Ode to R. Supt. Don Moss

NASSAU, BAHAMAS – I was deeply saddened recently when I was informed by my sister that our family friend, Retd. Supt. Don Moss had passed. That sadness would not leave me, so I turned to the advice of my dearly departed priest, Fr. Etienne Bowleg – “You are a writer! When you can’t cope, write about it and it will ease the burden.” So here I am. 

Don Moss first came into our lives when he and his siblings joined the Blue Waves family of St. Anne’s School. I was in primary school then and he was in high school with my older sisters. 

As a kid, I always marveled at the fact that all the students who claimed the Church of God of Prophecy as their church, had huge families. The Moss’ were no different. I still have no idea how many children were in the Beneby clan. As a curious kid, I asked my dad about it once and after looking to see where my mom was located, he happily informed me that Church of God families have no televisions in their homes. At the time I had no idea what that meant, but quickly counted five in our home. We were Catholic.

Our friend Don Moss was a man and super cop to the very end. I expected nothing else, as being a policeman meant everything to him. I am sure the Commissioner of Police would attest to the fact that the Royal Bahamas Police Force was a better place over the years with dedicated officers like Don Moss. 

Don was a family man and took his duties as a father and big brother seriously. When I was much younger and I would be out at night with friends, way past my curfew, I would cringe if I ran into Don and his colleagues. Sometimes I pretended not to see him, but he would make himself seen and ask if I knew what time it was. That meant go home!

When I speak of Don as a supercop; nowhere was safe as far as he was concerned. When, on occasion, we would all go out as a group, he would have to be the one to read the room. He knew what everyone in that room was doing, what their intentions were, and if someone with untoward dealings was present, we would have to leave and most certainly a colleague of his was called in. 

Anything that came across my path which appeared as though others were running afoul of the law, I would call Don immediately – or I would tell my sister and she would tell Don. He was our “go-to” guy. 

Besides being a supercop who seemed to be on the job always, Don was an old-school, classy man who believed in a gentleman being a gentleman and a lady being a lady – the kind of man who opened doors and pulled chairs for ladies. He was very calculated in all of his actions – never reckless or loud. 

Our family would tease him relentlessly most Decembers, as we secretly felt Don was not really a fan of Junkanoo, but would sometimes be assigned to the parade’s security detail. He would look miserable and we would taunt him as we passed by with our costumes. He would try not to laugh, as to him, a giggling cop was not a serious one. 

The big brother in Don never approved of my marriage and kept a watchful eye for the duration. He was present at the wedding, but that was only to supervise the fantastic fireworks that sealed the deal in the sky over Waterloo that night. It was his wedding present to us. 

Even though he was ill and death was expected, I could never imagine Don not being around – he was always around, everywhere, at all times. Don, the big brother, the gentleman, the wise one, the supercop is no more. We must adjust ourselves to that. 

May the holy angels greet Don well and deliver him safely to the Great Architect of the Universe. 

As I am told that one begins to die the minute one is born and that death must exist for life to have meaning, I must learn to accept the demise of Don. Well, that’s how I see it, anyway.