Sunrise: December 15, 1958
Sunset: December 13, 2025
Aged: 66 Years
Service Held At
The Historic Bethel Baptist Church Meeting Street, Nassau, New Providence
The Bahamas
Officiating
Rev. A. Dewitt Hutcheson, Interim Pastor
Assisted By Father Whitfield Hutcheson
Rev. Melvin Grant
Senior Deacon Stephen Thompson
Organist: Lakwan Bain
Interment
Woodlawns Gardens Soldier Road
Nassau, New Providence
The Bahamas
My dear family, friends, loved ones, colleagues—my village. If you’re reading this, it means that I’ve cast off my earthly tent and transitioned from the realm of time to the realm of eternity. God in His wisdom and mercy has called me to rest, and now I await His glorious return. But until then—when I look forward to seeing you all again—let’s take a moment to remember the journey we shared and to celebrate the life God gave me with you all.
The 1950s was a decade of economic growth, expanding suburbs, the end of the Korean War, and the height of the American baby boom. In 1958, one of our own, Sidney Poitier, was shining brightly beyond our shores. His presence on the silver screen in The Defiant Ones told a deeper story—that greatness could rise from small islands and command global respect. It was a moment of pride, not just for him, but for all of us.
Men dressed sharply back then: skinny ties, button-down shirts, sport coats, polished shoes, wide-brimmed hats. And the music, everyone remembers the music. The voices of Elvis Presley, The Platters, Frank Sinatra, Chuck Berry, and Little Richard penetrated the soul of a generation.
Back home, 1958 turned into a defining year for The Bahamas. What began as a dispute among taxi drivers grew into the General Strike, drawing in hotel
workers, garbage collectors, and power company employees. It united Black Bahamians, disrupted the old order, and stirred our nation toward self-governance and Majority Rule—a dream finally realized in 1967.
And yet, amid all that history, all that movement and noise, something even more important was happening in one small cornerofNassau.Formyparents,JeromeandMarionHutcheson, the real highlight of 1958 came on Monday 15 December, at Princess Margaret Hospital. After years of waiting, their first child arrived, and the world narrowed to one small miracle.
They named me Jerome Eugene Hutcheson III, the first son of a first son, with deep family roots in Hatchet Bay and Harbour Island, Eleuthera. My name carried intention and hope. Jerome means “sacred name.” and is closely tied to Jeremiah— “God will uplift.” Eugene means “noble” or “wellborn.” So, I entered the world already surrounded by story— by history larger than myself, and by a nation finding its voice.
I was raised a Hutcheson, in the home of Jerome and Marion, and that meant many things; but most of all, it meant family It also meant movement. Our family moved around a lot, and each place we lived became a chapter in the story of who I was becoming.
When I was born, we lived at Rodgers Corner, just off Hospital Lane. From there we moved to Cockburn Street, near the old Capitol Theatre, and then briefly to Strachan’s Corner in Chippingham. Having a father who wore many career hats and was not afraid to relocate to find work, meant our life was never stationary. Change was part of our rhythm.
In 1964, when I was six years old, and now with three siblings, Arnold (AD), Marci, and Eddie—Daddy was posted to Freeport, Grand Bahama. For a short while, we lived in Tripp Circle with Uncle Sidney and his new wife, Alvilda. That was a happy time for me, the kind of happiness that settles quietly into memory. Next came Roanoke Apartments, a place I remember for two very specific reasons. One, less fondly, was that AD and I came down with the mumps and the measles. The other memory, one that still makes me laugh, was the day I stripped AD completely naked and threw him out of the apartment into the pouring rain. It was not done out of malice or anger, just mischief and youthful antics. That’s why, after listening to his protests, guilt finally caught up with me, and I threw him a pillow to cover himself. I’m happy to report that he never, ever got me back for that.
Our final apartment home in Grand Bahama was on Carissa Street. It was in this community where I rescued AD from a near drowning in the neighbourhood swimming pool. It seems like in some of our most memorable Freeport memories, I was either torturing AD or saving him. By the time we returned to Nassau in 1971, our family had grown to six siblings—AD, Marci,
Eddie, Stephanie, Joanie, and Steven. Leaving there marked the end of what I thought of as;.jn; our great Grand Bahama adventure. I couldn’t have known then that years later, I would return to the nation’s second city myself and to raise my own family.
From 1971 until my transfer back to Freeport, the Hutchesons lived on Derby Road in Yellow Elder Gardens, one of the first government subdivisions built under the PLP government. Homeownership was a big deal for Black Bahamians like my parents. Yellow Elder is where all of Jerome and Marion’s children carry their most vivid memories. It’s where we became us.
We were close. Not the kind of close you explain, but the kind you feel. We were bound together not only by blood, but by love, loyalty, and an unshakable sense of togetherness. Our home was full—full of noise, laughter, life, and energy. Fun, robust, vibrant. There were tremendous moments of loving togetherness and spontaneous laughter. And yes, we argued too— there was rivalry, teasing, and the occasional clash because that’s what siblings do. We were raised to stand tall. We were taught that we were second to none, yet better than no one. That truth shaped us, and it guided our steps far beyond the walls of that home. Mummy and Daddy gave us roots— deep, steady, and unshakable.
Mummy was the spiritual heart of our home. She had a fierce love for God and a faith that could move mountains. She sang her faith, shared it freely, and lived it daily. Prayer was woven into the fabric of our lives, and her prayers covered all of us. If I’m being honest,
they covered me especially. I knew I was her darling son, the child who made her a mother—I felt it in the way she looked at me, spoke to me, worried over me. And yet, I was also quietly defiant and contrary, always testing limits in my own silent way. Still, she never stopped praying. Never stopped believing. Never stopped trusting God with my life. Believe me when I tell you that her prayers followed me into spaces she could not reach.
Daddy had a strong and steady presence. He was the grammarian, the disciplinarian—the one who could command respect with nothing more than a firm tone or a stern look. He didn’t need many words. His presence alone carried authority. Through him, we learned discipline, structure, and responsibility. And believe it or not, my parents—with their strong personalities and impeccable work ethic—matched perfectly. Looking back now, I can say this with gratitude and certainty: the parents God gave me, were exactly the parents I needed.
For most of my growing up, there were seven children in our home, baby sister Melanie came along when I was 20. When I first saw her, those big bright eyes and cute round face, the first thing I said was “Wow, the first Hutcheson girl born with hair.”
At 8lbs 11 oz,
she was Mummy’s biggest baby. As the eldest, I took that role seriously. I enjoyed being the big brother. I loved my younger siblings deeply and was especially protective of my sisters. I made it a point, every day when I came home, to find Marci, Stephanie, and Joan and give them big bear hugs and kiss their cheeks. It was both playful, funny, and annoying for them. They would actually run and hide when they heard me enter the house, and yet I still found at least one of them. I loved my sisters. And yes, I fought—and beat up—anyone who bothered my younger brothers, though I’ll admit there were a few times when I was on the receiving end of a beatdown myself. But it didn’t matter. We were taught early that if you touched one of us, you touched all of us.
