Chief Joop Berkhout

 By Gbenro Adegbola

When a man dies, we tend to concentrate and reduce his entire life into a few facts, a few kind catchphrases, almost as if the entirety of life’s complexities, the choices, decisions, errors, regrets, triumphs, heights, peaks, rough patches, life’s abysses etc were not a part of his life.

But then it is really difficult to fully capture the full essence of a man in so few words that the occasion of a farewell such as this permits. It is probably for this reason that Chief Berkhout himself hounded almost everybody of consequence to write a book so that their life would be revealed in all its complexities and multi-facetedness.

The supreme irony is that he did not seem to have heeded his own persistent and unrelenting call to “write a book”. I know of at least three ill-fated book projects on Chief Berkhout’s life. He always had a way of scuttling them with one complaint or the other.

Without a doubt, Chief Berkhout was an enigma to many, even sometimes to those of us who once worked closely with him. His life was at once a plain, open book, and at the same time, his personality was sometimes complex and difficult to grasp.  He was both generous and, at the same time, for want of a better word, sometimes unbelievably unkind, although the shock of this contrast was modulated by the fact that he could also quite often be mean to himself. He was a self-proclaimed Ijebu man in money matters, but he was at the same time an incredibly generous human with his time, ideas and other non-financial resources. Even as tight-fisted as he proudly claimed to be, and indeed was, he could sometimes be an impulsively generous giver to random people who needed help. He could operate totally without guile where others might think a little bit of it was necessary, and at the same time, he could be extremely calculating and cagey in situations that one would have thought called for openness. He was a self-described non believer or, as he put aptly put it, “a lapsed Catholic,” but he would sometimes show up in church on a regular Sunday, where you would see him singing the hymns lustily, somewhat off-key.

In sum really, this was a man who had simply decided, and unapologetically so, to be his own person and wasn’t prepared to be defined within easy, familiar and conventional classifications of race, creed, colour or even nationality. He needed the validation of no one and sought it from none. It was quite interesting when the children mentioned a few nights ago that they had discovered some final instructions which included the performance of Frank Sinatra’s My way! He lived life entirely his own way.

Chief Berkhout had a vision of what he wanted to achieve but he was prepared to let other people participate in and even drive it.

He threw us, those of us who worked with him at Spectrum Books, in at the deep end of publishing management at specific depths he reckoned we could operate.

He walked into my cubicle one day a few months after joining the company in 1984 as a young 26-year-old, fresh from post-graduate school, and dropped a big file on my table. “Those are all our insurance policies. Somebody from the insurance brokers will come tomorrow to review it and take renewal instructions. You handle it please.”

I protested I knew nothing about insurance. “Don’t worry, the accountant will join in, but believe me, it’s just common sense”.

Tomorrow came and I sat in on the meeting. I didn’t have anything to say really. It all sounded so technical and complicated. As the session was coming to a close I realised I had not said a word in the entire time, and felt I should at least be on record to have contributed. So, I somewhat tentatively, asked if we were sufficiently insured for fire, considering the fact that the paper of stored books in the warehouse can fuel a fire breakout. The accountant and the insurance broker assured that we were well covered. And we left it a that. After the meeting I prepared some short notes to report back to him. I just casually at the end of my briefing I mentioned about the observation concerning fire insurance. I probably included this in my briefing, to give a false impression that I participated actively in the discussions. It worked! His face lit up in sudden excitement. “You see, I told you; it’s just common sense. That’s a fantastic observation. You know, I’ve been in books these many years and have never thought of it that way” or words to that effect. He then overruled the decision that we had taken to reinsure on an existing basis, increasing the fire policy sum insured marginally. Something told me that he took that decision just as a way of encouragement and to giving me confidence of the validity of my observations and decisions. And it sure did. For the next couple of months, he couldn’t stop singing my praises at every opportunity, at every meeting, sometimes even to my embarrassment.

In 2000, when I assumed office as the 3rd MD of Evan’s Brothers in Nigeria, he threw a large party for me and the retiring senior colleague I was replacing. It tickled him to no end that I became MD of a company where he had been the pioneer CEO. He was proud to say he appointed his successor, and that the person taking over from that successor was a man who cut his publishing teeth under him.

However, as he was able to hype you and celebrate you if you impressed him, he also had the capacity to viciously turn on you. I know what I am saying; I have seen and experienced both sides of this coin.

