to his wife Sharon’s phenomenal care in helping to sustain him.

After Dallas, I stayed in touch with Wade. We messaged back and forth for a while and at times he even commented on my Facebook posts. Unknown to me, during that time, his cancer had viciously “returned.” My last communication with Wade was via his wife, Sharon.

She kept me updated and shared that many of the messages he received from colleagues across the newsroom/NPR brought him immense joy in his final days.

He died today at 63.

Wade Goodwyn, you were one of a kind. I’m thankful and happy I got to meet you. I will miss you.

My condolences to Sharon and your daughters Hannah and Samantha.

Rest in peace, Wade, and rise in glory. 🌹🙏🏾

How I found out my dear Trinidadian friend Robert was gone

My dear friend Robert Solomon, who warmly welcomed me into his home and took me under his care when I’d moved to Trinidad and Tobago from my native Barbados in 2000.

I didn’t post the birthday greeting on Robert’s page over the past week because Facebook notified me it was his birthday — I did so because I remembered his birthday.

(In fact, I remember all of my friends’ birthdays.)

I never expected what came next.

Robert has been special to me from the day we met in his home country, sweet Trinidad & Tobago, around the time I turned 25 years old for the “first time.”

It was a couple of years after my first trip to Trinidad, where I’d met my father for the first time, and my debut year playing mas at Trinidad Carnival. Robert was a lifesaver that season.

You see, I’d just moved to the twin-island republic for work and was living with the father I barely knew, and it was not going well.

A chance meeting with Robert at a Carnival event turned into a fast and lasting friendship — a foundation fully cemented when he took me in as a “roommate” to escape being under my father’s roof.

Robert, the epitome of gregariousness, quickly introduced me to his circle of amazing friends, including several prominent Trinidadians, who all warmly welcomed me into their lives.

And whenever he was going on the social scene — even if it was a late-night event and I was fast asleep — he would wake me up and take me with him. Because like a true Trini, Robert liked to party and a good party, and had to take a friend.

He took me to restaurants, wonderful hidden watering holes, friends’ homes, my first drag queen show, shopping for products for his interior design business, you name it.

One of my all-time favorite memories was when he first attempted to make curry chicken. In that sweet singsong Trini accent, I recalled him saying, “Queenie, gyal, iz first time me trying this, but we go eat it however it come out.” It was perfection. And was as authentically Trini as Robert. To this day, his is the exact way I make my curry chicken.

But the thing that stands out most for me with Robert, however, apart from that big beautiful smile on that Adonis of a man, and that big-azz mesmerizing, magnetic personality, is an even bigger heart. In addition to the shelter he provided when I needed a home (for almost two years), he gave me a shoulder to cry on during a devastating heartbreak, and ultimately helped me to reconcile that relationship with the man who remains the greatest love of my life.

When I was moving back to Barbados, Robert told me I’ll always have a home wherever he lived. I last visited him back in summer 2005 at his Mt. Lambert home just before I immigrated to the U.S.

Of course, we stayed in touch. Initially via long telephone and Skype calls until about the time I moved from New York to Washington, D.C. Afterward, communication became mostly texts and, yes, Facebook. Where every year we continued to send each other birthday greetings and responded graciously to each other.

So how did I not notice it this year?

Amid my trauma and frequent lengthy breaks from social media these past several months, I missed it. Until my birthday post to his page.

I got a notification today that someone I didn’t know “reacted” to the post with the heart emoji. Normally, I’d ignore such, but I clicked to see more. The below post caught my attention and sent me into a shock. So I kept scrolling in disbelief as the hot tears started to flow.

My friend Robert had died. Not today, not yesterday, not last week or even last month, but a few months ago. And I was now finding out. I don’t know the details.

I just wish I hadn’t been in such misery of my own to be more aware of what was going on with my friend.

I regret that in recent times, I’d not reached out beyond FB and texts.

Our last convo was exactly seven months to the day he died. I’m glad I told him then that I love him.

Thank you for being a friend, Robert Solomon. May light perpetual shine on you, my dear, may you rest in peace and rise in glory.🌹💕🙏🏾

RIP: Patricia Cole A Witty NPR Copy Editor, My Loyal And Caring Friend

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Patricia Cole was of my dearest friends and one of my favorite people at work and in this crazy world. Even as she fought hard with mental illness, she never stopped looking out for me. Sadly, she lost that fight this past weekend. I’m incredibly heartbroken. I will miss my friend.

I lost my darling friend Patricia Cole this weekend, and to say I’m heartbroken is an understatement.

This hurts so bad.

