By Elmer Ordonez

From quiet homes and first beginning,
Out to the undiscovered ends,
There’s nothing worth the wear of winning,
But the laughter and love of friends.
(H. Belloc) 

I was deeply moved when Narita Manuel Gonzalez showed up unexpectedly at the memorial last April 29. Wheeled in by her daughter Selma, the widow of the late National Artist for Literature NVM Gonzalez, in her mid 90s, practically blind, took time away from her home in UP Diliman to come to Cavite to bid farewell to Elenita.

The Gonzalezes were longtime friends and senior colleagues in UP Diliman, in the English Department and the UP Writers Club. The young NVM was a student of my father, principal of Mindoro High School in the late 20s.

Narita who could no longer see tightened her grip on my hand when I told her my name – the grip of love and friendship. I remember NVM visited me in the hospital in 1999 several months before he passed away at 84. The Gonzalezes are so loved and revered that when their “Pioneer Home” in UP Diliman was burned, their friends rallied to replace the lost books and photos with copies of their own.

Inevitably a number of friends/relatives in our age group and over would be in wheelchairs. Two others came thus —each of them carried by four waiters up the second floor of the resort hotel which elevator had broken down.

Atty. Aurora Sayoc Abella, in her 90s, the last surviving aunt of Elenita, always comes as the matriarch of the Topacio-Sayoc family, to preside over family occasions — weddings, anniversaries, and departures. Her daughters, Dr. Arlene, Atty Cecile, and Bessie assisted her, granddaughter of Magdalo general Licerio Topacio. Former Prime Minister Cesar Virata, my contemporary in U.P., noted his lineage from the Topacio family tree. He remembered our putting out the 1952 Philippinensian.

Jacinto Buenaventura spoke in behalf of Tita’s high school classmates (’46-‘48) at Imus Institute, oldest college in Cavite.

Prof. Raul Segovia, first chair of the Alliance of Concerned Teachers, slightly younger than me, came in a wheel chair, assisted by his wife professor Lorna.

National Artist for Literature Frankie Sionil Jose, 87, could still manage to walk straight with a cane, accompanied by his wife, Tessie. Frankie recalled their having known us since the 50s and our spirited arguments over literature and politics. His fifteenth novel, The Feet of Juan Bacnang, was launched recently.

National Artist for Literature Bien Lumbera and wife professor Cynthia “Shayne” came. At 80 Bien was honored by progressive artists and cultural groups – an event I missed.

Novelist Rony V. Diaz and playwright/director/fictionist Amelia Lapena-Bonifacio, friends from the early 50s shared their pleasant memories of Elenita. Dear Aida, Rony’s wife, couldn’t come for health reasons. Rony and Amel have both finished their novels to be launched soon.

Professors of English Thelma B. Kintanar and Maybelle de Guzman remembered Tita by coming. Both had lost their loved ones recently. Other (colleagues/former students) from English showed up: Mila Carreon-Laurel, Nonilon Queano with Bella of Ateneo, Jennifer-Romero Llaguno (just widowed).

Fictionist Lilia de Leon came despite the fact that she was looking after her ailing husband in Pilar, Bataan. Writer Luning Bonifacio and Rene Ira sent regrets they couldn’t come. Tita was Luning’s maid of honor 57 years ago. Novelist Ester V. Daroy in mid 80s couldn’t come but sent her donation for the cancer fund and a beautifully designed book of Canadian authors.

Dr. Serafin Quiazon, the longest serving director of the National Library, his wife pharmacist Sonia, and retired SSS official Rey Gregorio, were among those who came — close friends and colleagues in UP Diliman. So did former RTC Judge Federico Alikpala, Jr. Serafin, Jun, and I belong to “Batch ‘50” of the Upsilon.

Artist/professor emeritus Brenda Fajardo spoke in behalf of the U.P. Arts Studies Department who came in full force, 20 of them led by Prof. Cecile de la Paz. Prof. Rosemarie Magno read a poem for Tita.

Penman Jose “Butch” Dalisay, jr. and his wife artist Beng (whose father is gravely ill) arrived. They are among the set of friends whom we met upon our return from exile – all active in the movement for social change. Butch wrote for the Philippine Star: “Tita was all sweetness and light (not unlike Beng herself, which was why they got along so well) but you could sense that underneath all that was a tough lady, steeled by her marriage to an accomplished writer forced into exile by martial law. Hers was a family of academics, artists, and achievers and I am sure that Tita would not have had it otherwise.”

Poet Roger Mangahas and feminist author Fe Mangahas came to see Tita off. So did ex-congressman from Bayan Muna Satur Ocampo with his wife, “Bobi” Malay. Satur spoke for the progressives present – Prof. Roland Simbulan, Prof. Roland Tolentino, Efren Yambot, Lerma de Lima-Yambot, Vivian de Lima, Rey and Cora Casambre, Norma Binas, and Rita Baua (representing BAYAN) .

The memorial was a reunion with ever supportive relatives (like Tita’s siblings and families, her cousins (Jacinto sisters, Sarroca sisters and families), nieces and nephews, plus those on my side (altogether, too many to name), friends old and new, all made aware what Elenita liked – “No sad songs for me” (from her favorite poet, Christina Rosetti). Any solemnity vanished as laughter and the love of friends and relatives held dominion.

