VETERAN journalist Errol Pilgrim was one of a few in the media industry who could legitimately claim the appellation 'veteran.'

Today, there are many reporters toting the rank of 'senior journalist' even though they've yet to develop the knowledge, insight and analysis commensurate with that title.

Bestowing tin medals on undercooked prospects seems to be a tactic used by media houses to compensate for their lack of compensation. It's probably meant to dissuade defection to better prospects. Errol, on the other hand, was the real-deal senior journalist.

I joined the TTT newsroom a year after the 1990 insurrection. Management was mandated to expand news coverage to increase the local content quotient. At the time, the Panorama newscast was mostly regional and international stories.

As one of a bunch of nubes, I was prodded into a gladiatorial pit; one that wasn't particularly welcoming. Trying to ease into a working newsroom was like trying to clean a blender while it's running. How the hell would I find my footing in this machinery that was in constant motion?

Although Errol never appointed himself sensei to senseless initiates, he was approachable and knowledgeable - qualities that magnetised younger reporters. Through him we understood that to tell a story well you sometimes had to do a bit of time travel. He had a natural ability to contextualise stories that needed the backbone of background to make a piece well rounded in scope. This ability was honed over years in the profession; smoothed and sharpened on the grindstone of field experience, working the beat, and spinning his contacts on the potter's wheel.

Originally a newspaperman, Pilgrim was justifiably proud of his legacy in print, and always found some not-so-subtle ways of recounting tales of his swashbuckling exploits. One such story resonated with me in particular. He had written an account of allegations of racial discrimination at the Country Club, one of the remaining bastions of colonial hegemony - 'Colour bar at the Country Club.' Here was a relative peon confronting the establishment to expose a cancer of classism and racism in society.

This had a huge impact on me because it began to shape what I understood a career in journalism could be. Published by the Trinidad Express in 1969, the article was ahead of its time and probably did its bit to define the era.

Errol had a deeply personal impact on my career. At one point early on I flirted with the idea of abandoning the profession for advertising. He got wind of my job search and in a casual moment pulled me aside and said, 'You have the potential to go very far in the media. Advertising is stupidness. You can do fantastic things here.' His sage-like entreaty came from a genuine place. Had Errol not intervened, I might have continued my search.

Errol had some quirks, though, that weren't exactly endearing. I'm laughing as I write this. Getting access to an editing suite in the newsroom was always a dog-eat-dog affair; resources were scarce. In the old days of linear

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