"No Man is an Island"

No man is an island and the no man stands alone.

Treat each man as your brother and remember each man's dream as you roam.

Christ, righteousness, govern the world.

Broadcasting live and direct from the rolling red hills on the outskirts of Kingston, Jamaica, from a magical place at the intersection of words, sound and power.

The red light is on, your dial is set, the frequency in tune to the Rootsland podcast stories that are music to your ears.

Back when I was in high school, I remember my father asking me how many friends I thought I had.

I'm not sure, I said.

8, 9?

10 as I counted them up on my fingers.

No, he interrupted.

Not acquaintances.

Friends.

Someone who you could call at 3 in the morning and would be willing to get out of bed and help you fix a flat tire in the pouring rain.

That's a friend, I'm sure.

As a teenager, I was convinced that they would all show up in the middle of the night to help me.

It was only later in life that I truly discovered what my father meant about friendship and that if I only had one good friend, as author S.E.

hinton said, I would be more than lucky.

In the song who the Cap Fits, Bob Marley sings Man to man is so unjust, children, you don't know who to trust.

Your worst enemy could be your best friend and your best friend your worst enemy.

Bob's point of view, however dark and foreboding, was based on his experiences growing up on the streets of Trench Town, Jamaica, in a marginalized community that had the potential to create inspirational expressions of music, art and poetry, and at the same time indoctrinate the world's most violent, unrepentant killers.

I'm sure Bob thought he had seen it all in Trench Town, only to escape the ghetto and find out that the politics, backbiting and betrayals were even worse uptown, where the singer was forced to dodge the bullets from an assassin's gun while rehearsing at his Hope Road studio.

Ironically, to perform for a peace concert being held to unify the country.

Man to man is so unjust.

But lucky for Bob Marley, he did know who to trust.

Right by his side, through the turmoil and adversity, through the joy and pain, was his devoted friend, art director, advisor and confidant, a man named Neville Garrick.

And if you're a reggae fan or a music connoisseur, you'll recognize that name as one of the most respected voices to represent Jamaican culture in the past 50 years.

A pioneer, an innovator, a revolutionary, the great Kenneth Neville Anthony Garrick sadly lost his battle with cancer.

Just a few weeks ago.

On November 14, at the age of only 73, he has flown off to join his old friend, his skipper, Bob Marley, in Holy Mount Zion.

You know, in today's world, when we think about singers and bands on tour, we imagine entourages popping bottles, trashing hotel rooms, partying with groupies in hot tubs, fake friends with fake body parts.

Here today, gone tomorrow when the money and the fame run out.

But back in the day, in the early 70s, when Bob Marley and the Wailers started touring the world, when these busloads of naughty, dreadlocked Rastafarians from Jamaica ventured forth into lily white Main street, usa, and through small European hamlets and towns, trashing hotel rooms was the last thing on their mind.

They had to deal with the worst type of racism, negative stereotypes, demeaning and condescending behavior.

I mean, even today, if you want to get a small taste of what Marley and his crew endured, just check out the crowd reaction when a black soccer player in Europe scores a goal in an opposing team.

Stadium.

Gets pretty ugly out there.

And the ban wasn't only being harassed by local police and townspeople.

They were also the target for reporters and journalists that were highly skeptical of reggae's newfound popularity and threatened by the influence that Rasta culture was having on suburban kids.

The press was always trying to belittle Bob and his religious beliefs, looking for that gotcha moment to use out of context in order to discredit him.

But the tough gong always stood his ground.

Bob Marley was not easily rattled, and that made it essential that his musicians and crew also had to act like soldiers, militants ready to defend their cause against these constant attacks on their culture, on their music, on their way of life.

Bob's top commander in Jaw army was his close friend, Neville Garrick.

And just as Bob was credited with bringing the sound, music and positive energy of reggae to the world, Neville Garrick was responsible for bringing the visual image and stylistic look of reggae and Rastafari to the world.