P. Cole, as I love to call her and I became friends almost immediately after meeting when she joined NPR a few years ago. She was brilliant, kind, smart, witty, funny, even more sarcastic than I — a rare and precious find that enhanced our bond.

It’s a bond that for the most existed among many of us who worked weekends in the newsroom. At the time, I was NPR’s lead weekend digital editor and Patricia, one of our ace copy editors worked on Saturdays, and that’s when and where we created many memorable moments.

Patricia often confided in me her struggles with mental illness and depression. In fact, she was very open about these challenges with several of us with whom she worked, and was the first person whom I’d met to be so forthright about her situation. This was particularly helpful in teaching me how to not only successfully work with her but how to be a loving, supportive friend.

Among my favorite newsroom moments with Patricia would be the Saturdays when I’d stop by her desk to offer her fave — some Earl Grey tea and some of my Bajan tea biscuits. Her face would light up as she sprung to her feet and hugged me.

She took particular delight in sharing with the newsroom manager, Jim, and me letters readers would write us making “corrections” to stories online — but their “corrections” would be incorrect.

P. Cole would also often record me doing fun things in the newsroom. Like eating a fried “broken” chicken while singing Mister Mister’s “Broken Wings.” Or me being silly dressing up for the royal wedding (Meghan & Harry) while eating homemade cucumber sandwiches and sipping English tea. Or of the two us acting like princesses, tiara to boot!

Yes, it was fun to work with P. Cole but what I loved most about her was how deeply she cared. I lost a few loved ones shortly after we started working together and Patricia never failed to check up on me to see how I was healing.

Last spring she lost her NPR job and expressed to me concerns she had mentally, financially, professionally, emotionally. Yet when I was going through my own trauma last summer and fall, Patricia was ever present reaching out to make sure I was OK, encouraging me to keep pushing through, reminding me that she loves me.

In response to one “thank you” message I sent her, she said: “I am sorry you have been going through so much and I hope I provided a little comfort.” She did, indeed.

P. Cole knew holidays are usually tough for me, that I often have to spend them alone, and in November while still going through my trauma, she was the first person to reach out for Thanksgiving Day: “Happy Thanksgiving, darling. Sending you blessings and hugs.”

We always sent each other Christmas cards; hers always carried a signature that it was coming from her and her beloved cat, Hudson. In early December when I reached out to confirm that she was still at the same mailing address, she texted: “I’m not doing cards this year but I love you.” That was an unusual first, and signaled to me that things were perhaps more dire than I understood.

In that same conversation, I’d complained about the weather here in Los Angeles to which she responded re: the New Yorker in me: “ ‘it’s freaking cold in LA’ is not something one expects to hear. Someone’s getting soft!”

Yes, even amid her challenges, P. Cole kept her sense of humor.

We spoke a few more times in December and again around my birthday at the end of January. Then I tried calling her earlier this month but no answer. No callback.

Later on she responded to my voicemail, texting thanks and saying she was “stumbling” at present but would reach out in a bit.

That was the last communication I received from my friend.

I awoke this morning to messages from a couple of NPR friends who knew she and I were close checking to see if I was OK, letting me know that her brother, Michael, had posted that she lost her battle with depression.

Our world has lost a most beautiful soul, I’m almost paralyzed with pain.

P. Cole, I hope, in fact, I know you know how much I loved you. I sure always felt your love and I’m thankful for it, and you. I pray that you are at peace.

My condolences to all who mourn you, including Hudson, of course. Rest in sweet peace, my darling and rise in glory. I will miss you.😢💕🌹🙏🏾

P.S.: Please be kind to one another. Life is too short.

‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness’: Thanking God For Another ’25th’ Birthday

Celebrating my latest “25th” birthday back in my beloved New York City!

As I awake on this God-given day to celebrate another #birthday (my 25th again, of course), I can’t help but sing:

🎶Morning by morning new mercies I see,

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided,

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me🎶

Since childhood, the aforementioned hymn has been a favorite of mine. But it wasn’t until my recent near-death situation that I fully experienced and comprehended its message.

To be here today, standing strong, I can indeed testify to God’s faithfulness.

Sometimes it’s the most awful thing that happens to us, the thing we think we can’t survive that empowers us to grow into our best self.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I emerge renewed, rebirthed, stronger and, day by day, better than I used to be.

🎶Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow

Blessings all mine with 10, 000 beside

Great is Thy faithfulness,

Great is Thy faithfulness🎶

Join me in celebrating this most auspicious occasion!

God’s been good to me. I give Him the glory.❤️🙏🏾

#Godisgood

It’s My NPR Anniversary! I’m Happy And Thankful

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This photo was taken on my first day at work at NPR, Jan. 19. 2016. Truly thankful to be celebrating my seventh anniversary at this amazing organization doing what I love with some of world’s most talented journalists.