Those were the brothers and sisters who filled my earliest days, the footsteps of the household I remember best. But my family was a little wider than the rooms we shared in Yellow Elder. You see, I came into a family that already included a sister, Sandra, older than me by eleven years, from my father’s first marriage. Mummy told me that when I was little, Sandra and I were around each other all the time, but I have no memory of that. What I do remember is how, when I was nine, Daddy became more intentional about making sure we knew more about her. He made sure she was present in our lives, that we spent time together, and that she knew her siblings. She was unmistakably Hutcheson.
The image of Sandra from my childhood that stays with me most is a vivid one. I see her standing next to Daddy, wearing an iconic, face-framing 1970s afro and a paisley pantsuit, while he stood proudly in his Immigration uniform. He had a nickname for her, Halfpint, and the bond between them was obvious.
Sandra’s presence in our family introduced us to some life-altering realities. Not negative ones—but ones that are unexpected and sometimes hard for children to process. We learned that Daddy had been married before. That we had a sister who was Daddy’s daughter but not Mummy’s child. That Sandra had a husband named Mike. And that she had two children—Damian and Michelle—who were suddenly part of our world too, and close in age to my baby sister Joanie and my baby brother Steven.
And just like that, Sandra brought a lot of “firsts” into my life. I was no longer the eldest child in Daddy’s story. I had a brother-in-law. I became an uncle. At the time, those felt like very grown-up words, and I didn’t fully understand what they meant—but Mummy and Daddy were happy explaining it all, so it felt okay.
Sandra didn’t grow up in our Hutcheson household, and she wasn’t part of the everyday rhythms and inside jokes that came with our home. Nonetheless, she carried our name, our blood, our genes. We
shared a father and a legacy. And in that legacy, there are no steps or halves—only family. So when I count my siblings, I count them fully. I have eight siblings—five sisters: Sandra, Marci, Stephanie, Joan, and Melanie; and three brothers: AD, Eddie, and Steven. Different beginnings, shared roots, one family.
In our family education wasn’t something you took lightly, it mattered. And because our family moved around so much, my siblings and I ended up attending quite a few different schools. Each move meant a new classroom, new teachers, and new faces, but school was always a constant in our lives.
In Nassau, I attended Green & White School around 1967, and then Yellow Elder Primary in 1968. When we relocated to Freeport, I went to Lewis Yard around 1966–67, and later to Hawksbill Primary from about 1969 through 1972. Then we returned to Nassau, where I attended Harold Road Junior High School from 1972 to 1974, and C. C. Sweeting High School from 1974 to 1976. By the time I got to A. F. Adderley in 1976, I had really found my groove. I was comfortable with who I was and well known around school. And yes, I wore tight, bell-bottom pants—but that’s what everybody was wearing back then. I also had a big, superfly afro, a solid build, and plenty of confidence. I was big into sports too. I played basketball for A. F. Adderley and even held the junior boys’ high
jump record for a while. By the way, my strongest subjects were arithmetic and mathematics. I was always good with numbers. They made sense to me, and I liked that there was order to them—something dependable in a life that was always on the move.
On June 16, 1977, I graduated A. F. Adderley High School. Finishing school wasn’t just an ending for me—it was the moment I was ready to start working, using everything I had learned along the way.
I was eighteen years old and still in high school when I became a father to my beautiful daughter, Vonyia, born in 1976. Neither her mother, my girlfriend, Margurite Bonaby, nor I were really prepared for what lay ahead. But what could have been overwhelming became something very different because of love. My parents opened their hearts and their home to my precious daughter. They welcomed her fully, and in doing so, they welcomed me into a deeper understanding of grace and what it means for family to be there for you. Mummy agreed to raise Vonyia, and she grew up Hutcheson too, in our Derby Road home, surrounded by everything that came with that name— love, discipline, laughter, and belonging.
As my life unfolded through a meaningful relationship with the radiant Mavis Frith whom I fondly called “Slim”, and through two marriages—first to the beautiful Sandra Creary of Red Hills, Jamaica, whom I affectionately called “Reds,” and later to the lovely Patricia Miller, fondly known to me as “Miller”—I was blessed with six more children: Jerome Eugene IV, Ramon,
Giovanni, Shamir, Tashmar, and Armon. Each one carries my name, my love, and my pride. Every one of them was welcomed, loved, and cherished within the Hutcheson clan. As Mummy always said, “If they come into this world and they’re Hutcheson, I love and accept them immediately.” That wasn’t just something she said—it was how we lived, and how we loved.
truly found my groove. I loved holding the rhythm, anchoring the sound, feeling the pulse of the music move through me. I had the privilege of playing with talented musicians, including my friend, Bahamian sensation, Ira Storr, and being part of bands where camaraderie mattered as much as the music itself.
All of my children grew up seeing how Hutchesons take care of their own, no matter what. Each one of them is unique, strong, and capable in their own way. Vonyia, my firstborn is my fiercely independent and loyal ride-or-die. Not only did you make me a father, but a grandfather too. And through your daughter, my beautiful, smart granddaughter Jordan, you made me a great grandfather to J’yace, whom I call Big Body Benz; JJ, my first son, my twin is my brave Marine, Tashmar my athlete, competitor and leader, and Giovanni, my talented businessman and entrepreneur, are all devoted, exceptional fathers and driven men. Thank you, JJ, for naming your first son after me and Daddy and keeping alive the tradition of the first son of the first son carrying that name. That legacy is now in your hands. Ramon got my singing gene, and his gift for music went far beyond anything I ever imagined. He’s so stable and focused, and a warrior for God. Shamir, my smart and driven daughter and college valedictorian, excels at everything she does while also being a loving, present mother to Zaire. And Armon, my baby boy— my little general—is navigating his independence, finishing college, and preparing to graduate in May 2026. I wish I could be there to cheer you on.
If I could leave one reflection for all seven of you, it would be this: work matters, but people matter more—and love is always worth the time it takes. Looking back, I understand more clearly how important presence is, and I hope you always knew how deeply you were loved, even in the seasons when life pulled me in many directions.
I loved to sing, but I also knew better than to quit my day job. Music was never just something I did; it was something that lived in me. It followed me through every season of my life. I loved it in all its forms: the bands I helped form, the small venues where we played, the songs I wrote and recorded.
Of all the instruments I played, the bass guitar was where I
There were songs I took seriously, and then there were the songs I loved just because they made people smile. One of my own was “Slide to the Backside,” and of course there was “Let’s Chill.” That song alone probably tested the patience of my daughters Vonyia and Shamir, and my granddaughter Jordan more times than I can count. I sang it often. Loudly. Repeatedly. And with great joy. Music was one of the ways I showed love, even when it drove people just a little crazy.
One of my greatest joys was seeing that love for music passed on in my son Ramon. His gift amazed me. I was so proud of him, and I shared his recordings with anyone who would listen—family, friends, strangers if they stood still long enough. His voice felt like a continuation of something I started and watching him grow into his talent filled me with pride.