Neville was an artistic visionary that designed some of reggae music and Bob Marley's most recognizable and iconic album covers, including Rastaman Vibration, Survival and Babylon by Bus.

Cover art that millions of fans around the world obsessed over while cleaning their ganja and listening to Bob cover art that captured the essence and soul of the album, sometimes with minimalist statements like on Exodus, and other times with elaborate biblical imagery like on Confrontation, released after Marley's death.

Neville also designed Marley's live stage sets and the backdrops for his shows, incorporating the vibrant red Gold and green colors featured on the Ethiopian flag, along with images of King Haile Selassie and religious symbols like the lion of Judah.

It was a look carefully crafted by Garak, creating a visually immersive Rastafarian experience in order to accompany Marley's highly spiritual and frenetic live performances.

Neville Garak was destined to be a Rastafarian superstar, even if he hadn't been such an essential part of Marley's life and legacy.

He grew up in a middle class Jamaican home and excelled in soccer, a talent which would earn him a scholarship to play for ucla, where he would lead the team to the national finals two years in a row.

Once he arrived in California, Neville became deeply in tune to the Black consciousness movement.

Painting murals, editing black student publications and learning about social advocacy from community leaders like activist Angela Davis.

Neville was a true Renaissance man, a student of history, prolific artist and an eloquent spokesman who could hold his own with any journalist or intellectual.

A natural born leader with the charm and charisma on par with Bob.

I'm sure he could have accomplished anything he set out to do in life.

But my take on Neville Garrick is that he decided to put his own individual goals and his personal ambitions on hold because he wanted to be part of something that was bigger than himself.

Garrick recognized early on that his friend Bob Marley had something extraordinary.

And the best way for him to serve this burgeoning worldwide Rasta reggae revolution was to be there for Bob, to elevate his friend any way possible, stand by his side through thick and thin, good times and bad times.

A mission that Garrick never grew weary of, never abandoned.

Even after Bob passed away in 1981, he continued to be one of Marley's most outspoken advocates, helping to preserve and cultivate Marley's legacy until his very last breath.

I think when you tell a story about a man like Neville Garrick, it's a story about friendship, loyalty and sacrifice just as much as it's about his artistic accomplishments.

By the year 1990, I was at a crossroads in life.

After working at Ross Records after college and then with Bob Andy at Tough Gong, I wasn't sure which direction I was heading professionally.

My original dream was to be a songwriter, part of a band.

But after spending the previous two years having my music rejected by pretty much every major and independent record label in the country, my confidence was shattered and so were my finances.

I was living at home, working part time jobs and my parents were understandably concerned and just as frustrated as I was with my career or Lack of.

I started mailing my resume out to record companies, figuring maybe I could weasel my way into a deal through the back door.

Unfortunately, due to my overzealous, obsessive way I shop my demo tapes, including stalking some of the label's owners, record companies wanted nothing to do with me.

So in a last minute desperation move, I bought a plane ticket on my credit card to Jamaica, hoping for something, any kind of opportunity that could keep me in the game just a little longer until I could get my break.

While in Kingston, I soon found myself sitting on the back veranda at 56 Hope Road, the Bob Marley Museum, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a resume in the other.

When in walks the man I came to see, Neville Garrick.

At the time he was the director of the Bob Marley Foundation.

He strutted in and greeted me with a warm movie star smile and immediately launched into one of his famous stories recounting the time when he and Bob were chilling out on this very back veranda.

In the story, Bob Marley watched as a bee approached him and then flew off to a large hive in a nearby tree.

Bob took it as a sign that good things were going to happen.

And when Neville finished the story, almost as if on cue, a bee buzzes right by us and then back out into the yard.

Neville smiled, repeated the words good things, but the look on my face stayed focused and serious.

And Neville seemed taken back by that.

You see, I was building up my courage, waiting for the right time to tell my story, which I finally did.