He once turned on me like that. It was around 2006, and I was just one year into my tenure as the President of the Nigerian Publishers Association. He had started what I thought was a totally uncalled for campaign that I should resign my presidency of the Association. This was on account of widely reported transaction involving a number of member companies of the association. It is a rather long story which is unnecessary to go into here. I had considered the situation carefully and had made up my mind there was absolutely no reason to resign. In any case, he was a minority of one person who was of that view. He even attempted to rally a forum of chairmen of member companies to advance his campaign. Thankfully, only he and two other person attended. This other persons told him off roundly, that he lacked understanding of the matter and made no attempts to seek clarification from me or any of the other member firms involved. It was only after they had given him the full details that he finally understood. He made strenuous efforts to reach me, presumably to apologise; but it was too late.  I was really hurt and had written him off my books. Things became so bad between us that I couldn’t even be bothered to be polite when we met at functions or at our Ibadan Dinning Club meetings. I wouldn’t even as much as shake his hands. Things went in this way for about three years of total cessation of any association or communication. Funny enough, I can’t now remember exactly how we reconciled.

Working with him at Spectrum Books, I experienced rapid promotion and advancement. I joined as an assistant manager, became full manager just over a year later, and by the age of 28, I had become a director in Editions Safari, a subsidiary company in Cameroon under the chairmanship of the late retired Justice Samuel Endeley of English speaking Cameroon. I would go off to Douala every few months to monitor operations there and report back to him and the rest of the board. Granted it was a small company but these and other such exposure contributed greatly to my work experience, and preparation for a top position later on.

Each one of us his colleagues, as he liked to describe those of us who were with him, in Spectrum Books at the time, have their stories of similar experiences. He believed in our collective and individual potential and was never stinting in giving opportunities to demonstrate capacity to fulfill those potentials. It was up to you to live up to his expectations. Even those who didn’t exactly meet up to expectations got generous second and sometimes third chances. By the time he gave up on you, it would be clear to you that you just couldn’t cope. His favourite way of writing off someone is to say “he’s a good guy, but he’s not a ball of fire”. Whenever he said that of anyone, be sure he had made up his mind to demand for his resignation.

It’s heartwarming that today it has become obvious to all and sundry that he has earned his place in the annals of Nigerian publishing. Only a few will quibble about that.

But it was not always so. In those early days Publishing in Nigeria was a much smaller community and could be quite competitive with petty rivalries not only between the companies but between the individual players. And although he had studied to do his own thing, different from what everyone else was doing, and therefore was not really threat to anybody, he was still somewhat resented by a few. A bit of it caused by shear envy of his brilliant success, a bit more caused by a personal distaste for “his style” and bit more, invited by the way he himself sometimes carried on. I know this, because unable to face him directly, I was always the soft target some people in the publishing community would share their rants against him with. And often we would be lumped together in the same class. It sometimes became quite unbearable. But I was guaranteed to always react with a simple smile of dismissal or sometimes just keeping a straight unsmiling face. He was so unmoved by what anybody thought of him that even if I had told him some of those things his professional colleagues were saying, he would probably just have shrugged and laughed it off.

He was an unbelievably fearless business risk taker. But his risks were always moderated by reading the business environment and the economy. However, Nigeria as we all know, sometime defies the most comprehensive business intelligence. I recall one such risk he took. My sources from who I learnt of this, assured me that the story was true in every material particular, though I think they embellished it quite a bit for dramatic effect. Years later he himself, unprompted, told the story. It happened in the early 1980s, the company was contracted by the Ondo state government to supply a large consignment of books for use in schools. The terms were he would finance the supply and get paid at an agreed date in future. He then approached a bank in the UK for a loan to finance the production of the books, using his house in the U.K. as collateral. This was the house that his wife and children lived in. And I’m not sure he told his wife. He must have reckoned it was a straight forward transaction that would all be sorted out soon and there was no need alarming her. Or so he thought! What he did not know was that a silent war had been ongoing between the FG at the time, controlled by the NPN, and all the states including Ondo state, that were under the opposition UPN party. Just as the maturity of his payment was nearing, the FG took the battle one notch higher by delaying and withholding payment of subventions and allocations to the these states. This led to a bit of a crunch in the financial affairs of the states. Obviously they had to reschedule due payments. The agreed payment date arrived and he was in Akure to receive his cheque when he got the bombshell that the payment would be delayed indefinitely due to a rescheduling in finances. He couldn’t believe his ears. He very much doubted the information. He immediately stormed out of the finance ministry and went to the governor’s office where he hoped to hear that the finance ministry was just playing pranks with him. In those days, things were a lot easier and it was as possible with some luck to see a governor without prior appointment. He immediately recounted to the governor what he had heard. The governor calmly apologised and confirmed the situation. As the story goes, Chief put on a great dramatic performance.