It’s my work anniversary!

Look at your girl on this day seven years ago on my very first day at NPR!

Time sure flies!

On the one hand, it feels like yesterday I arrived at our North Capitol Street, Washington, D.C., headquarters. On the other hand, with all that’s happened in the world since then, it feels like a lifetime!

Either way, I’m thankful to be still here—now based at our NPR West bureau in sunny California—doing what I love, and working with some of the most gifted journalists on the planet!

God is faithful. I give Him all of the glory!🙏🏾

#tbt#brighteyedandbushytailed#firstday

I Almost Died A few Months Ago. On This Thanksgiving Day I’m Extra Thankful To Be Alive

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I almost died a few months ago.

Only about three people know the story.

Many others wouldn’t care; they may feign concern, but they’re merely curious.

This was evident when certain people for whom I would have shown up — no excuses — abandoned me at the time I most needed them.

That hurt to the core — and further exacerbated my pain.

But God is faithful, and by His grace, I’m still standing.

John 15:13 says, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

Over the past few months, God placed in my path some unexpected “angels” who showed up in the most unimaginable ways to help lift me up and carry me along.

They include people who were dealing with challenges of their own — cancer, divorce, (also like me) the loss of a loved one and trauma, unemployment, and dire financial issues.

Yet they were unwavering in their support for me. They made the sacrifice to put aside their own personal matters and show up for me 100 percent.

Today, I especially want to say thanks to: my amazing mother, Victoria, and her fellow prayer warriors in Barbados; my pastor; my EAP psychotherapist; my sister Sancia Peters; my sisters from another Marquita Gittens StHilaire, Sharon Murrell, Jan Little Percival; Natasha Desjardins; Patricia Cole; Gemma Watters; Alina Selyukh Pickeral; Marva Cossy; Cassandra Crawford and Jennifer Russell-Holder; my bredren Victor Houston Oly, Allan Boomer, Ato B., Robert Bronaugh, Roger Cummins, Rob Evans and Hal Bastian; and the incomparable Shevon Estwick, Michel Martin, Cathy Whitlock Walker, Claudette Lindsay-Habermann and Lillian Lorde who have each been a guiding light amid the darkness.

I also want to extend special thanks for the support I got on the job, particularly from my National Desk team managers Ammad Omar and Denice Rios; Stuart Harding in legal; Pat O’Donnell from our SAG-AFTRA union; and Karen G Bates from our Peer-to-Peer Support Group.

Thanks as well to those who reached out during this tempestuous season with genuine empathy, to say I was in their thoughts and prayers.

Indeed, it takes a village.

I’m still “going through,” but day by day, I’m growing stronger in every sphere of my life, and I trust God to bring me through this valley and to the mountaintop.

Above all, on this day we focus on “thanksgiving,” I give all thanks and glory to Jesus Christ, my savio(u)r for this precious, precious gift called life.

Gratitude is a must.

Happy Thanksgiving Day, bless up and one love to y’all.😊💕🙏🏾

#Godisgood#thankful#Thanksgiving

Let The “25th” *Cough Cough* Birthday Celebration Begin

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Celebrating my birthday (another 25th) in my new city, Los Angeles, Calif.

Shortly after my birthday last year, I suffered a major medical emergency, which led to a necessary $22K (out-of-pocket) surgery.

The procedure was a life saver and I’m greatly indebted to all who supported it and me during that time and my post-surgery recovery.

Birthdays in recent years have been bittersweet for me. On the one hand, I’m grateful for this gift called life and the joy of feeling sunshine on my shoulders. On the other hand, there’s a sense of sadness at the realization that youth is quickly slipping further into the shadows and I have a myriad of dreams unfulfilled.

But as I reflect on those who’ve walked with me through this journey, so many of them now watching over me, I can’t help but be inspired to embrace my now fine old, er, young age.

To honor their memories, to cherish those who, like me, are still standing, and to make it my duty to live every moment the best I can. I mean, really live it. #Godisgood. I am #thankful.

If ‘Sunshine’ Was A Person, It’d Be NPR’s Michel Martin For Me

Catching up with my colleague, mentor and friend Michel Martin, host of NPR’s “All Things Considered” on a trip back to Washington, D.C. Here she introduces me to my first ever root beer float.

I needed some sunshine today and I got it during our annual NPR Nipper Awards ceremony!

I was nominated as an “Unsung Hero” at NPR for my work as digital editor/senior editor on the National Desk this past year. It was an impressive field of candidates. I didn’t win but I’m thankful to be recognized for doing what I love.

