COMMISSIONER BLAKE HONORED BOBBY REDS' FINAL WISH | THANK YOU, JCF

BOBBY REDS' FINAL WISH CAME TRUE

Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, members of the Jamaica Constabulary Force, retired police officers, serving police officers, and everyone who knew District Constable Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams:

Today, I am coming before you differently.

Today is not about attacking anybody.

Today is not about exposing anybody.

Today is not about politics.

Today is about something my mother taught me when I was a little boy.

She taught me:

Never forget your manners.

If somebody does something good for you—whether it is something small or something great—have enough decency, enough upbringing, enough humility, and enough respect to say:

Thank you.

Commissioner of Police Dr. Kevin Blake, I have something to say publicly, and I hope it reaches you.

Thank you, Commissioner.

Thank you to your team.

Thank you to SSP Damion Manderson and the men and women of St. Andrew South.

Thank you to every young police officer who stood there.

Thank you to the officers who shouldered my partner's coffin.

Thank you to retired ACP Granville "John" Gause.

Thank you to SSP Dudley Bryan.

And thank you to the people whose names I may never know, who worked quietly behind the scenes.

Because Bobby Reds had one final wish.

One simple wish that meant everything to him:

When his time came, he wanted the Jamaican flag draped over his coffin.

And Commissioner Blake...

YOU HONORED HIS FINAL WISH.

That Jamaican flag was not decoration.

That flag represented the Country Bobby served.

It represented the communities he protected.

It represented the police family.

It represented sacrifice.

It represented loyalty.

It represented brotherhood.

And when I saw that flag over my partner, I knew that although I could not physically stand beside him on his final journey...

Jamaica stood beside him.

And tonight, I want to tell you why that meant so much to me.

Because Bobby Reds was not simply somebody I worked with.

Bobby Reds was my partner.

He was my backup.

He was my brother.

And without Bobby Reds' contribution to my life, I genuinely do not believe I would be where I am today.

So stay with me.

Because tonight I am going to take you back to the Hunts Bay days.

I am going to show you some of the men who stood together during one of the most dangerous periods of policing.

And I am going to explain why the final salute given to Bobby Reds brought something out of me that I will never forget.

This one is from the heart.

MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME NEVER TO FORGET MY MANNERS

Before I talk about Bobby Reds, before I talk about Hunts Bay, before I talk about Commissioner Blake, I want to begin with the woman who first taught me what gratitude meant:

my mother.

My mother taught me that education is important.

But education without manners means very little.

You can have degrees.

You can have titles.

You can have rank.

You can have money.

You can have influence.

But if somebody does something good for you and you cannot humble yourself enough to say thank you, then something is missing.

She taught me that appreciation shouldn't depend on whether somebody gave you a million dollars or a glass of water.

If the act came from a good place...

say thank you.

And she taught me something else.

Sometimes the person everybody sees getting the credit is not the only person who made something happen.

People are working quietly.

Making telephone calls.

Signing documents.

Speaking to somebody else.

Making arrangements.

Solving problems.

Moving things from point A to point B.

And many times, those people never ask to be called publicly.

That is why today I want to acknowledge everybody.

Not merely Commissioner Blake.

Not merely SSP Manderson.

Not merely Granville Gause or Dudley Bryan.

I want to acknowledge the young constable who was assigned and carried it out professionally.

The officer who arranged transportation.

The person who coordinated the ceremony.

The men who carried the coffin.

The people who folded that Jamaican flag.

The people who stood there when cameras were not pointed at them.

Because sometimes the greatest acts of service happen when nobody is watching.

And today, I want them to know:

I noticed.

And I appreciate you.

BOBBY'S FINAL WISH

One of Bobby's heartfelt desires was that whenever God decided his journey on this earth had ended, the Jamaican flag would accompany him on his final journey.

Somebody listening might say:

"Porter, it's just a flag."

No.

Not to Bobby.

That flag meant something.

When a man has spent years serving Jamaica, working in communities where danger sometimes comes without warning, that flag represents more than cloth.

It represents belonging.

It represents service.

It represents sacrifice.

It represents the Country that shaped you.

It represents the people you defended.

It represents the institution that became part of your identity.

For Bobby, Jamaica was not simply the place where he lived.

He was a patriot.

And he wanted to leave this earth under the colors of his Country.

And Commissioner Blake, your administration helped make that happen.

That is something I will never forget.

I have criticized institutions before.

I will criticize institutions again whenever criticism is deserved.