“I took a loan to finance this supply using my house as collateral. An agreement is an agreement Your Excellency.”  He stamped his feet, he held his head, and took position on a sofa in the governor’s office and swore that would be his bed unless he got paid.  “What do I tell my wife when the bank forecloses on my house and throw out my wife and children. How do I face my children. You have to save me, Mr. Governor. I’m dying.  Don’t let me die sir. Save my life,” he bawled, hot tears rolling down his face in driplets. Very soon he was sobbing and wailing really hard. A completely taken aback, embarrassed and perplexed Gov Ajasin called out to his aides in Akure/Owo dialect: “e lo pe awon finance wa kan wa owo san fun ogbeni yi o. Mi o r’oyinbo to sukun bi eleyi ri o.” Translated; “Please get the finance ministry people urgently. They have to look for money to pay this man; I’ve never seen a white man weep so bitterly!”

Believe it or not, he left with his payment cheque that day!

On one occasion in the last 5-10 years, completely out if the blues he said to Bankole Olayebi and I: “People are calling me the doyen of Nigerian publishing. I rather like the sound of it. What do you think of it?” He must have been unimpressed with our response, he was to bring up the subject later, again and again. On one such occasion, I gently told him that it was not exactly proper for him to appropriate that appellation for himself. I reeled out a number of names that could justifiably lay claim to the appellation too. People like Rev. T. T. Solaru, Aig Higo, John Leigh, Chief Aanulopo, Chief Akinleye, Chief Iwereibon etc. “Oh, I totally agree about the place of all those people you mention. They are genuine pioneers of the industry. But in this generation, I am the doyen,” he insisted somewhat indignantly.

It took me a little while to realise that he wasn’t actually being vain glorious on this, as one might suppose. Rather what he was doing, of course with his eyes on history, was attempting to define and clarify his own legacy. This was simply a way of asking for help with that clarification and definition from associates.

Today, we all agree that he has made tangible contributions to Nigerian publishing, extending it beyond the traditional publication of school-room books to incorporate what we might term viable, general trade publishing. Spectrum Books carried out ambitious publishing projects that proved to be huge cultural and commercial successes. From Princess Elizabeth Bagaya’s Elizabeth of Toro, to Frederick Forsyth’s Emeka, to Obasanjo’s Nzeogwu, from collaborating with established writers like Kole Omotoso’s to publish his most ambitious creative work, Just Before Dawn a history of Nigeria told in a combination of fact and fiction, to giving publishing breaks to new writers like Wale Okediran, and so on, and so on. With Spectrum Books, a regular average general trade book sold at least 20-25,000 copies, a best seller sold 100,000 copies and more. This was a market the industry didn’t realise existed, and had remained untapped, this was the market he teased out. These books contributed in no small measure in developing Nigeria still growing reading culture and helped in developing and preserving Nigerias popular culture. And though economic reversals may have temporarily rolled back some of these gains, those times will surely return. The legacy of Chief Joop Berkhout in this direction can never be erased.

I was never able, or even bothered to find out why he seemed to love that particular appellation of doyen, almost to the point of obsession. As he got older and the ravages of old age began to rage, he seemed to held on to it more tenaciously. It was almost like proof to him that his few months shy of 60 years sojourn in a far away land he adopted as home, had all been worth it. Today, I have no hesitation whatsoever in joining in, and saluting him as the Doyen of Publishing in this generation.

Myself, my wife Funso, my children Kayode and Ayotunde bid him farewell. We thank him for the countless encounters filled with humour and jollity, and pray that his soul rests in peace, and light perpetual shine on him. Amen

………………………………………

A reading from the Apocryphal Book of Sirach the Scribe, also known as Ecclesiasticus, Chapter 7, verses 33-36

Be generous to every living soul, and be gracious to the memory of the dead. Show sympathy to those who have lost a loved one, and mourn with them. Do not hesitate to visit the sick. You will be loved for things like these. Whatever you do, remember that some day you must die. As long as you keep this in mind, you will never sin.

This passage beautifully captures the life of Chief Joop Berkhout, and if he had the opportunity to give us parting words, I have no doubt that it would have been something like this. So I commend it to us all.

We are taught and know from experience that God is merciful, loving and kind. He forgives our sins and shortcomings and he understands our brokenness and innate imperfections. His mercy is deep, and unfathomable, that we can’t comprehend it.

It is to this loving mercy and kindness of God that we commend the soul of our father, friend, associate, collaborator and employer, Jozef ‘Joop’ Berkhout.

We all believe to varying degrees, in an after life. We ask that God should welcome him into His everlasting peace.

Grant him a place in Your kingdom Lord, where there is no more sorrow, no more pain, but only the joy of Your presence forever.

We pray for comfort for us who mourn his passing, and let Your light shine upon us all, until we are all reunited in Your eternal love. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen. Amen.

The Grace together.

Gbenro Adegbola, Managing Director, First Veritas Educational Content Delivery Ltd., 22, Kudeti Avenue, Onireke, Ibadan, Oyo State