And, I’m super happy that one of my favo(u)rite people in the world and someone who’s been a mentor to me since I joined NPR — the incomparable Michel Martin, host of “All Things Considered” (Weekend), won the “Mentorship” award! Congrats, my friend. Truly deserving!

In her acceptance speech, Michel encouraged us to show up for others, even when you don’t know how to, just show up!

I took this photo over the summer while hanging out with Michel on a trip back to NYC & DC. She thinks that I live at the gym and eat only fruits and veggies, I surprised her by accepting her introduction to my first ever root beer float lol! Love me some Michel!

Harold Hoyte: Heart Of The Nation Barbados, Thank You, RIP

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Harold Hoyte, Co-founder, Editor Emeritus, Nation newspapers, Barbados (Left) and Nation reporters Maquita Peters (center) and Haydn Gill at the Nation’s 25th anniversary celebrations in 1998. Hoyte died on Sunday, May 12, 2019, at age 78.

This is the only photo I have of Harold Hoyte, co-founder, former editor-in-chief and editor emeritus of The Nation Publishing Ltd, Barbados and me, along with former colleague, Haydn Gill.

Despite just this one image, taken in 1998, when I was a rookie reporter at the Nation newspaper, I have countless moments and memories with Harold — a giant of a journalist and man despite his small stature.

My heart broke today when my mother gave me the news that my former boss — to this day, the best I’ve ever had — died at age 78.

I’m crying as I write this post.

Last month while in Barbados, I tried my utmost to see Harold one last time as I heard he was terribly ill and seemingly on his deathbed. His daughter Tracy was the sweetest in expressing her gratitude but explained that he was simply not up to visitors. I told her how much I appreciate him and to give him a hug for me.

In my years at the Nation — and those who knew me then know the traumatic experience I endured during that time — Harold was there for me. He gave me permission to come to his office anytime, to let my tears flow in there, to feel free to talk to him about anything.

I recall from my early assignments at the Nation, when I barely had confidence in my reporting and writing how Harold would come to me in the newsroom and say, “Peters, you took me there,” in reference to my coverage on the entertainment beat.

He’d break down why my story resonated with him, and consistently encouraged me to keep up the good work. If I covered an event and he didn’t stop by my desk to say I took him there, I knew I had to do better next time. I continued to hone my skills.

Soon enough, it became the norm for him to pay his usual compliment.

Years later after I’d left the Nation newspaper and Barbados for the U.S., Harold and I remained in touch. Every now and then we’d speak by phone from my New York apt to his home in St. George, Barbados, and I’d visit him almost every Christmastime in my early years going home for the holidays.

When I graduated with my masters from Columbia University, he reached out to congratulate me, to tell me how proud he was of my journey, and me. A few months later he wrote the most amazing letter of recommendation to help me gain employment here in the U.S.

I last saw and socialized with Harold Hoyte in 2014 in my beloved Brooklyn when he came to speak at an event to promote his book, “Eyewitness to Order and Disorder.” I attempted to buy a copy but he wouldn’t have it, gifting me one instead with an autograph acknowledging our professional and personal relationship.

Harold always was and will be special to me. I’m grateful for all he was and did for me. My condolences to his family, circle of loved ones, and the entire Caribbean journalism fraternity. May our beloved Harold in Rest In Peace and rise in glory. 🌹🙏🏾

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Cover of Harold Hoyte’s book, “Eye Wtness to Order and Disorder,” a copy of which he gifted Maquita Peters.

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Harold Hoyte autographed a copy of his book, “Eye Witness to Order and Disorder” to Maquita Peters.

~ I Keep it Irie ~

It’s My Birthday: Me At 4, Er 25, Looking Back At My Sweet 16 Self

Ragga then and now

Man, if only this lil girl here (Left) at sweet 16 — looking at life through rose colo(u)red glasses — knew the challenges ahead, starting with the tragic death of her best friend a year later and how that would forever change her!

But through love lost, love gained, a myriad of dreams — some broken, some deferred, some of the best fulfilled, from tiny Bridgetown, Barbados to the Big Apple and now the powerful U.S. capital, she persevered with an unrelenting faith in God.

Yes, sometimes the tears still come, and increasingly those pesky grey hairs and wrinkles she chooses to call dimples, but she never lets anything or anyone steal her joy, or that smile.

As always, she gives thanks, especially for the woman (Right) she’s become, and above all, for the blessing to awake today to celebrate another birthday — her “perpetual 25th birthday.”🙏🏾 #GodisGood

~ I Keep it Irie ~

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