After graduating high school in 1977, I went to work at Commonwealth Bank. I enjoyed working with numbers. But even then, I knew that kind of work wasn’t going to hold me forever. There was something else in my blood. Something I couldn’t ignore. Something that required a uniform, not a desk, people, not numbers. I had watched my father rise through the ranks of the Bahamas Immigration Department and saw firsthand how much he loved what he did, how seriously he
took the responsibility, and how proud he was to serve. And with so many of my cousins already in Immigration, it honestly felt like the Hutcheson family business. More than anything though, it felt like a calling. So, I answered it. Following in Daddy’s footsteps felt right. It made me proud, and I know it made him even prouder.
In 1979, I officially entered government service as an officer at Immigration Headquarters on Hawkins Hill, earning $100 a month. To a 20-year-old in the late 1970s, that sounded like a fortune. I bragged about it to anyone who would listen, right up until I received my first paycheck. Somehow, that money was gone almost immediately, and I found myself broke well before the end of the month. I remember thinking, Wait—this is supposed to last the entire month?
That moment taught me something important. I really did not like being broke. And I promised myself right then that I would work hard, stay focused, and do whatever it took to make sure that wouldn’t be my life. I kept that promise— especially once I had a family to provide for. Still, this early lesson never turned me away from Immigration. If anything, it made me more determined.
I was blessed to come into the Department with some special people — Fausteen Major, Lambert Campbell, our training officer; Greta Rolle; Keturah Ferguson; Ian Pennerman (deceased); Leonard Smith (deceased); Norman Bastian; Shenella King; Ruth Ferguson; Cheryl Lloyd; Kirklyn Neely (deceased); Arneth Rolle; Claudine Minus; Desleane Turner — who didn’t just become coworkers, but lifelong friends. We grew together, learned together, and supported each other through the years. And honestly, if Fausteen outlives
me, I absolutely expect that she’ll be the one standing up and giving the As I Knew Him at my funeral.
Over the years, my work carried me across these islands—to Cat Cay, Bimini, San Salvador, Abaco, Walkers Cay, and West End and Freeport Grand Bahama. Each posting brought new faces, new challenges, and new responsibilities. But no matter where I was sent, I tried to do the same thing every time: show up, give my best, and do the work with honesty.
I believed in hard work. I believed in treating people fairly and with dignity—whether they wore a uniform like mine or stood on the other side of the desk. Titles and locations changed, but those values never did. I wanted my work to speak for me, even on days when no one was watching.
Along the way, I received commendations, and I was grateful for them. Not because I was chasing recognition, but because they reminded me that integrity still mattered — that effort, consistency, and doing the right thing were still seen and valued. But like every long journey, mine wasn’t without disappointment. There were promotions I believed I had earned but didn’t receive. Moments when I felt overlooked, when advancement didn’t come as I had hoped. Those moments stung — I won’t pretend they didn’t. But they never changed how I worked. I didn’t let disappointment harden me or slow me down. I kept showing up. I kept doing the job the same way I always had—with commitment, pride, and respect for the uniform I wore. I understood that my worth wasn’t measured by rank alone, but by how I carried myself and how I treated others. Looking back now, I’m proud of that. Proud that I didn’t let frustration define me. Proud that I stayed true to myself. Proud that wherever I served, I left knowing I had done my part best.
My career at Immigration also brought me into contact with unforgettable people—the Sugarhill Gang, Bahamian Prime Ministers Sir Lynden Pindling and Philip “Brave” Davis, Kenny Rogers, U.S. President Richard M. Nixon, Matt Damon, Mychal Thompson, and others. Those were moments I never could have imagined when I first put on that uniform. But truthfully, what mattered most to me weren’t the famous names. It was the everyday work. The responsibility. The pride of serving my country and carrying the Hutcheson name with pride. Immigration wasn’t just where I worked. It was a big part of who I was. It connected me to my father’s legacy and allowed me to build one of my own. And through every post, every challenge, and every long day in uniform, I knew this was exactly where I was meant to be.
In2023,IretiredasaSeniorImmigrationOfficerafterfortyfour years of service. With gratitude for the past and hope for what was ahead, I stepped into a new day.
They call retirement the sunset years, that time when you’re supposed to let go of the weight you’ve been carrying and slow things down a bit. I used to hear that and think it sounded nice, but I didn’t really know what it meant. Until I did, and they were right.
Afteryearsofschedules,uniforms,andexpectations,Ifound myself in a place where I could finally breathe. I could put my feet up, literally and figuratively. I could sleep without setting an alarm. I could sit still without feeling guilty. I could enjoy quiet without needing to fill it.
I reconnected with a special friend, Maria del Carmen Hernandez Acosta, in the Dominican Republic, and after many long visits, I made the decision to relocate there. The Bahamas was no less my beloved home, but the reality was that the peso-to-dollar conversion allowed me to live more comfortably on my pension than I could back home. Additionally, Reconnecting with Maria brought me a peace and happiness I hadn’t fully expected. Life began to feel lighter. Simpler. The pace slowed, the weight lifted, and I found myself enjoying each day as it came. It was a season that offered comfort, companionship, and a sense of ease
I was grateful to embrace We were looking forward to a happy future together. But it wasn’t to be.
On Thursday 20 November, I suffered a heart attack. What followed was a cascade of complications that my body could not overcome. Still, I was not alone. Maria was constantly by my side. My siblings—AD, Stephanie, and Joanie—and my daughter Shamir came to the Dominican Republic to support me. They talked to me. They prayed with me and over me. And even though I couldn’t respond the way I wanted to at times, I knew they were there. And it brought me so much comfort.
Early on the morning of Saturday 13 December, after a fourth heart attack, my body could no longer be revived. In that moment, my spirit let go of this earthly body, and God received me into His presence. As Scripture says, I was absentfromthebodyandpresentwiththeLord.I’vestepped into that other realm, the paradise of perfect peace. I’m so sorry that I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to all of you the way I would have wanted to. But please know this, there was never a moment when my love for you faded. I love you all so very much. I know you’re sad because I’m gone, and that sadness is real. But this separation is not forever. Hold fast to the promise because he that overcometh shall inherit all things. Jesus is coming back soon, and when He does, you’ll see me again—renewed, restored, and in my glorious new body. Until that day, take care of one another. I’ll be waiting.