About my experiences working for Ross and Tough Gong, and about having my music rejected or even worse, ignored by everyone in the industry.

I told Neville that I reached the end and that this music, this reggae music, was about to make a big mistake by letting me go.

They were about to lose a soldier who believed in this music and its message and meaning and that all I needed was a foot in the door and I promised I would do the rest.

Neville did something unexpected.

He sat there and listened to me.

Someone he didn't know, never really met.

He gave me his undivided attention, let me vent, pour out my friggin heart, and I must have sounded like a petulant little child.

I ended up doing most of the talking that afternoon.

In fact, I don't even remember if he said anything after I spoke, and I wasn't sure if that's because what I was saying had an impact on him or if he just thought I was a nut job and wanted to get rid of me.

But a couple of months later when I was back in Woodmere, I found out.

Henry, pick up the phone.

Okay, mom, I got it, I got it.

Can I listen?

No, mom, please.

I got it.

Hello?

Hi Henry, this is Glenn Hudloff, General manager of Island Trading Co.

Here in New York City.

How are you today?

Hi Mr.

Hutloff, how you doing?

Great, real great.

We received a copy of your resume over here.

A copy of my resume?

Uh huh.

We'd love to set up an interview with you for a job we're trying to fill.

Cool.

I'm not sure how much you know about Island Trading Co.

But I know you're familiar with our owner, Chris Blackwell.

Chris Blackwell?

Yes I am.

So just some background on island trading company.

We manage various Blackwell business ventures including Bob Marley music, Palm Pictures, which is his film company, and island outposts, a resort lifestyles brand.

We also share our offices here in New York with Island records.

Really?

Island Records?

Um, listen Henry, we know you want to be in the music business.

Yes I do.

Uh huh.

But right now the job opening is really just for a T shirt salesman.

A T shirt salesman?

It's nothing glamorous, Henry, but it is a starting point and it could lead to something up the road.

Well, Mr.

Hutloff, you do know that I was banned from the offices over there at island, right?

I've heard the stories.

We'll get you off that list.

Well, when can I come in?

I'm available all next week.

As you know, we're located on 4th and Broadway, right above Tower records.

I'm going to pass you over to Kat at the front desk and she'll set up an appointment.

Neville Garrick never took credit for sending my resume to island.

It was something he probably didn't even remember a week after he sent it.

Just one of a thousand good deeds and little acts of kindness he did during the course of his lifetime.

But because of Neville, I did get my foot in the door.

And while I can honestly say that I actually haven't fully entered that room, I did get a chance to peek in just long enough to see what's inside.

And that's been enough to sustain me all these years to keep my dream alive.

Because inside that room, legends live large.

Like Bob Marley.

And the reason he's in there is because he had friends like Neville Garrick.

Poet John Donne wrote, no man is an island entire of itself.

Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main.

I agree.

And personally believe that no one reaches the top on their own.

It's just Whether we have the honesty, the courage to acknowledge those who helped us on the.

And while it's true we may not all be as lucky as Bob Marley and have a friend like Neville Garrick, we do have the power to be a friend like Neville Garrick and give the people we love unconditional support, encouragement, do our best to lift them up in every imaginable way and bring out that inner legend that lives inside us all.

Even if that means getting out of your bed at three in the morning in the pouring rain to help a friend fix a flat.

Even legends get flat tires.

No man is an island?

No man stands alone?

Treat each man as your brother?

And remember each man's dream as your own?

Now be near one another?

Oh, yes.

And we all try to be friends?

Each man has a brother and each man has your friend?

You can live in this world all by yourself?

No, no, no?

You can't make it too low?

And just as sure as you try to make it by yourself?

You're gonna wake up and find you're gonna need somebody else?

No man is an island?

Oh, yes.

No man stands alone?

Treat each man as a brother and a member?

Each man's dream as your own?

Whoa.

Oh, yes.