But fairness demands something from all of us.

If we are prepared to call people out when they do wrong, then we should also be prepared to stand up publicly when they do something right.

That is balance.

That is fairness.

That is decency.

So I am standing here today and saying:

Commissioner Dr. Kevin Blake, you did right by my partner.

And I thank you.

THIS WAS NOT JUST ANOTHER COWORKER

People sometimes hear the word "partner" and think it means:

"We worked the same shift."

No.

Bobby and I worked together for more than a decade.

There were periods when, because of the nature of the job, we spent what amounted to 96 hours or more together during a single week.

Think about that.

There were weeks when I probably saw Bobby more than I saw members of my own family.

So when you spend that kind of time together, the relationship changes.

This is no longer:

"Good morning, coworker."

This becomes:

"Where is Bobby?"

"Where is Porter?"

"Who is covering me?"

"Who is watching the rear?"

"Who is coming with me?"

"Who understands what I am thinking before I even finish speaking?"

That is partnership.

Some people in policing understand exactly what I mean.

Sometimes your partner knows you better professionally than almost anybody else.

He knows your habits.

He knows when you are uncomfortable.

He knows when something does not look right.

Sometimes you look at each other, and nobody has to speak.

One look says:

Something is wrong here.

That kind of relationship cannot be created overnight.

It is forged through experience.

Through danger.

Through disappointment.

Through victories.

Through arguments.

Through jokes.

Through exhaustion.

Through long nights.

Through crime scenes.

Through investigations.

Through situations where you do not know exactly what the next five minutes will bring.

And eventually, that person stops being merely your coworker.

He becomes your confidant.

Your backup.

Your brother.

That was Bobby Red's to me.

I COULD NOT BE THERE

This is one of the parts that still hurts.

I could not physically attend Bobby's funeral.

And I want people to understand something clearly.

It wasn't because I didn't have leave.

I had more than 240 hours of vacation leave—approximately six weeks.

The issue involved the required briefings, training, authorization process, and ultimately the definition of immediate family used in the decision.

And I understand regulations.

I understand policy.

I have worn uniforms.

I have worked inside institutions.

I understand that rules exist.

But there is a sentence I want you to remember tonight:

A regulation can define immediate family.

A regulation cannot measure a relationship.

A regulation cannot calculate 12 years of partnership.

It cannot calculate nights spent together.

It cannot calculate danger.

It cannot calculate loyalty.

It cannot calculate memories.

It cannot calculate what one human being contributed to another human being's life.

So yes...

On paper, Bobby might not have fit somebody's definition of immediate family.

But in my life?

That man was family.

And that is why not being there hurt.

But something brought me comfort.

When I watched those images and saw the police officers standing there...

When I saw St. Andrew South represented...

When I saw the Jamaican flag...

When I saw the men carrying Bobby...

I realized:

You stood there when I could not.

And I will never forget that.

SSP DAMION MANDERSON AND ST. ANDREW SOUTH

I want to publicly acknowledge Senior Superintendent Damion Manderson, the Commanding Officer for St. Andrew South, and every member of the division who participated in Bobby's farewell.

St. Andrew South was part of Bobby's story.

And it is part of my story.

When you hear Hunts Bay, when you hear St. Andrew South, you are hearing names that represent an important chapter in our lives.

Those streets taught us things no classroom could.

Those communities produced experiences that stayed with us forever.

We were young policemen.

We were learning.

We were developing.

We were becoming detectives.

We were learning how criminals thought.

We were learning how communities responded.

We were learning whom to trust.

We were learning that policing is not merely arresting people.

Sometimes it is listening.

Sometimes it is observing.

Sometimes it is knowing when somebody is afraid.

Sometimes it is understanding the difference between somebody who genuinely wants to help and somebody trying to send you in the wrong direction.

And through all of that, Bobby was there.

So when St. Andrew South showed up for him at the end...

That meant something.

It told me:

His service mattered.

It told me:

The years were remembered.

It told me:

The institution remembered one of its own.

And SSP Manderson, I thank you for your leadership in that moment.

TO THE YOUNG POLICE OFFICERS: I SAW MYSELF IN YOU

Now this part touched me emotionally.

To the young police officers who participated in Bobby's funeral...

Especially the officers who carried that coffin...

I want to speak directly to you.

When I looked at some of you...

I saw myself.

I saw the young police officer that I used to be.

Before the grey hair.

Before decades of memories.

Before all the experiences.

Before people knew my name.