And This is the legacy of Jerome and Marion Hutcheson that I leave behind:
2Daughters:Vonyia and Shamir Hutcheson;
5 Sons: Jerome Eugene IV, Ramon, Giovanni, Tashmar, and Armon Hutcheson;
10Grandchildren:Jordan,Jerniece,Skylar,Nylah,Kamilaih, and Jerome Eugene Hutcheson V; Diara Armbrister; Tré Alday; Ethan Sweeting; and Zaire Thompson;
1 Great-Grandson: J’yace-Jassim Gibson;
5 Sisters: Sandra Neville (Dr. Michael), Marceia, Dr. Stephanie, Joan, and Melanie Hutcheson;
3 Brothers: Rev. A. Dewitt (Laurie), Edward (Sherry), and Steven (Dr.Wendy-Ann) Hutcheson;
6 Nieces: Nichelle, Zuri, Zoey, and El’Lucia Hutcheson; Khyla Jones; and Michelle Neville-Clarke;
5 Nephews: Dario, Kahlil, Teddy, and Judah Hutcheson; and Damian Neville;
3Grand-Nieces: Alana Clarke; Skylah and Arija Neville; 2Grand-Nephews: Aidan Clarke and Degland Neville;
5 Aunts: Jennie Mae Williams; Maude, Bernadette, Garnell, and Michelle Sturrup;
1Uncle: George Sturrup; Partner: Maria del Carmen Hernandez Acosta;
Numerous Cousins: Charlene Butler and the Carey family; Marilyn Russell; Willie, Vincent Jr., Freddie, Wendell, Sharon, Dorothy, and Kenneth Sturrup; Phyllis Richburg; Bradshaw Williams; Anthony “Penny” Knowles; Brenda Russell;BernadineThompson;AliceGilbert; TheresaMoxey; KendraBurrows;Darren,Kevin,andEarlSturrupIII;Tasma Baptiste; Marvin and Mordell Sturrup; Ella Young; Natesa Rigby; Sonia Sturrup; Lekino Sturrup; Cydnique Newbold; Andrew and Charlie Sturrup; Aretha White; Shantell Casseus; Charmaine Knowles; Basil “Stevie”, Lithera, and Ashton Sturrup; Kemuel Hart; Jerome Taylor, Jr.; Monique Mejias; Tonia Sturrup-Russell; Trevor and Dwayne Sturrup; Carlton Jr., Carlin, and Carlia Williams; Lincoya Ferguson; Kenisha Davis; Noel Johnson, Jr.; Delano Carey; The Right Reverend Gilbert A. Thompson, Assistant Bishop of the Anglican Diocese of The Bahamas and Turks & Caicos Island; Florence Johnson; Martin and Robert Farrington; Lola Johnson; Racquel Blackman; Nelson Farrington; Carla Ford; Perry, Karen, Martin and Violet Grant; Dr. Francita
Thurston; the Drakes family; Maria Ferguson; Jerome “Jerry” Hutcheson; Andrea Pinder; Edward Hutcheson; Janet Hutcheson; Nellie Strachan; Victor Hutcheson; Father Whitfield Hutcheson; Maurice and James Hutcheson; and a host of other relatives and friends;
A Host of Other Relatives & Friends, Including: The Hutcheson, Johnson, Brown, Pinder, Farrington, and Dean families of Hatchet Bay; the Sturrup and Saunders , Higgs and Grant families of Harbour Island; the Martin Street community; Sandra Creary; Mavis Frith; Betty King and family; the Bain, Bethel, Cox, and Sinclair families of Derby Road, Yellow Elder Gardens; Fanette Albury and family; Jennie Mae Hutcheson; Sandra Creary; Mavis Frith; Jymal Gibson and Family; Patrick Rose; Fritzroy Thompson; The Honorable Philip Edward Davis M.P, K.C Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of The Bahamas and Mrs. Davis; Director of Immigration Stephen LaRoda; Chief Immigration Officer Napthali Cooper and family; Superintendent of Immigration Vonetta Nicola Flowers Darling; Vernon Burrows; Retired Deputy Directors of Immigration Fausteen MajorSmith and family and Lambert Campbell; Former Directors of Immigration
Barbara Pierre, Clarence Russell, Alan Strachan; Melvin Seymour; Jack Thompson; VernonBurrows
William Pratt; Retired Directors of Immigration Keturah Ferguson and Dwight Beneby; Phylicia Woods-Hanna, Director of Investments, Bahamas Investment Authority ; Janet Fynes-Bain; the entire Bahamas Immigration Department Family, especially the Immigration classes of 1979, and the communities in Cat Cay, Bimini, San Salvador, Abaco, Walkers Cay, and West End and Freeport Grand Bahama where Jerry was stationed; Samuel Brown and family; The Frith Family of Freeport, Grand Bahama; Alverne King and Family; Stefanisha Strachan and Family; Asha Lewis and Family; Adrian Thompson and family; the Bethel Baptist Church Family; the Puerta Plata Dominican Republic crew: Rosangela “Johanny” Maria Hernandez Acosta, Petronila “Morena” Hernandez Acosta, Alberto Garcias and Daisy Martinez, Carlita Acosta; Santo Leon Romero and Madali Collado Acosta; and the A.F. Adderley Class of 1977.
Senior Deacon Stephen Thompson, Bethel Baptist Church
ENTRANCE OF FAMILY | “Come, Come, Ye Saints” Lakwan Bain
Come, come, ye saints, no toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.
‘Tis better far for us to strive
Our useless cares from us to drive; Do this, and joy your hearts will swell–All is well! all is well!
Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
’Tis not so; all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward, If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take; Our God will never us forsake; And soon we’ll have this tale to tell–All is well! all is well!
We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, Far away in the west, Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid; There the saints will be blessed.
We’ll make the air with music ring, Shout praises to our God and King; Above the rest these words we’ll tell–
All is well! al is well!
And should we die before our journey’s through, Happy day! all is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too; With the just we shall dwell!
But if our lives are spared again
To see the saints their rest obtain, O how we’ll make this chorus swell–All is well! all is well!
OPENING WORDS OF COMFORT | Father Whitfield Hutcheson, Rector, St. Margaret’s Anglican Church
CONGREGATIONAL HYMN | “And Can it Be”
And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior’s blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain— For me, who Him to death pursued? Amazing love! How can it be, That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
’Tis mystery all: thee Immortal dies: Who can explore His strange design? In vain the firstborn seraph tries To sound the depths of love divine. ’Tis mercy all! Let earth adore, Let angel minds inquire no more.
He left His Father’s throne above So free, so infinite His grace— Emptied Himself of all but love, And bled for Adam’s helpless race: ’Tis mercy all, immense and free, For O my God, it found out me!
Long my imprisoned spirit lay Fast bound in sin and nature’s night; Thine eye diffused a quickening ray I woke, the dungeon flamed with light; My chains feel off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.
No condemnation now I dread; Jesus, and all in Him, is mine; Alive in Him, my living Head, And clothed in righteousness divine, Bold I approach thee eternal throne, And claim the crown, through Christ my own.
Rev. Melvin Grant, Senior Pastor, The Remnant Tabernacle of Praise
OLD TESTAMENT READING | Psalm 27
Diara Armbrister and Kamilaih Hutcheson, Granddaughters
CONDOLENCES ON BEHALF OF BETHEL BAPTIST CHURCH: Ishmael Lightbourne, Moderator, Bethel Baptist Church
MUSICAL SELECTION
The Bahamas Department of Immigration Choir
Fausteen Major-Smith, Deputy Director, Bahamas Department of Immigration; Friend and Colleague
CONGREGATIONAL HYMN | “His Coming Draweth Nigh”
Weary hands will cease from labor, Folded, they at rest will lie, For we have a burden bearer, And His coming draweth nigh.
