Angelo’s own place in history

Angelo had a cuddly, teddy- bearish quality. And he talked — to anyone, always eager to share either some obscure snippet about Trinidad and Tobago’s history, or a jokey story. He was at home with everyone, and so in turn they were at ease with him.

It began with talking: as a child, he asked endless questions, and his parents tried to answer them.

As it was fed, his curiosity grew. Then he was introduced to books, started collecting history books and then memorabilia — and after that the rest seems inevitable.

Angelo died, aged 34, of pancreatic cancer on February 2.

By the time it was diagnosed early in 2015, his illness was already terminal. So he left his job at the disaster management unit in Siparia, his hometown, and — supported by his large, close family — devoted the rest of his life to putting on paper as many as possible of the million and one stories he had to tell.

Angelo studied agribusiness at UWI, St Augustine, but began writing historical pieces at 20, and shortly afterwards took part in the research for an oral-history project at UTT that led to a book about a south Trinidad sugar estate, Golconda.

A few years later he self-published his own book, about local cemeteries.

After learning that his days were numbered, he produced two collections of historical writings, a book of historical fiction; and, still in the works, a book about local folklore. It was just as well he was so prolific while so young; almost as if he always knew his time here would be short.

Angelo’s major achievement was introducing many people to local history who would never have read it otherwise; some even imagined he was the first person to discover or to write such history.

But although he dug up and collected ancient artefacts, he rarely unearthed new information.

Angelo was always quick to pay tribute to the writers who paved his way. He himself was a popular historian, retelling old tales in an accessible and entertaining fashion, rather than analysing or questioning received wisdom (had he lived, he might have acquired that trait as he matured).

He used the internet to track down forgotten local books, which he quoted extensively, giving them a second life. He was very much a 21st-century historian in another sense, too: part of his genius was to use Facebook to publish snippets and stories that didn’t demand too much time or attention of his thousands of readers.

He also made full use of his engaging personality: affable, bright, blessed with the gift of the gab, he was the perfect historian for these times.

At home in any medium, he was generous with his time and knowledge, and an excellent interviewee, as well as posting material online in his Virtual Museum of Trinidad and Tobago on Facebook.

In 2012 I asked him to start writing a Sunday Guardian column, and from then on we were friends; he would never come to town without dropping by to bring some thoughtful little gift: an odd, obscure book, a 19th-century coin that he knew would have a special significance.

It was an example of his greatest gift: not writing, but love, for this country and all its people, the things they have made and done and the culture they have created over the centuries.

As his name alone suggested, Angelo himself was made up of one of those ethnic mixtures probably found only in this country, and consequently didn’t have any of his own axes to grind (partly as a result, he sometimes took an unfashionably nostalgic view of the colonial past).

His lack of personal ethnic allegiances also meant he could and did get along with anyone, and that talent as much as his writings accounted for his huge popularity.

He received a national award and was made an honorary fellow of UTT last year; sadly, by then he was in hospital and was unable to accept the award in person.

Angelo bore his final illness with exemplary courage and grace, telling his followers and fans about its progress, and losing his cool only when they suggested some outlandish remedy.

He was happy to write about folklore, obeah and magic; but Angelo was a rationalist.

It was drugs and doctors that were keeping him alive, he pointed out sharply to those who suggested offbeat or spiritual remedies.

He beat the odds, living for precisely two years after his diagnosis, and was active almost until the end. By then he had earned his own place in history.