5/30 - An Emprise Concludes

On May 30, 2026, I was honored to be the lead organizer for the last organizing committee of Myron Maurice Chenault, son of Roberta and Roy. This is my (rough and highly unprofessional) debrief report for the people who loved you, Dad, but I wrote it for you.

I hope it's honest, clear, loving, and moves people to action.

I love you. I am glad you are free. I'll see you on the warm Caribbean Sea again soon.

—

The hours beforehand reminded me of Dad mostly because he'd have gotten a kick out of it.

Our house, a gorgeous modern villa in the mountains of Upper Prince's Quarter, was challenging to reach for folks who didn't have a vehicle with a strong engine. Peter Hardie was on the phone for most of an hour trying to talk a fearful taxi driver up the steep switchbacks. Once she finally decided to make the journey, she nearly put us out for fear of tipping over. I am fairly certain that if she'd attempted it I'd have calmly assured her that we were indeed going, even if I had to drive us. I also would have informed her why - Dad's date with the Caribbean Sea awaited him and we wouldn't miss it for anything in the world.

With the assistance of the inimitable Meg Stern gently encouraging our driver as she nervously drove us down the side of a mountain, we arrived at the oldest marina on the island and queued for our voyage. The catamaran was staffed by the incredibly sensitive and kind Eagle Tours team I felt our journey was in excellent hands.

They warned us early of a "little chop" and the ride was just bumpy enough that I had to giggle a touch, even as Melvin Hodge shouted "we might outrun it" when the rain clouds formed off in the distance. I knew the storms in Sint Maarten were shortlived but also a sign of blessings to come. I didn't want us to outrun it at all but for it to wash over us like so many summer storms I'd experienced on that same sea in my youth.

Dad's home at Cupecoy Beach Club in Sint Maarten was fast approaching and rather than wait until it was right on us, I got up right around Pelican and gave myself some room to stretch out. The speech I gave is below and folks can listen as they feel moved to do so, but I cut it in half as a small voice said "make it short, don't teach, and give them something to cheer at the close."As I walked forward, the soaring opening of "The Life of the Party" by The Dramatics enveloping us, I could feel the seagrass urn being hit by flecks of sea water. The chop had eased, thankfully, and I found myself amused at how all I could hear was people saying his nickname for a moment ("BIG DAWG") then silence. All my friends - Meg, Ryan, Maddy, Erin, Danielle - and his friends Sixto, Melvin, his grandson Justice Chenault with their new friend Rajon Mahones - had formed a kind of receiving line but once I was toward the back of the boat we were alone.

Dad and I had a mission to complete.

The urn was designed to bio-degrade so I could have just thrown him into the water all together but something about that didn't feel right. I tore open the bag and gathered the top handful, a bit of bone and ash getting underneath my fingernails as I tossed him in. When the first bit hit the water, I could feel something happening and it encouraged me to open the bag a little more. I tore it open a little more with each action before allowing his full remains to hit the water as we rounded the last bit of Mullet Bay. With a flourish in his honor, I threw the urn into the water as well. I raised a fist in the air for him, feeling the sound but not hearing the cheers and ululations behind me. I sat with it all - energy I've never felt in my life coming back through all of us as the sun literally set on him.

Rum punches went around the boat (don't worry the kids got virgin cocktails) as we watched his home at Cupecoy pass us on the right before we turned around to head home. Once we headed back into the chop it was rougher but the music and celebrating went around the rough seas for us no problem.

On our way home, we were also blessed with a good sign for sailors and people fleeing enslavement - the presence of a low-flying seagull. The bird flew low and close to the boat, something we were told wasn't unknown to happen but definitely rare. Erin had a piece of cheese in her hand and when she held it out the gull took it with gratitude. The delighted shouts that rang out only grew louder and more gleeful when a second bird joined the first, drafting in our wake. Cheers went up around the boat as Erin began tossing cheese into the air for both birds who we of course saw as one final appearance from both Myron but also J's Jido who likely heard the blaring Motown and smelled the refreshments. They decided to dance with the ladies and take one more turn on the dance floor before flying away.

His name was Myron Chenault and don't you forget it.