(Chorus)
Yes, the weary night is passing, Dawn is breaking in the sky; We shall hail the glad tomorrow, For His coming draweth nigh.
Sorrow will not last forever, Tears not always dim the eye; Jesus is our consolation, And His coming draweth nigh.
Pain is not our lasting portion, Balm descendeth from on high, For we have a great Physician, And His coming draweth nigh.
Death is not to be eternal, Tho’ we all are doomed to die; Jesus is the resurrection, And His coming draweth nigh.
NEW TESTAMENT READING | 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 | Armon Hutcheson, Son
REMARKS | Stephen LaRoda, Director of Immigration, Bahamas Department of Immigration
Vonyia Hutcheson, Daughter (Read by Tré Alday, Grandson)
Shamir Hutcheson, Daughter
Jordan Hutcheson, Granddaughter
MUSICAL SELECTION | “He That Overcometh”, Bethel Baptist Church Praise Team
EULOGY | Rev. A Dewitt Hutcheson, Interim Pastor, Bethel Baptist Church
PRAYER FOR FAMILY | Deacon Ricardo Rolle, Bethel Baptist Church
RECESSIONAL HYMN | “For All the Saints”
For all the Saints, who from their labors rest, Who Thee by faith before the world confess’d, Thy Name, O Jesu, be forever blessed. Alleluia!
Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might; Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight; Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light. Alleluia!
O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold, Fight as the Saints who nobly fought of old, And win, with them, the victor’s crown of gold. Alleluia!
O blest communion! fellowship Divine! We feebly struggle, they in glory shine; Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine. Alleluia!
And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ear the distant triumph song, And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong. Alleluia!
The golden evening brightens in the west; Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest; Sweet is the calm of Paradise the blest. Alleluia!
But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day; The Saints triumphant rise in bright array; The King of glory passes on His way. Alleluia!
From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast, Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host, Singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost: Alleluia!
INTERMENT
Woodlawn Gardens
The Anglican Church of The Epiphany Prince Charles Drive
Rev. Jevon Neely and Rev. Delano Carey
PRAYER | Rev. Delano Carey, Broken in Worship Ministries International
HYMN | Glad Reunion Day
There will be a happy meeting in heaven I know When we see the many loved ones we’ve known here below. Gather on the blessed hilltops with hearts all aglow. That will be a glad reunion day.
(Chorus)
Glad day, a wonderful day, Glad day, a glorious day; There with all the holy angels and loved ones to stay, That will be a glad reunion day.
There within the holy city we’ll sing and rejoice, Praising Christ the blessed Saviour with heart and with voice. Tell him how we came to love Him and make Him our choice. That will be a glad reunion day.
When we live a million years in that wonderful place Basking in the love of Jesus, beholding His face. It will seem but just a moment of praising His grace. That will be glad reunion day.
COMMITTAL | Rev. A. Dewitt Hutcheson, Interim Pastor
HYMNS | It’s Alright Now
There was a time I travelled a lonely sinful road; Beneath a heavy burden bending low; But now all things are different, since Jesus took my load It’s alright now, I’m His I know.
(Chorus)
It’s alright now, for I am in my Saviour’s care It’s alright now; my Saviour hears and answers prayer He’ll walk with me, (He’ll walk beside me) Till I climb the heavenly stair, And everything (And everything is alright now)
And down a lonely pathway, without a friend to guide, I walked in sin and sorrow all alone
‘Till Jesus came and found me, and drew me to His side; It’s alright now, for I’m His own.
No more in sin I wander, no more in darkness roam
The Lord has placed my feet on higher ground; Each day new heights I’m gaining, my soul is nearing home, It’s alright now, I’m heaven bound.
There’s a city of Light, where there cometh no night; ‘Tis a city of beauty untold; All my treasures are there and its beauty I’ll share, When I get to that city of gold.
(Chorus)
When I leave all trouble and care, I will say good morning up there; I will have great gladness untold, When I get to that city of gold
There’s no sorrow up there in that city so fair And no sickness can enter I’m told; Shadows all will have flown, I will meet friend I’ve known
When we get to that city of gold.
Won’t you go there with me to the home of the free, Would you see heaven’s beauty unfold? If you will come along, we will sing heaven’s song When we get to that
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.
(Chorus)
It is well, it is well, With my soul, with my soul, It is well; it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought! My sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more, praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
And, Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend Even so, it is well with my soul
My darling brother Jerry, I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this. This wasn’t supposed to happen now. It was supposed to be years and years from now.
But here we are. You had sixty-six years, and now you’re resting. One thing that really brings me comfort, even in all this pain, is knowing that you and I said everything we needed to say to each other. Nothing was left hanging. We had such a strong, loving bond. Every single conversation started the same way “Hello, my handsome big brother,” and you’d say, “Hello, my pretty baby sister.”
And every single conversation ended with “I love you.” I’m so thankful for that. You really were my heart. My joy. And honestly we had so much fun together.
I’m going to miss our political debates the ones I definitely always won and the way you’d laugh and say, “Anyway, let’s agree to disagree,” and just move on. You never let differences turn into distance. Love always mattered more to you.
You were also a huge movie buff my personal movie guide. If you said a movie was good, that was it. I watched it. No questions. Secretariat one of our favorites. You said it was one of those movies that could lift your mood anytime, and you were right. That movie ended up being the last one we watched together you
in the Dominican Republic, me in New Jersey, both of us on our big TVs, still somehow together.
There’s so much more I could say. So many stories. So many memories. But what matters most to me is this there was never a harsh word between us. Not one. Just love, support, laughter, and understanding. And I will always be grateful for that.
I hold on to the memories in videos you sent me, the texts, and the calls you made just to check on me. This past New Year’s Eve, I kept thinking about how excited you were last year just to take a bus ride to church. You were so happy. You told me you were really enjoying your sunset years. And when I complained about how much time you were spending in the Dominican Republic, you gently reminded me that I used to fuss at you all the time about working too hard.
You told me you were finally resting. Enjoying life. Wanting peace. Quiet.Time to just breathe. No hassle. And now, I get it. So rest now, my darling big brother. Rest in His presence, with all the loved ones who went before you. I love you so much, and I’m going to miss you forever.
I’ll see you again because he that overcometh shall inherit all things. Hallelujah, Jerry. You made it over.
I say “my grandad” because that’s exactly who he was: mine. From the very beginning, as his eldest grandchild, there was a bond between us that never needed explaining. I grew up, knowing that no matter where life took me, I had him. He was pride, protection, and presence all wrapped into one man. He was very proud of me and always showed people his beautiful and smart granddaughter.