I was once that young policeman standing beside senior men and trying to learn.

Watching.

Listening.

Making mistakes.

Correcting mistakes.

Trying to become better.

Trying to understand the profession.

Trying to become the best policeman I could become.

And I want those young officers to understand something.

When you carried Bobby's coffin...

you were not simply carrying a coffin.

You were carrying history.

You were carrying decades of policing.

You were carrying thousands of memories.

You were carrying countless patrols.

Countless investigations.

Countless moments nobody photographed.

Countless situations that were never written about in a newspaper.

You were carrying a man who once stood where you now stand.

A man who once had young legs.

A man who once put on his clothes and went out to work not knowing what the day would bring.

A man who once answered calls.

A man who once walked into danger.

A man who once depended upon his partners.

And one day—many years from now, God willing—it will be your generation looking backward.

Another young officer will be standing where you once stood.

So never lose your humanity.

Never lose your professionalism.

Never lose your respect for those who came before you.

Because:

Tradition matters.

Service matters.

Respect matters.

And to every one of you who carried Bobby:

From an old detective looking at the next generation...

I salute you.

Det. Rock Stephens, Bobby Reds, ACP Granville Gause and Det. Chris Porter.

Now look at this photograph.

Some of you will see five men.

I see a lifetime.

I see Hunts Bay.

I see the 1990s.

I see men who knew what it meant to go where other people did not necessarily want to go.

From left:

Detective Inspector Lincoln Cassell.

Detective Rock Stephens.

Bobby Reds.

ACP Granville "John" Gause.

And Detective Chris Porter.

When I look at photographs like this today, I realize how quickly life moves.

Back then, none of us stood there thinking:

"One day this photograph will become history."

We were living.

Working.

Fighting crime.

Laughing.

Arguing.

Planning.

Trying to get home safely.

Sometimes we think history is something that happened 100 years ago.

No.

Sometimes history is simply what happens when enough time passes over the life you already lived.

That old photograph is history now.

And every man in that photograph has a story.

THE HUNTS BAY TEAM AND THE PRICE OF POLICING

When I think about our team and our history, I remember how dangerous that era could become.

Our team leader was Leslie Ashman.

Members of that team faced gunfire.

Gunter was shot.

Rock Stephens was shot.

Kirk Palmer was shot.

Bruce Brown was shot and killed.

These are not movie scenes.

These are human beings.

These are people with families.

People who laughed.

People who had plans.

People who probably thought about what they were going to eat later in the evening.

And then something happened.

That is policing.

Sometimes danger does not send you an appointment.

It does not call and say:

"Officer, prepare yourself. At 3:45 this afternoon something terrible is going to happen."

No.

You leave home, and you do not know.

That is why partnership means so much.

That is why backup means so much.

That is why trust means so much.

And after all those dangerous years, two members of our team were never shot:

Bobby Reds and me.

Think about that.

Bobby survived the streets.

He survived dangerous assignments.

He survived the gunmen.

And in the end...

God allowed him to leave this world through natural causes.

For that, I thank God.

Because I believe somewhere in Bobby's mind, like many of us who worked those kinds of assignments, there was probably always the thought:

"One day a bullet might get me."

But that was not his ending.

God had another exit prepared.

WE HAD FUN FIGHTING CRIME

I want to avoid making this video so heavy that we overlook something important.

We laughed.

Man...

We laughed.

People sometimes look at police officers and imagine everybody spends 24 hours walking around with a serious face.

No.

You could not survive some of those environments psychologically without humor.

We had serious moments.

We had dangerous moments.

But we also had some wonderful moments.

We had fun fighting crime.

Sometimes when you spend that much time with somebody, you develop jokes nobody else understands.

You develop stories that only five people in the world understand.

Somebody says one word, and everybody starts laughing because it takes you back 15 years.

That is what friendship becomes.

And those memories are priceless.

Nobody can take them.

Time cannot erase them all.

Death cannot erase them.

When somebody dies, the physical relationship ends.

But the memories do not suddenly disappear.

Sometimes one photograph brings everything back.

One voice recording.

One place.

One street.

One old story.

One nickname.

And suddenly that person is alive again in your mind.

That is Bobby Reds to me.

GRANVILLE "JOHN" GAUSE

Now I want to talk about a man I have mentioned many times:

Retired ACP Granville "John" Gause.

Boss...

Thank you.

And I use the word Boss with respect.

Because when I look back at the men who helped shape our development as crime fighters, your contribution cannot be erased.

