Sunday Times 2
Many were the lessons
Following is a tribute by Lester Corea, Ernest Corea’s son, at the celebration of his life service at St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church, Springfield, Virginia.
As many of you may already know, my dad’s father, Andy’s and my grandad, was an Anglican priest, leading dad to claim, that when he was a young lad, his friends, when they were angry with him, would say, “You son of a priest!”
Christianity and the church were always important to dad. In fact he was so connected to the church that legend has it, when dad was born in the vicarage at St. Luke’s Church in Borella, the church bell came crashing down. What an entrance heralding the importance of being Ernest!
This connection is why we as a family are so touched and thankful how St. Christopher’s and especially, you, Father Peter, welcomed him and our mum into your fold and looked after them so lovingly, and continue to do so for mum. He loved coming to St. Christopher’s and, attending the after-service breakfast club!
Dad was a very special man: He was witty, wise, caring, disciplined and intellectual. He was inquisitive about, and interested in, life; which probably explains why he excelled at journalism and diplomacy.
From newspapers in Sri Lanka and Singapore, to embassies abroad, and international organisations such as the IDRC in Canada and the World Bank in the USA, dad always gained recognition and respect in whatever post he held.
He loved language. He was so clever and quick with words, that when a group of his peers at his high school, Royal College, Colombo, attempted to hire the school’s champion boxer (boxing was an integral part of physical education in his day) to give dad a good licking, the boxer is reported to have declined, saying, “Are you kidding? Ernest? That fellow will stand there and give me a lecture which will give me a headache for the rest of my life!”
Of course, dad wasn’t a perfect person. He was witty, yes, but sometimes his wit could be acerbic if he felt someone was talking nonsense. As well, he could be incredibly stubborn.
Dad also had a habit of interrupting and correcting a point of grammar or accuracy of a word used, in mid-sentence, thus interrupting the whole flow of conversation.
In fact, dad’s command of language and his knowledge was so vast, that even when we knew he was wrong, it was virtually impossible to win a discussion against him.
My dearest, oldest best-friend in Germany, Hein, once told mum, “You know, we have to find some topic that Ernest is weak at, and then we can win.” Hein never achieved his goal. It was to Hein that dad once fondly said after a visit to Hein’s home in Weimar, Germany, “Hein it was a pleasure and an honour visiting with you; the pleasure was mine, the honour was yours!”
Dad had a gentler side to his humour as well. He loved telling the story that when an uncle of his asked for directions as to how to get to a particular address, dad had replied, “ Well, if you approach it from this side, the house is on the right side, but if you come from the opposite side, the house will be on the left side.” To which the uncle had apparently scolded, “You’re trying to pull my leg, aren’t you? How can a house be on two sides of the road at the same time?” Dad used to love that anecdote.
He believed very strongly in standing up and being counted and was a hard worker and a nurturing boss. He often told me, “You can’t rest on the laurels of your ancestors but you have to earn your own accolades; through your own hard work and merit.” While he was editor I remember him coming home after a full day’s work, to be with us for some hours and then returning to the office late at night, to put the paper to bed. (This was before the time newspapers were computer printed and was the last step, before the newspapers began rolling off the press).
As Editor-in-Chief of Sri Lanka’s leading English-language daily, he would nurture young journalists by enabling them to go on training programmes abroad, which he himself had been offered.
While High Commissioner in Canada and Ambassador in the US, dad worked tirelessly making friends with and earning the respect of his counterparts at the External Affairs and State Department, as well as attending to the needs of the Sri Lankan community in those countries. As Head of Mission, knowing he was a political appointee, he used to insist on always having the support of a career diplomat as Deputy Chief of Mission; an insistence which earned him the respect of the Sri Lankan Foreign Service.
Dad was always supportive of his staff especially if they wanted to better themselves academically or move on to other career prospects. He was not above being wily, however. While editor in Sri Lanka fighting for freedom and independence of the press, and against a governmental take-over of the newspapers, he published a photomontage of Buddhist monks leading the protest movement (an important aspect of any political campaign in Sri Lanka) to create the impression of many more monks than had actually taken part. The result was that on subsequent days, ever increasing numbers of monks joined the protest marches, contributing to the ultimate defeat of the government’s efforts.
As ambassador, when a US diplomat was declared Persona Non Grata and expelled from Sri Lanka, Howard Schaffer, the Deputy Assistant Secretary for the Subcontinent at the time, tried to contact Larry Eagleburger, Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs, about reciprocal action. He found out that the matter had been closed. This was because Ambassador Corea had been quicker than Mr. Schaffer, and had already met Mr. Eagleburger and resolved the issue.