Every summer, my Grammy and I would visit him in Freeport, at his beautiful homes. Those summers felt like a different world. One summer in particular, I swam in his pool every single day. Morning to evening, water splashing, sun shining, laughter floating in the air. Looking back now, I realize how safe and carefree I felt. That was my grandad’s gift: making life feel secure, abundant, and joyful.
When he came to Nassau, Grammy always announced it the same way: “Ya grandaddy coming.” Those words carried weight. They meant excitement, pride, and responsibility. Because when Grandad was coming, everything had to be right.
I learned how to serve during those visits. I helped Grammy prepare his food, watching her carefully, learning what he liked and how he liked it. I watched him eat. He was calm, satisfied, unbothered, like a king at his table. I learned to be quick on my feet, ready to clear his plate the moment he was finished. Grammy would look at me, and I knew I had to get it right. No mistakes. No delays. Today, that lesson is still embedded in me. His last visit, I still took up his food. The service, attentiveness, and excellence were all rooted in love. Grandad welcomed Grammy and so many of her grandkids into his Freeport home with open arms. Every visit came with a ritual, he would play his song, “Let’s Chill.” We thought it was everything. Then Grammy finally asked, “Jerry, where is your part in the song?”
That’s when we realized it was just “let’s chill” on repeat. He didn’t need many words. His presence did the talking. A man of few words but easily the coolest man you’d ever meet. As a little girl, I remember standing in his living room, staring at his huge television. To me, it looked like a movie theater screen. In that moment, I understood something very important: my grandad was rich and that meant I was rich too. Rich in love, in opportunity, in confidence, and in knowing I came from something solid.
No matter where life carried me, whether university in Azerbaijan or studies in Japan I always called him. Before I left and when I returned. And every time, without discussion or hesitation, his financial support followed. Quiet. Steady. Certain. That was his love to me: dependable and unwavering.
Grandad was a businessman through and through. We talked often about opening a Nassau branch of his beauty salon, one that would offer Maria’s hair treatments: her gift, her craft, and a reflection of their partnership. We were excited, dreaming and planning together. It hurts now knowing that vision didn’t come into fruition. It was proof that even then, he was still building, still believing, still moving forward.
Once I started driving, I became his business liaison in Nassau. I handled his affairs, ran his errands, managed his matters. Anyone who knows me knows my grandad and how cool he was, how sharp he was, and how everything needed to be done immediately. One day. One plan. Right now.
We had a running joke: we never called it the DR. We called it the DRI, intentionally. Boy, did we laugh. Auntie Marci and I would go on and on with him about the DRI. I saw, over the years, how his siblings, no matter how grown they were would surround him when he came home. Almost as if he was still that cool 13-yearold boy on Derby Road, and they were still little kids who looked up to him. I remember my mom becoming childlike when he was around, calling out, “Daddy, I coming to see you after work.” Then there was my brother Tre, whom Grandad proudly showed his home and advanced technologies to. He would even tell Tre, “Take me to the airport in the morning,” even though Tre had to be at work. Let’s just say I’m not sure how Tre worked it out but he did, and Grandad made it to the airport. I can still see my Late grandmother, our Queen, Marion Hutcheson, smiling and content, watching her baby boy, though a grown man. Her Jerry. That image is precious. And today, I see Big Body Benz the same way, as his legacy, strong and alive in him.
Yet for all the pride he had in me, there was someone else who held a very special place in his heart, his only great-grandson, J’yace-Jassim, whom he affectionately called Big Body Benz. He called him that because of his size. He was solid. Strong. Built like Grandad. A name spoken with pride, like a promise passed down.
On his trips to Nassau, Grandad and Big Body bonded over Star Trek and KFC. After he’d leave, he’d call and ask, “Jordy, how Big Body?”
I’d say, “He’s fine, Grandad. He’s always good.”
And he’d reply, “Yeah… he loves to eat.”
One day, my mom, Grandad, and Big Body came to pick me up from work. I looked out my office window and froze they were parked in the Prime Minister’s spot. Big Body was sitting on my grandad’s lap, eating fries like royalty. I ran out and asked why they parked there.
He said calmly, “Don’t worry, that’s my twin.”
Then I asked why my child wasn’t in his car seat.
He said, “He’s with me. I got him.”
I was nervous, but I couldn’t even be mad. Grandad meant no harm. And I knew, without question, that his greatgrandson was safe with him.
I caught him many times just sitting and smiling at my little boy. No words. Just joy. A quiet, holy smile, proof that God had been very good to him.
He lived 66 full years. A devoted father. A loving brother. A heroic grandfather. And the most loving great-grandfather to his Big Body Benz. A man of class and honor who believed nothing was ever too good for him and that no one was better than him. I learned that confidence, that dignity, that self-worth from him.
The eldest child of Marion and Jerome, and that alone made him the most special man in our world.
He was supposed to see me in my wedding dress. I was supposed to make him call me Dr. Jordy. Even though he knew how smart I was, I loved hearing him call me smart. He kept the AC on the lowest, the fan blowing strong. I’d say, “Grandad, it’s cold like Antarctica, what are you dealing with?”
He’d smile and say, “I have to be cool.”
And he was.
From the beginning - legendary. And a legend to the end.
My Grandad. Too cool.
Forever loved.
Never forgotten.
Dr. Stephanie Hutcheson, Sister
Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. It’s the season of gathering, laughter, and love. But Christmas 2025 was different. It was hard. Our sibling circle had been broken with the passing of Jerry, and the absence was felt in every quiet moment.
One of my most cherished Christmas memories is from 2009, when Jerry hosted all of us at his home in Freeport. It was a large house, but somehow it still felt full—full in the way that matters most. That Christmas wasn’t about presents; it was about presence. His wife and children were there, our siblings, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, in-laws—and our matriarch, Mals. Everyone who mattered was under one roof.
We cooked and ate together—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We went grocery shopping for what felt like a small village, ventured into town a few times, but mostly we stayed right there in that house. And of course, there was always plenty of ice and cold drinks, because Jerry loved his beverages ice-cold.
We watched movie after movie, because Jerry was a true movie buff and his collection never seemed to end. I remember sitting with him and Mals in the family room, getting ready to watch yet another film. Some people were still in the kitchen, others sprawled across the floor, some talking in the living room. Jerry looked around the room, took it all in, and said, “This is how it should be— this big house full of people.”
That moment has stayed with me. It’s one of my most treasured memories of him. Jerry was my oldest brother. My big brother. And even now, it feels unreal to say that he is gone. His death has shocked my system. My soul hurts in a way that words can barely touch.
And yet, I am comforted knowing that I was able to see him and spend time with him in the hospital during his short illness. The nurses encouraged me to talk to him, telling me that he could hear even though he could not respond. I am so grateful for that. I prayed over him. I read scriptures of healing. I played songs of praise. In those moments, love spoke even when words could not be returned. Today, even though our sibling circle feels broken, I hold on to hope. I look forward to seeing Jerry again—along with our parents—on that glad reunion day. I thank God for the blessed hope that death does not have the final word.
