HAVING LIVED for approximately a decade obliquely opposite Clem David’s home, I have unobstructed view of his house and, contrary to what Adam alluded to in his Kaieteur News Sunday column, Clem had never been bedridden; not even on the last day, because while I was awaiting my own transportation that morning, I saw him at the door with Charmaine, his faithful wife of twenty years, as he saw her out to her waiting taxi.  He waved to me, said something that I never heard, and then went inside.  That night, I saw the ambulance pull up outside of his home, and when I went over, Charmaine informed me that he had died.
As a matter of fact, Clem David refused to bow to illness, and Charmaine, who constantly worried about him and tried to cosset him, complained to me sometime late last year that Clem had been out until the wee hours of the morning with ‘the boys’ – some of his buddies who had been visiting Guyana after a long time. Of course, Clem, being Clem, would not have left until the last anecdote of the exciting times of yore was related; and, while Charmaine understood his need for companionship with his peers, the responsibility of having sole care of his good health was immense, and she took that responsibility seriously.  She ensured that he took his medication on time, and prepared, or oversaw the preparation of, his meals, foods he was allowed to eat, before leaving each morning for work at her beauty salon — the Double C — named for Clem and Charmaine.
Clem was diagnosed as being hypertensive and having an enlarged heart in 2000, having been discharged from hospital after tests on the day of former President Desmond Hoyte’s funeral, which he attended.  He was also diabetic.  Since then, Clem was forced to curtail his activities and remain unemployed after the ‘Sunrise Show’ folded. So Charmaine singly worked long, gruelling hours to pay the mortgage and keep the home fires burning.
Despite the mounting responsibilities, she ensured that Clem lacked for nothing, especially with his medical treatments, and until the last week, she had taken him for his periodic check-up at the Seventh-Day Adventist Hospital.
The media world of the ‘old-school’ did not subscribe to enmity within the fraternity, despite at times sharp political differences; and outside the professional and political box, Clem and I would agree to differ on our political views and loyalties, and engage, with great cordiality, in long discussions, often butting heads in a very friendly way.
Clem and I were both ripped off by our respective building contractors; and while my house remains unfinished, Clem had Charmaine by his side, and, together, they created a tasteful showpiece of a home.
Our lifestyles were similar, in that we lived reserved and private lives, while still contributing to community activities; and we also shared problematic neighbours.  Clem was my supporter for years, and gave me encouragement to ignore the worst of intrusions; so I was highly amused one day when he called me to complain that they were constructing a pit toilet feet away from his kitchen.  I gave him the advice he was always proffering me: To fight the fights you can win, or dissipate your energies trying in vain.
After trying to reason with them and enduring much abuse, he finally gave up and allowed them to have their way.    
Clem, Charmaine, their daughter Shondelle, and, latterly, their son-in-law were a family who lived with great love for each other.  Part of their family were two bewitching poodles – ‘Poodoo’ and Sheba, dogs which my grandsons loved.
They were Clem’s companions during the long hours he was at home while Charmaine worked, and those two beautiful dogs mysteriously died days before he did.
They worked as a family to keep their home and environment tasteful and immaculate, incurring much envy and rumour; but they always looked out for each other, and did things together, even until the last day of Clem’s life, because he always insisted on helping Charmaine with the chores before she left for work.
The love Shondelle bore the only real father that she ever had was apparent when, as he lay lifeless before the hearse took him away, she knelt at the bottom of the bed, held on to his feet, and cried her heart out.
For those who wonder and conjecture, Clem refused to be a helpless burden to anyone, even until the last day, so it is an injustice to his memory to label him bedridden and incapacitated.  He opened his gate to visitors, and let his dogs out twice per day, except during the hours when his medication put him to sleep.
There are speculations that he was locked in and could not receive visitors, but these are ill-founded, because once when his relatives visited while he was sleeping and he did not answer when they called, I called him on the telephone to inform him that someone was at his gate, and he complained that, despite Charmaine requesting that they call before coming to ensure he was up and that they did not disturb his rest, they persisted in dropping in unannounced and awakening him.
I will miss the moral support of my neighbor, Clem, and the chats we had.  Now that he is no longer there, I have no one to keep an eye over my home during my absences.  While he was intelligent enough to acknowledge his medical condition, he refused to be overcome by physical incapacity.  He lived with courage and dignity to the very last.