Mr. Schaffer remembers that the reason dad had gained such quick access to Mr. Eagleburger, who was notoriously difficult to get through to, was that from the very beginning of taking up duties as ambassador, dad had been cultivating the friendship of the key to Eagleburger’s locked door: his personal assistant, named Millie.
Despite his success as a journalist and a diplomat, dad was always proper and humble and keen that we, his sons, learned these values too. When I attended American University which was about half an hour away from the ambassador’s residence on Massachusetts Avenue, in Washington DC, the embassy chauffeur offered to drive me to university. When I asked dad’s permission, he replied, “There’s a perfectly good bus line which you can use. The embassy car is for official use only.” To this day I hate bus riding.
But an episode I will never forget, is that when I was very little, in Sri Lanka, I called our domestic help, Somasiri, who was back in the kitchen, to come to where I was sitting – to pour me a glass of water from the fridge which was just an arms-length away from me. Dad said, “Don’t ever let me see or hear you doing that again.” Dad wanted me to learn that though I was the editor’s son, it did not give me any special rights I had not earned, and he wanted me to learn to respect people as people, no matter their station in life. It’s a lesson I still carry with me today.
And he never forgot his roots. While he was ambassador, dad told me, “When I was a young boy there used to be a gardener at the vicarage who used to put out chairs for the visiting guests. The gardener wasn’t allowed to sit on those chairs. When I negotiate aid for Sri Lanka, I always think of that gardener and hope the country will progress, so that one day people like that gardener can sit on those chairs.”
Dad was a nurturing and exemplary father as well. Something Andy and I both learned was the art of releasing the reins on our children, giving them our values but at the same time knowing that we as parents have to let go, confident that our children will succeed in finding their way through life. Sometimes though, his pride in his sons took annoying turns. When Andy won a public speaking competition at elementary school in Canada, dad would time after time make Andy repeat his winning speech to visiting colleagues.
He had running gags which sometimes became tiresome too: when training me as a bartender for guests, dad said, “Pour two fingers of alcohol into the glass, but like this (horizontal) not like this (vertical).” It was a valid instruction when given the first time, and in private, but not when he repeated the instruction each time, in front of his guests! After all, I was at university.
Dad was a loving husband, too. Mum, long before he became badly ill, when visiting Doris and me in Germany on his own, he would often tell us how much he loved you and that he felt his life would have been a shambles if not for you. By the way: Mum is the only person who could overrule dad or win an argument. How does that old saying go? “Behind every great man, there’s an exhausted…..”
Even when he became terminally ill, he would tell us, “Without Indra I would be long dead.” Mum, one of the most beautiful moments I experienced between the two of you, in dad’s last days, right after he came home to pass away, was when he asked you the next day, “Did you sleep well?” For me, in that instant, you had moved on from being nurse and he had moved on from being patient. You were simply husband and wife again.
Mum, he knew what you did for him and was so grateful for it. And we your sons thank you, too. Love you with all our hearts. He was a doting grandfather, showing fellow metro riders all the way from Pentagon City to Farragut West, or hapless cashiers at various supermarkets, (willing or not) photos of his grandchildren. And a concerned and loving father-in-law. Especially when my wife Doris fell ill with cancer, he would with iron-willed discipline undertake fasts and pray for God’s intercession.
How sad that this man with his brilliant intellect would say in his last years, “I sit at the computer and try to write but what appears on the screen is not what I had in my mind. How sad this man of humility and little extravagance, would in his last years not be able to enjoy his passion of going out to restaurants to explore different foods.
A favourite uncle of mine, Nihal Kappagoda, and I would often each pick up the phone and call dad to ask for his advice on some matter. How sad that we will not hear his voice anymore and not be able to receive his sound counsel. How sad that this wonderful man is not here with us to engage in political discussion, to share in laughter and family love.
What a wonderful gift, that we his sons could reach him in his last days, when he could still recognise us and register that we were there for him. What a wonderful gift, that in his very last days, he could be in the comfort and familiarity of his own home, instead of the sterility of some hospital room, and that we his family could be with him as he drifted away into eternal sleep.
We take comfort in the firm conviction that dad has moved on, to a place where he doesn’t have to suffer anymore. He’s probably driving the angels mad, proving them wrong in some discussion or other!
In closing I’d like to quote a short sentence from Shakespeare’s Julius Ceasar, which I believe encapsulates dad,
“ His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’ “
Dear family and friends, yes: Dad is gone. And we will miss him dearly. However, as long as we keep him in our hearts and minds, he will live on forever. Thanks to all of you again for being here.
I would like to ask all of you to stand and reach across the aisles and hold each others’ hands. Let us take a moment together, to each remember how he touched our personal lives. Let us always keep him: in our hearts and minds.
God bless Ernest Corea. May he rest in peace.
Lester Corea (On behalf of the family)