Until then, I carry Jerry with me— in memory, in love, and in the quiet assurance that one day, we will be together again.
MARIA DEL CARMEN HERNANDEZ ACOSTA, PARTNER
You went to heaven, my love, and took my joy with you, but I have the blessing of having lived the best moments of my life by your side, and of having shared wonderful moments that will never be forgotten, moments so special that they will never be forgotten, and that will never be repeated, moments that remain in the soul of my heart. I love you forever, my love.
ROSANGELA “JOHANNY” MARIA HERNANDEZ, ADOPTED DAUGHTER
Today I just want to express my affection for you, even if you are no longer with us we will always carry you in our hearts, even if there is no blood that unites us there is something stronger than that: love, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for the beautiful moments you gave us, thank you for advising me as if you had been my father, thank you for loving Mateo, your departure will always hurt me but I know that wherever you are you are taking care of us, you are our little guardian angel, and this will not be a goodbye but a see you later, one day we We’ll see again, and that day we’ll sit down to share a piece of chocolate cake that you liked so much, I love you very much Jerry and I always will thank you for everything. With love, Johanny
PETRONILA “MORENA” HERNANDEZ ACOSTA
There’s a new angel in heaven, a friend who left for a reason. I know I’ll see you again; you haven’t died, you’ll live forever in my heart. My family and I love you, Jerry. from your brunette sister-in-law, Moreno
Scripture tells us in Proverbs 17:17 that a brother is born for adversity. That verse has never felt more true to me than it does today. A brother shows up. A brother stands with you when things get hard. And Jerry—Jerome the Third, as I always called him—was exactly that kind of brother.
Growing up in Yellow Elder Gardens, in Nassau, The Bahamas, I always knew I had nothing to fear. I had three big brothers watching over me, and Jerry was one of them. He was my protector, my challenger, my example. He called me Steven Earl, and whenever he said my name, I knew I was safe.
One of my favorite memories goes all the way back to when I was about nine years old. Jerry took me to a movie at the Capitol Theatre—and that was a big deal. A double feature, no less: Enter the Dragon and Let’s Do It Again. I felt ten feet tall riding in his car, going to the “show” with my big brother. I was so proud. So grown.
He drove a white, two-door Mercury LTD with whitewall tires polished to a shine—with Joy dishwashing liquid, because that’s just what people did in the 70s. He even lined the inside panels with light gray fur. That car felt like luxury to me. And he let me sit in the front seat—just like Daddy did in his not so fancy Mercury Monarch. That alone made me feel special.
We listened to music that wasn’t church music—Earth, Wind & Fire’s “After the Love Is Gone” was playing on his 8-track tape player. Jerry drove slow and smooth, one hand on the steering wheel. I used to think he was doing that so my friends could see me riding with him. Truth is, he was just cool like that—and probably making sure the girls got a good look too. Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have been in a rated-R movie, but my big brother took me, so I knew it was okay. That was Jerry.
I don’t even remember getting popcorn. I was too busy being amazed by the big screen and feeling grown because my big brother bought my ticket. Before we left, my sisters Stephanie and Joanie told me goodbye like I was heading off on some big adventure, saying how grown I was for going to the movies at night without parents. I ate that up. And honestly, that moment never left me.
To this day, I own both of those movies. Earth, Wind & Fire is one of my favorite groups. “After the Love Is Gone” is on both my Soul Ballads and Midnight Love playlists. I can’t hear that song or watch those movies without thinking about my brother.
As adults, Jerry was still that big brother. When Mummy passed away in 2019, he showed up for me. He was strong when I needed strength. But he was also someone I could laugh with and have silly debates with. We’d argue about the age of the earth, aliens, dinosaurs—anything really—and he’d always say, “Yeah, but how do you know that?” It was his way of reminding me he was still the big brother. He never backed down. And even when we disagreed, we were always brothers.
Last October, I thought about visiting him in the Dominican Republic with my wife, Wendy, for an anniversary trip. It didn’t work out because of schedules. But I know we would have had a great time together. I will always wish we’d made that trip.
His passing has left a hole in my life that I didn’t expect. I didn’t realize how much space he filled in my life until he was gone. I still have two older brothers, but I lost my big brother. I think I believed he’d always be there. Always checking in. Always sending those “GM all” messages in the Hutcheson family chat, even late at night.
Jerry was my cool big brother. My protector. My challenger. My friend. Rest in peace, Jerry. Jerome the Third. I love you, big brother, and I will miss you always.
You and I had a relationship that was unique — shaped by birth order, responsibility, and a shared understanding of what it meant to be a Hutcheson. I was the oldest of the siblings, and you were the eldest of the surviving sons. I always felt that you took that role seriously. You carried it in the way you stood, in the way you spoke. Your physical presence and steady voice naturally commanded respect, and people responded to that—even before they truly knew you.
Sometimes I wondered if that was part of what led you into the same career as our father, Jerome. There was something in you that understood structure, order, and responsibility. You seemed built for that kind of work, just as Daddy had been. It felt less like a coincidence and more like a calling you recognized early on.
Our sisters found their way into the helping professions— spaces where care, sensitivity, and compassion were front and center. Even there, though, the same qualities lived in all of us: firmness when it was needed, love at the core, and a deep sense of duty to others. We each took different paths, but we respected one another’s choices and the lives we built. I want you to know how grateful I am for the love and support you showed—not just to me, but to Mike, to your nephews and nieces, and to my extended family. You showed up in quiet, steady ways, and those moments mattered more than you probably realized.
Thank you, Jerry, for who you were to me, to our family, and to everyone who knew you. Rest now, my brother. You carried your role well. Rest in peace.
Jerry lived his life his way. Always did. Nobody told Jerry what to do. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and that was just him. And honestly, I learned a lot from that. He taught me how to be strong for myself and for the boys. We talked all the time, and those talks really mattered to me, more he probably ever knew.
Things didn’t turn out between us the way I once thought they would, but we became good friends. Real friends. When Jerry met Maria—the love of his life—he called me from the Dominican Republic just to tell me how much he loved her. I could hear in his voice how happy he was, and that made me happy too. And when I got married, I told him, and he was genuinely happy for me. That’s just who he was.
One memory I’ll never forget is when his mother, whom we called “Mummy,” was sick. Jerry was so worried about her, and he called me to tell me she didn’t look good. I started crying and he said, “Reds, don’t start, don’t make me cry.”
And of course, we both ended up crying. That moment stays with me.
He always called on me and the boys on our birthday. That meant a lot. He showed up in the ways he knew how, and I’ll always be grateful for that. He taught me a lot—more than he probably ever knew—and I’m who I am today because of him. I miss him so, so much, and I will miss him forever. Jerry did things his way. He lived how he wanted, he found happiness, and knowing that he was happy gives me peace and makes me happy too.
