A Jamaican Experience: A Seat in the Morris Oxford
By: Baron Stewart
Cloverly Road and the Family That Chose Me
I don’t remember how old I was when I first met Ronnie, but we’ve been friends for over fifty years. We met in elementary school, attended the same high school and college, and stayed connected through every stage of life. Even now, we call regularly to share our challenges. Ronnie is the brother I never had.
Finding Family
The McLeans lived on Cloverly Road, just around the corner from my home at 31 Victoria Avenue. Clovis and Joyce McLean were the first to notice that I was a lonely child, hungry for attention and love. They welcomed me into their family, including me on their weekend outings, even though we could barely squeeze into their Morris Oxford. That cramped backseat became my seat, too. Over time, I became a permanent fixture in their home, eventually moving in with them during my final two years of high school.
Though I was the same age as Ronnie’s older brother Lloyd, I wasn’t his peer. Lloyd was a star athlete—the heart of our high school soccer team, a member of Jamaica’s national team at 17, and later a player for the Boston Beacons. My role was more modest: I was Lloyd’s wingman, organizing the endless stream of girls drawn to his talent and charm. Occasionally, she'd settle for me when one of them missed out on Lloyd.
Brotherhood in Action
Though a year and a half apart, Ronnie and I were equals. We shared a drive to succeed and an unspoken commitment to walk life's journey together. Ronnie dreamed of becoming a dentist. I aspired to be a college professor. We studied side by side, marched in our high school’s drum and bugle corps, and migrated to New York, where we worked as elevator operators in Manhattan. We played soccer for our college team, celebrated each other’s weddings, and eventually achieved the futures we once whispered about. Ronnie is a dentist. I became a professor. Just like we said we would.
Among our many shared memories, one stands out. One Christmas during our early teens in Jamaica, we decided to confront a neighborhood bully who had tormented us for months. Armed with cork guns—popular holiday toys at the time—we rallied about ten friends and knocked on his gate. When he appeared, we unleashed a surprise barrage of cork shots and then sprinted down the lane, laughing breathlessly. It was silly, joyful, and unforgettable.
New York, New Challenges
In 1964, my mother invited me to New York to visit her and attend the World’s Fair. I asked Ronnie to come with me. That trip might have been the defining moment in our friendship. We worked as a team to raise the money, pleading our case to anyone who might help. That summer in New York was full of discovery, excitement, and one jarring experience: racism.
We stayed with my mother in Parkchester, a predominantly white Bronx neighborhood. One Saturday night, after seeing a movie, we were followed by a group of white boys who shouted racial slurs and chased us down the street. We ran for our lives. It was terrifying—and it bound us even closer. Shared fear, like shared joy, forges deep connection.
Living the Bond
Ronnie’s warm, lovable nature made him a favorite among our friends. But what stood out most was how deeply he loved and accepted me. When I was struggling financially, Ronnie would quietly help. When he needed a fresh perspective, he called me. My children adore him as their “favorite uncle.” He has always shown up for the people he loves.
We’ve supported each other through every milestone. I stood by him during two of his three weddings, and he was my best man at my first. I remember the joy on his face when he learned his first wife, Pat, was pregnant with their son Alvin.
There was a time our paths diverged—when Ronnie embraced Rastafarianism, and I didn’t fully understand. But eventually, he cut his locks, returned to school, and pursued dentistry again. Our bond held steady as ever.
The Woman Who Loved Us All
Joyce McLean’s ninetieth birthday was a celebration I would never miss. Joyce, a beautiful Jamaican woman with a show-stopping smile, had the patience of a saint. She raised her children with grace and discipline—and she raised me, too. Joyce was the mother I never had, the first person to show me unconditional love.
I first met the McLean family when I was eight years old. Clovis McLean, a renowned Jamaican footballer and cricketer, and his wife Joyce saw something in me—a need—and brought me into their world. Their family excursions, even in an overcrowded Austin Cambridge, made room for me. Their move to Vineyard Town marked one of the happiest periods of my life, and I moved with them.
The McLean siblings each made their mark: Lloyd, the superstar athlete. With her mother’s smile and warmth, Nancy, the only daughter, became a celebrated food and beverage manager and later the managing director of concierge services. The youngest Alvin inherited his father’s athletic gifts and passionately pursued music. Kenneth McCarthy, another “adopted” son like me, became a doctor in Canada and remains a model of perseverance and brilliance.
At Joyce’s birthday party in New Kingston, surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, we sang “Happy Birthday.” Joyce’s face lit up, and the entire restaurant joined in. In that moment, love filled the room—and the past seventy years.
Gratitude in Full
I cannot imagine my life without the McLeans. They rescued me from a lonely childhood and gave me a home, a family, and a brotherhood that has lasted a lifetime. The scars I carry from those early days are softened by the laughter, the loyalty, and the love we shared.
If I could say one thing to the McLean family, it would be this:
Thank you for loving me when I needed it most.
Life Lessons from A Seat in the Morris Oxford
1. Chosen Families Can Heal What Blood Cannot
Lesson: Sometimes, the family we’re born into may not meet our emotional needs, but the families we choose, or who choose us, can transform our lives.
Recommendation:
Embrace the people who make you feel seen and loved, even if they’re not related by blood. Show up for others in the way you once wished someone had shown up for you.
2. Deep Friendships Are Built on Shared Purpose and Mutual Respect
Lesson: A friendship that lasts 50+ years isn’t an accident—it’s rooted in shared dreams, honest support, and staying connected through every chapter.
Recommendation:
Invest in your close friendships the way you invest in your goals. Make time for deep conversation, celebrate each other’s milestones, and be there when the road gets rough.
3. Small Acts of Inclusion Have Lifelong Impact
Lesson: A car ride, a family meal, a place to stay—what seems small in the moment can be life-altering for someone who needs belonging.
Recommendation:
Never underestimate the power of inclusion. Practice radical hospitality. Invite people in, especially those who might be overlooked or left behind.
4. Hardship Shared Is Hardship Halved
Lesson: Facing racism, poverty, or emotional abandonment is easier when you have someone by your side who truly understands your story.
Recommendation:
Don’t walk through your challenges alone. Cultivate relationships where you can speak your truth—and listen just as deeply when others share theirs.
5. Unconditional Love Is the Greatest Gift
Lesson: Joyce McLean’s quiet, steady love changed my life. Her example teaches that love has generational power, especially when freely given.
Recommendation:
Be someone’s Joyce. Look around your world for someone who might be lonely, lost, or needing direction—and extend love without keeping score.
6. Dreams Are Achievable When Shared
Lesson: Ronnie and I dreamed big and made those dreams real by supporting each other. It wasn't a solo climb; it was a shared ascent.
Recommendation:
Speak your dreams aloud to the people who believe in you. Build a circle where ambition is nourished, not judged. Celebrate every step forward—together.
7. Forgiveness Strengthens Bonds
Lesson: When paths diverged—Ronnie's turn to Rastafarianism, for example—our friendship endured because love held more weight than judgment.
Recommendation:
Accept that your loved ones will change. Let differences become invitations for understanding, not division. Choose forgiveness over friction when the bond is worth it.
Final Reflection
At its heart, this story is about belonging—how the right people can offer shelter from life's storms and light the way toward your best self. It’s also about being that light for others.
If your story reaches one lonely child or one generous family, it might spark a cycle of love that spans generations.