One thing people need to understand about leadership is this:

Sometimes you don't know how much influence you had on somebody until 20 or 30 years later.

A young officer may not tell you.

A detective may not tell you.

But years later, he realizes:

"That man taught me something."

"That man opened a door."

"That man corrected me."

"That man trusted me."

"That man helped shape the policeman I became."

And ACP Gause, you were one of those men.

But what impresses me now is something else.

The ranks eventually come off.

The uniform eventually goes into the closet.

The office eventually belongs to somebody else.

The police vehicle eventually gets reassigned.

Commands change.

Commissioners change.

Everybody's career eventually ends.

But real relationships can survive retirement.

They can survive promotions.

They can survive transfers.

They can survive distance.

And sometimes they even survive death.

Bobby died...

and you were still there.

That tells me:

The old team still had our backs.

And I will never forget that.

SSP DUDLEY BRYAN

And I cannot forget SSP Dudley Bryan.

Sir, thank you.

The same gratitude applies.

Because when one member of the old family passed away, people who had been instrumental in our development were still present.

That means something.

This is something I want young officers to learn.

Do not build relationships merely based upon somebody's current rank.

Because rank changes.

A constable becomes a corporal.

A corporal becomes a sergeant.

A sergeant becomes an inspector.

Somebody becomes a superintendent.

Somebody retires.

Somebody leaves.

But character remains.

Relationships remain.

And years later, when somebody dies, the people who genuinely cared are often the ones who still show up.

That is brotherhood.

Not slogans.

Not speeches.

Presence.

And Gause and Bryan...

You were present.

Thank you.

COMMISSIONER BLAKE: LEADERSHIP IS ALSO REMEMBERING

Commissioner Blake, I want to return to you.

Leadership is not simply giving commands.

Leadership is not merely standing at a podium.

Leadership is not simply issuing policies.

Leadership is also remembering the people who served.

Behind every uniform is a human being.

Behind every regulation number is somebody's son.

Somebody's father.

Somebody's husband.

Somebody's friend.

Somebody's partner.

Behind every police career are sacrifices the public will never fully know.

And when Bobby's service was recognized at the end of his life, something very important happened.

The institution sent a message:

We remember you.

You may no longer be answering the radio.

You may no longer be walking into the station.

You may no longer be attending crime scenes.

You may no longer be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with your partners.

But your contribution existed.

Your service existed.

Your sacrifice existed.

And we remember.

That is why this meant so much.

WHY PUBLIC GRATITUDE MATTERS

Somebody may ask:

"Why make a whole video just to say thank you?"

Because we make videos to complain.

We make videos to criticize.

We make videos when people disappoint us.

So why should gratitude be whispered?

Why should appreciation be private?

If somebody does something publicly honorable, why should we be ashamed to thank them publicly?

We need more of that.

Jamaica needs more of that.

Families need more of that.

Police organizations need more of that.

Communities need more of that.

Tell people thank you while they are alive.

Give people their flowers while they can smell them.

Tell the young officer:

"Good job."

Tell the supervisor:

"I appreciate what you did."

Tell your partner:

"I value you."

Tell your friend:

"You helped me."

Because sometimes we wait until funerals.

And then suddenly everybody finds the vocabulary.

Suddenly everybody knows the person was great.

Suddenly everybody remembers what the person meant.

Do not wait.

That is part of why I am doing this video.

Commissioner Blake is alive.

SSP Manderson is alive.

ACP Gause is alive.

Dudley Bryan is alive.

Those young police officers are alive.

So I am not waiting.

Thank you.

WITHOUT BOBBY REDS, I WOULD NOT BE WHO I AM

This is deeply personal.

Without Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams' contribution to my life and my police career, I genuinely do not believe I would be the person I am today.

And I mean that.

When people look at somebody's achievements, they usually see the person standing in front of them.

They see the finished product.

They do not see the people behind that person.

They do not see the partner who gave advice.

They do not see the person who said:

"Try it this way."

They do not see the person who covered your back.

They do not see the person who helped when things went wrong.

They do not see the friend who listened when you were frustrated.

They do not see the man who said:

"Keep going."

Bobby was one of those people in my life.

We fought crime together.

We traveled together.

We laughed together.

We disagreed.

Of course we disagreed.

If you spend that much time with somebody and tell me you never disagreed, somebody is lying!

Brothers disagree.

Partners disagree.

But the bond remains.

And ours remained.

Death cannot erase that history.