Chief Immigration Officer Napthali Cooper
Tribute to Mr. Jerome “Hutchey” Hutcheson I joined the Bahamas Immigration Department in 1990 in New Providence, and when I returned to Freeport later that same year, I was assigned to the Enforcement Unit under the supervision of Mr. Jerome Hutcheson—known to most of us simply as “Hutchey” or “Jerry.”
From the very beginning, he made an impression. Knowing that I was a Christian, one of the first questions he asked me was whether I thought I could really handle enforcement—running after people, making arrests, detaining undocumented persons. I answered confidently that I could. He smiled, paused for just a moment, and said, “Well… we shall see about that.”
Those of us who worked with Mr. Hutcheson quickly learned that along with his professionalism, he had a playful side—one that revealed itself early in my career.
During a routine patrol in the Lucaya area, he stopped the bus and pointed out a man kneeling in front of his yard, weeding with a cutlass. Mr. Hutcheson instructed me to go question him. Wanting to prove myself—and eager to impress—I jumped out of the bus, identified myself, and asked the gentleman for proof of legal status.
He completely ignored me. I repeated myself. Still nothing. I asked him to put the cutlass on the ground. No response. I glanced back at Mr. Hutcheson, who motioned for me to continue. So, for the third time—using the most authoritative voice I could muster—I demanded proof of legal status and insisted the cutlass be put down. That’s when the man stood up. All six-foot-five of him.
Towering over my five-foot-ten, 110-pound frame, he bellowed, “Lil boy, if you don’t get outta my face, I’ll slap you so hard with
this cutlass you won’t know what hit you.” I turned around—and there was Mr. Hutcheson, laughing uncontrollably.
Turns out the man was an old friend of his and a former Immigration officer. I had been set up. And Mr. Hutcheson never let me forget it.
I had the privilege of working with him in the Enforcement Unit for much of my career. In fact, Freeport Enforcement was the last unit he supervised before being transferred to San Salvador in 2018, where he served faithfully until his retirement. His leadership left a mark—not just on systems and procedures, but on people.
Mr. Hutcheson truly believed he was one of the greatest singers ever to hold a note. He would play CDs of songs he and his good friend, the late Kendal “K.C.” Colebrooke, had written and sung together—and you could not convince him they didn’t belong among the world’s top vocalists.
I remember him as easygoing, carefree, and unbothered by life’s little stresses. I was genuinely surprised one evening when he showed up at our church praise team practice and picked up the bass guitar. He may not have been the best—but you certainly couldn’t tell him that.
He was also known for his generosity. Anytime a need arose and contributions were requested, Mr. Hutcheson was always among the first to give—and often encouraged others to do the same. He even found ways to bring joy into the small moments. He and my wife Sarah shared birthdays just one day apart—December 15th and 16th—and every year they exchanged birthday calls or WhatsApp messages. He liked to joke that he was her first husband and I was the second, and she always played right along. Sadly, December 2025 marked the first year those birthday wishes were not exchanged. Two days before his birthday, Mr. Hutcheson transitioned from this life to receive his eternal reward.
There are countless memories that will forever live in the hearts of all of us who had the privilege of working under his supervision. Even today, his name still comes up in conversations within the Enforcement Unit—stories shared, laughter remembered, lessons recalled.
Mr. Hutcheson—Hutchey, Jerry—you may be gone, but you will never be forgotten.
May your soul rest in peace and rise in glory.
Surviving
Spring Cohort of Officers
Agatha Joyce
Arneth Rolle-Hanna
Claudine Minus
Desleane Cumberbatch-Lowe
Donnalee King-Burrows
Dorothea Ferguson-Outten
Florinda Farrington
Glen Nairn
Godfrey Riley
Greta Knowles
Harriet Bastian-Cooper
Judith Coleby
Keturah Ferguson
Kirkland Dean
Lindbergh Hutcheson
Minister Heuter Rolle
Renée Burrows
Shenella Griffin-King
William Duncombe
William Saunders
Fall Cohort of Officers
Arnett King-Davis
Bishop Ephraim Rolle
Cheryl Lloyd-Pinder
Donnalee King-Stuart
Dwight Beneby
Ella Porter-Lewis
Fausteen Major-Smith
Fearlease Wallace
Judith Edgecombe-Thompson
Lionel Rolle
Melanie Scott
Mitchell Thurston
Mizpah Smith
Norman Bastian
Rudolph Ferguson
Ruth Pinder
Sherry Roberts
Solomon Clarke
Stephanie Coakley
Veldia Coleby
We are so grateful for the village that held us, for those who carried us through with bold prayers of faith and constant support during our Jerry’s illness. We express our deep love and warmest gratitude to Fausteen Major-Smith and Vonetta Nicola Flowers Darling; the staff and students at Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ, especially seminarians Maria Reyero, Wylencia Monroe, Rita Wright, Adanna Davis, Grace Amwe, and Jamelia Davis; Just Jesus Fellowship, Delaware; Oasis United, International, Woodbridge, Virginia; Faith Revival Ministries, Kasur, Pakistan; Hillside Bible Church, Cincinnati Ohio; Board of Elders, Community Praise Center Seventh-day Adventist Church, Alexandria, Virginia; the Pastor, Officers and Members of the Bethany Seventh-day Adventist Church; Dr. Ramoona Lewis, Sarita Rodriguez, and Elisabel Missick for providing excellent oncall translation services and encouragement. Special thanks for our precious family Delano Carey, Bernadette Sturrup, Cydnique Newbold, Lincoya FergusonKenisha Davis, Noel Johnson, Jr., and Trevor Sturrup for your kindness and selflessness in supporting the repast, thank youZ; And finally, we give our sincerest thanks to Mickel Bethel and the entire staff of Bethel Brothers Morticians for their professional and empathetic partnership and support.
Officers, Bahamas Department of Immigration
Alexander Riley
Lester Butterfield
Carlos Barr
Azar Ebanks
Funeral Service Entrusted To:
P.O. Box N-1026
Nassau Street
Nassau, Bahamas
242.322.4433 (T) 242.328.2314 (F)
242.422.1033 (M)
John Cartwright
Bernardo Knowles
Maquale Smith
Jerold Kelly
Vonyia Hutcheson, Daughter
Shamir Hutcheson, Daughter
Jerome Eugene Hutcheson IV, Son
Ramon Hutcheson, Son
Giovanni Hutcheson, Son
Tashmar Hutcheson, Son
Armon Hutcheson, Son
Jerome Eugene Hutcheson V, Grandson
Zaire Thompson, Grandson
J’yace-Jassim Gibson, Great-Grandson Sandra Neville, Sister
Marceia Hutcheson, Sister
Dr. Stephanie Hutcheson, Sister
Joan Hutcheson, Sister
Melanie Hutcheson, Sister
Rev. A. Dewitt Hutcheson, Brother
Edward Hutcheson, Brother
Steven Hutcheson, Brother
Father Whitfield Hutcheson, Cousin
Tel: 394-BOOK (2665)
Mobile: (242) 818-3478
SCAN HERE
