I know, Mr Editor, I said that I was going to stop writing for a time. But I trust you will allow me this exception, a tribute for an exceptional person: the late Dr the Honourable Clarence James, CBE, JP.

We were not contemporaries, but our paths often crossed — first in my years as a journalist and then as an MP. I got to know him well enough to hold him in high regard.

Clarence James was very much a man for his times.

I remember him first as the man who dared ask out loud the question that was on the minds of many of his fellow Bermudians, fellow black Bermudians mostly, back in the late Sixties: are we being used?

It was at about the time of the start of party politics in Bermuda and on the eve of the 1968 General Election that would lead to us moving from representative to responsible government. It was a time of much promise and hope.

Racial segregation wasn’t that far behind us and integration of the races was proclaimed as a national imperative. Dr James believed strongly that racial harmony was essential to the future success of his island home, a critical ingredient if black and white Bermudians were going to succeed as a community.

He knew only too well, first hand in fact, what segregation meant and how racism sought not just to stymie, but to limit the aspirations of black Bermudians. He, too, was a target notwithstanding his own intellect, and his own capabilities, which made him the equal of any person; or better, frankly.

But it never deterred him, thanks in part to his father and his mother, and his upbringing — again the equal of any family anywhere in Bermuda.

There was also his very nature and temperament, which made him a man without malice, as any of his former colleagues, on both sides of the political aisle, could tell you.

Those same people could also tell you how methodical and logical Dr James was in his approach to problems and issues; and how once he had made up his mind, he could rarely if ever be persuaded to change it.

He was driven and determined to a fault, some would tell you; obdurate, even, according to others.

I remember what my father, an admirer, used to tell me about Dr James and his capabilities — they were colleagues who often sat around the same table — and that is that he was surgeon-like in his approach (no surprise there) and that he could cut quickly, and precisely, to the heart of any matter. He did it, too, without fear or favour. There was never any doubt where Clarence James stood.

Was he being used? Perhaps, but only to the extent that all politicians are — and, in his case, he knew it. Politics, party politics, can be like that. The trick is to submit consciously, knowingly and willingly, and for what you believe to be a greater purpose, which was what Dr James did. He dared to ask the question and he answered it; not just with words, but with a life in public service.

He won people over the old-fashioned way, you might say — first through his surgical practice when, as a black surgeon, notwithstanding his academic prowess and impeccable credentials, he was not warmly embraced when he started out, as he should have been, and would have been had the colour of his skin been white.

Nevertheless, to his great credit, and to that of his wife, Shirley, and his family, Dr James persevered and established himself in medicine and in politics as a man to be reckoned with, and who deserves today to be saluted for all of his achievements in the face of challenges that might have discouraged others.

His list of achievements was great in both medicine and in politics, as well as behind the scenes, out of the spotlight, through Freemasons for example. While Dr James may not have been demonstrative, or a man of flash, he was one to get the job done whatever the task.

For his contributions to community, Clarence James rates simply as one of Bermuda’s quieter heroes, who should be remembered and celebrated as such: much like Jackie Robinson is recognised today in the United States of America for his role in breaking through the colour barrier on and off the baseball diamond.

The title of Jackie Robinson’s autobiography says it all: I Never Had It Made. This could easily be the title of any number of life stories in Bermuda, black Bermudians chiefly, Clarence James included, as their struggle to succeed included battles with the barriers thrown up by racism.

Speaking of Jackie Robinson, there is also this fitting epitaph on his grave: “A life is not important except for the impact it has on other lives.”

So it was, and so it is, for Dr the Honourable Clarence E. James, CBE, JP.