A POLICE FAMILY SHOULD NOT FORGET ITS OWN

No police force is perfect.

No institution is perfect.

No police officer is perfect.

I certainly was not perfect.

But institutions occasionally get moments where they can demonstrate character.

This was one of those moments.

Bobby Reds had completed his shift on earth.

He could no longer ask anybody for anything.

He could no longer make a phone call.

He could no longer advocate for himself.

He could no longer say:

"Remember me."

So it became the responsibility of the living.

And the living remembered.

That is dignity.

And when an institution remembers somebody who can no longer give anything back to that institution...

That is meaningful.

Because Bobby could no longer earn a promotion.

He could no longer produce statistics.

He could no longer make an arrest.

He could no longer make anybody look good.

The only thing left was his service.

His name.

His history.

His memory.

And that was honored.

Thank you.

THE JAMAICAN FLAG

Black.

Green.

Gold.

For some people it is simply a national symbol.

For Bobby...

it was his Country.

It was home.

And for a policeman who had spent so much of his life serving Jamaica, I cannot imagine a more meaningful final salute than leaving under those colors.

Bobby wanted the Jamaican flag.

Bobby got the Jamaican flag.

That is why the thumbnail says:

HIS FINAL WISH CAME TRUE.

And Commissioner Blake and team...

You played your part in making that happen.

TO EVERYBODY WHO ATTENDED

To everybody who attended Bobby's funeral:

Thank you.

I could not be there.

But you were.

To everybody from St. Andrew South:

Thank you.

To every old colleague:

Thank you.

To every family member:

Thank you.

To every friend:

Thank you.

To every officer standing in formation:

Thank you.

To the pallbearers:

Thank you.

To the people who organized what the public saw:

Thank you.

And to the people who organized things the public never saw:

Thank you.

You stood there when I could not.

You said goodbye when I could not physically say goodbye.

And you gave my brother dignity on his final journey.

DIRECT MESSAGE TO THE YOUNG OFFICERS

Young officers...

I want you to remember Bobby Reds.

Maybe you never worked with him.

Maybe you were children when we were fighting crime.

Some of you may not even have been born when some of these Hunts Bay photographs were taken.

But that is how institutions work.

Every generation inherits something from the generation before.

And then you add your chapter.

One day somebody is going to look at photographs of you.

One day somebody will say:

"That officer served here."

"That officer worked there."

"That officer helped me."

"That officer saved somebody."

"That officer taught me something."

So build a career worth remembering.

Do not merely chase rank.

Do not merely chase popularity.

Chase professionalism.

Chase competence.

Chase integrity.

Treat people with dignity.

Learn from experienced officers.

And never assume the old policemen have nothing to teach you.

Some of them carry libraries inside their heads.

Experience paid for with fear.

Experience paid for with mistakes.

Experience paid for with scars.

Experience paid for with the loss of friends.

Listen.

Learn.

Then improve upon what they taught you.

That is how institutions grow.

BOBBY, YOU SURVIVED

Bobby...

You survived.

You survived the dangerous assignments.

You survived the streets.

You survived the era.

You survived situations that could have ended differently.

And in the end...

God called you home naturally.

I find peace in that.

Because after everything we saw...

After everything we experienced...

After watching colleagues get shot...

After watching people die...

You had to leave differently.

And maybe, just maybe, that was God's final gift to you.

FINAL SALUTE

Now I want to close this the way I believe Bobby deserves.

Bobby...

Wherever your spirit may be:

Rest peacefully, my brother.

You served.

You sacrificed.

You survived.

You earned your rest.

Your shift is over.

But your name is not over.

Your service is not forgotten.

Your courage is not forgotten.

Our memories are not gone.

Hunts Bay remembers.

St. Andrew South remembers.

Your friends remember.

Your colleagues remember.

And I remember.

Until the day I take my final breath, there will be stories involving Bobby Reds stored inside me.

Some serious.

Some dangerous.

Some hilarious.

Some I may never tell publicly!

But they belong to us.

And that is friendship.

FINAL MESSAGE TO COMMISSIONER BLAKE AND THE JCF

Commissioner Dr. Kevin Blake...

I asked that Bobby Reds be remembered.

You remembered him.

I expect his service to be recognized.

You recognized it.

Bobby wanted the Jamaican flag to accompany him on his final journey.

That wish was honored.

So there is nothing complicated left for me to say.

Just two words.

Two words my mother taught me never to be too proud to use:

Thank you.

