I COPIED AND PASTED THIS BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS VERY INTERESTING, AND I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO READING THOSE JOURNAL PERSPECTIVES:
About ten years before Emilio Wilson died,

I used to spend a lot of time visiting and chatting with him at his home which is now called 'The Emilio Wilson Memorial Park'. The old timers might remember Emilio, a flamboyant extroverted figure, but even at that time, and to this day, very few people of my generation and my mothers generation really knew who Emilio Wilson was.

Being driven down LB Scott Rd as a child, I had often wondered what the story was behind 'Golden Rock', 'St John's Ranch and Emilio Wilson.

One day my curiosity got the better of me, and I walked to his front gate, marched up to his doorstep, and introduced myself.

There was some fear that he would chase me away, but I figured if he did, no one would know about it.

I told him who I was, but more importantly who my family was, and he was polite but ambivalent.

I explained to him that I was a writer, and was determined to find out the story behind his home and how 'Golden Rock' got its name.

The first thing that struck me about Mr Wilson, was that...............

well,let's just say he was very prim and proper.

I remember thinking to myself as a teenager, “could he be...?” “Nah!”

I loved everything about Mr Wilson, from his personality to his thigh-high poom-poom shorts.

Mr Wilson had GREAT legs. And he knew it!

He would invite me in, and give me a soda.

He would then flutter around tidying up, which was funny to me since his house was always immaculate.

He would sit down and cross his long,smooth legs. As a teenage girl, he actually taught me a few tips, about maintaining the smoothness of my legs.

Embarrassingly enough, this teenage girl could never get her legs up to par with this ninety year old man.

Mr Wilsons memory was long as his flawless legs, and he loved to show it off. There was not one date that you could name in his lifetime that he could not tell you specific details about.

Another thing that I loved about Mr. Wilson was that there was always a lot of sarcasm, and a little bit of bitchiness in whatever historical, personal or political tale he would be telling.

His favorite thing on earth was the perfume “Poison”.

He loved “Poison”, and actually at that time if you wanted to be in Mr. Wilsons good graces, it was known by insiders to present him with a gift of “Poison”perfume. It was a part of his daily beauty ritual, He would “singe” with his “Poison”, meaning who would basically rub it on his legs to singe away the hair rather that shaving which he felt destroyed the skin.

He singed the hair on top of his hair rather than cutting or clipping it. The strong chemicals in the perfume would remove the top layer of his hair, he told me that it was how the old-timers did it.

Whenever I entered Mr Wilsons yard, I somehow felt like I was in that book “The Secret Garden”, we would sit down on his porch and discuss history and of course gossip.

Often as we sat chatting, people would visit him to check in on him-he was getting on in age, and they would exchange pleasantries.

No one seemed to notice the young girl in the corner, patiently sitting and absorbing everything that was being said.

I wasn't usually noticed, because these men tended to be older businessmen and politicians. They didn't see me, because they could only see Mr Emilio Wilson, and the reason that they could only see Mr Wilson, was because he had something that they desperately wanted........

Land, beautiful land.

Lots of it, prime property, and the hilarious part was, Mr Wilson knew it, his brain was a sharp as a stiletto.

As soon as the politician or businessman left, Mr. Wilson would make the cattiest comments about them.

So being a gossipy, teenager I would ask him questions, and each question would lead to another epic tale.

As a budding writer at that time, I of course started documenting my visits and our conversations in my journals. From historical facts, to stories about St Maarten politcs and more.

It's been several years since Mr Wilson has passed on.

I've visited the park, but nothing's the same.

The last time I visited the park was a weekend, a few months ago.

On one side of the park were kids playing in inflatable pools, and running around after each other, just like Mr Wilson would have wanted it.

On the other side of the park were the brand new coalition of Theo Heyliger and The National Alliance.

In all honesty, I'm sure Mr Wilson would have appreciated the irony, as he loathed the political manoeuvrings that were going on a few yards from where you used to love to sit, and gossip about St Maarten politicians.

I have transcribed and edited my journals, and I've decided to add it to my daily blogs.

The twisted history of St Maarten politics never ceases to amaze me.

Mr Wilson knew that I was a writer, and that I documented everything.

They are his unadulterated perspectives and opinions about St Maarten, its people, and of course the politics.