Thank you, Commissioner Blake.

Thank you, SSP Damion Manderson.

Thank you to the leadership of the Jamaica Constabulary Force.

Thank you to the rank-and-file members.

Thank you to those young officers.

Thank you to the pallbearers.

Thank you, Retired ACP Granville "John" Gause.

Thank you, SSP Dudley Bryan.

Thank you to everybody who worked behind the scenes.

And thank you to everyone who stood there for Bobby when I physically could not.

What you did gave me comfort.

You allowed my partner to leave this world with the Jamaican flag proudly draped over his coffin.

And for a man who dedicated such a significant portion of his life to Jamaica...

I cannot imagine a more meaningful final salute.

Bobby Reds...

My partner.

My brother.

My friend.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you stayed with me to the end of this tribute, put these words in the comment section:

"FINAL SALUTE 🇯🇲."

Not for me.

For Bobby.

And if you served with Bobby Reds, worked at Hunts Bay, St. Andrew South, or knew any member of that old crime-fighting team, share one respectful memory below.

Let this comment section become part of the historical record.

Because men eventually leave us.

Photographs fade.

Uniforms come off.

Ranks disappear.

But if we tell the stories...

the legacy remains.

MANNERS TAKE YOU THROUGH THE WORLD — A FINAL WORD OF GRATITUDE

There is an old Jamaican saying that I grew up hearing:

"Manners take you through the world."

And the older I become, the more I understand the wisdom contained in those few words.

Manners are not weakness.

Humility is not weakness.

Showing appreciation does not make a man smaller.

In fact, I believe it makes him bigger.

Because true humility teaches us that no matter what we have accomplished, no matter where life has taken us, and no matter what titles we may hold, we should never become too proud to recognize the good that somebody else has done.

We should never become too important to say:

Thank you.

Commissioner Dr. Kevin Blake, that is what I want to do in closing.

I want to show my manners.

I want to show humility.

I want to show respect.

And I want to do it not only for myself, but on behalf of my fallen partner, District Constable Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams.

Because Bobby is not here to pick up the telephone and call you.

Bobby is not here to shake your hand.

Bobby is not here to look you in the eyes and say:

"Commissioner, thank you."

He cannot thank SSP Damion Manderson.

He cannot thank the officers of St. Andrew South.

He cannot thank those young policemen who stood with dignity and carried him on his final journey.

He cannot thank the people who worked quietly behind the scenes.

And he cannot personally thank everyone who helped fulfill one of the wishes that meant so much to him—leaving this world with the Jamaican flag draped over his casket.

So somebody has to say it.

And as the man who worked beside Bobby for more than a decade...

As the man who trusted him...

As the man who depended upon him...

As the man who laughed with him, faced danger with him, and regarded him not simply as a coworker but as a brother...

I will say it for him.

Commissioner Blake:

Thank you.

Thank you to your leadership team.

Thank you to SSP Manderson.

Thank you to the men and women of the Jamaica Constabulary Force.

Thank you to St. Andrew South.

Thank you to the young officers who helped give Bobby Reds a dignified final salute.

And thank you to every person whose name I may never know who played some part in making that moment possible.

I am Christopher Porter, a man born at 38 Asquith Street, Jones Town, Kingston 12.

I came from humble beginnings.

And no matter where life has taken me, I refuse to forget the lessons I was taught growing up.

Respect people.

Remember those who helped you.

Do not forget where you came from.

Don't let pride stop you from expressing gratitude.

And above all:

Never forget your manners.

Commissioner Blake, Bobby cannot tell you himself.

So today, with humility, respect, and gratitude, I am telling you for him.

You honored my partner.

You respected his service.

You helped honor his final wish.

And for that, Commissioner Blake and the entire team of the Jamaica Constabulary Force:

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Bobby Reds may no longer be here to speak.

But as long as I am here, his contribution will not be forgotten.

His service will not be forgotten.

His friendship will not be forgotten.

And the people who showed him dignity on his final journey will not be forgotten either.

Because, as our Jamaican elders taught us:

Manners take you through the world.

And today, this is my way of showing mine.

Thank you, Commissioner Blake.

Thank you, JCF.

And Bobby Reds...

Rest well, my brother. Your final wish was honored.

District Constable Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams:

FINAL SALUTE. 🇯🇲

JAMAICAN YOUNG POLICE

Hunts Bay 7 out.

Until we meet again...

Rest in peace, Bobby Reds.

HUNTS BAY 7 OUT.