My family’s deepest gratitude to all for remembering – and generous giving for the cancer fund.

By Elmer Ordonez

Not only in Flanders Field but in most open areas in western Europe were the red poppies in bloom. That was one enduring impression of our car tour in May 1967. The red poppy, the flower of remembrance.

Our son Mael recalled last Sunday how he (at 6) would start whining every time we stopped at a cathedral or a museum which you had to visit for your research. Mo (at 10) was quiet as we walked the aisle of a gothic church or studied artifacts and art works in galleries but once the tour was over she rushed to join Mael cheering as they made for the ice cream vendor outside – their just reward.

Driving on the left lane was a British-acquired habit that almost brought us into collision with an oncoming car in France. I was wondering why the driver was frantically waving us aside. This again happened in Penang where I started to drive on the right lane as I did at home. I remember Filipinos drove on the left until after the war when the Americans returned.

We toured Malaysia in an Austin Mini visiting all the states and Singapore, at one time taking the road close to the Thai border where guerrillas were active, the road patrolled by armored cars.

We enjoyed eating stall food, particularly the mee (noodle) dishes, fried or with broth. Our favorite was char kwai teow – a Penang delicacy of flat noodles, with seafood and a peculiar burnt flavor. Years later the best Penang char kwai teow that we tasted was from a stall near our hotel in Kuala Lumpur.

I remember you had nasi goring (fried rice) for breakfast, lunch, and supper at a hotel in Bali. That must really be good. And so were the other nasi dishes wrapped in banana leaves (like our own binalot) eaten as we did the bento in long train rides.

Memories of food in Montreal: smoked meat (pastrami) sandwiches, so hefty, that we just had to share it, eaten with fries and washed down with coke; poutine, a bowl of fries covered with bits of soft white cheese; meat pies from Lac Sainte Jean; and of course bagels sprinkled with toasted sesame or poppy seeds from the original shop off Park Avenue, across the school where we took French language courses.

We looked forward to spring for the “sugaring” in the snow-covered woods and feasted on plates of Canadian bacon, potatoes and scrambled eggs liberally doused with maple syrup. We would cross the border at Plattsburgh, New York just to buy Hershey’s Kisses not available then in Montreal. .

We picketed the Philippine embassy in Ottawa with other concerned Filipinos and Canadians against martial law in the Philippines. One time in winter, we demonstrated at the Parliament gate against the Canadian plan to sell uranium rods for the nuclear plant in Bataan, with you and four other Filipinas wearing fur coats (it was so cold, I agreed), belatedly realizing the Canadian women with us were activists protesting the killing of baby seals and other wild life. It’s just a cheap muskrat coat, you said but agreed it was a mistake.

We joined our first May Day parade (1975) celebrating victory in Vietnam singing the Internationale with solidarity allies of various nationalities.

We had our share of cross country driving in North America, camping along the way, and saw the standard places like Yellowstone Park and Grand Canyon (you quoting what a farmer said, “a hell of a place to lose a cow in”).

We stopped the traffic on the highway off Toronto when your suitcase fell off the roof rack and you saw your wardrobe flying all over the place. Good thing a guy with a van helped me gather your clothes while the stalled motorists looked askance at us. I didn’t hear the end of this for some time for I was remiss in not securing the roof-rack of our Chevy Malibu.

We asked ourselves would you like to live in Chibougamau (Quebec), Moose Jaw (Saskatchewan), or Fish Licks (Newfoundland) where we discovered three cheerful Filipina teachers snowed in most of the year.

After all the years of living abroad and wanderlust, there was nothing like spending 15 more years in the UP campus, an ideal place to live and work in, despite the low pay.

And when we retired we had eleven more years together in our sylvan place called a forest by friends from Manila – where we could hear the birds at all times, grow and smell the flowers, and contemplate the trees and green foliage around us.

Relatives and friends (including writers, progressives, and expats in Canada/US) remembered you well last Sunday. Young Bettina sang “Smile” by Chaplin, Lester Demetillo sang “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell, two friends of Vida Gomez rendered “Cavatina”(from Deer Hunter) by flute (Tito Hilario) and guitar(Gerry Duran). Cecile Abella finally sang “I’ll be seeing you.” What else can one ask for? Wordsworth wrote:

“Though nothing can bring back the hour / Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, / We will grieve not, rather find / Strength in what remains behind / In the faith that looks through death / In years that bring the philosophic mind.”

Here’s to looking at the moon, Elenita, and I’ll be seeing you.

 

By Elmer Ordonez

Then it came to me – the pre-war song “Thanks for the Memory” sung by Bob Hope with another, a favorite which Elenita (Tita) and I included in our CD album of songs of remembrance, our giveaway at our golden anniversary in 2006.

I first heard the song on radio in 1937 ( I was seven then) and it became a theme song of Bob Hope — the first strains of which signaled his entrance in performances on TV and in overseas appearances before homesick GIs in three wars (WWII, Korean, and Vietnam). He was hilarious with his one-liners and his skits with crooner Bing Crosby.

Songs become touchstones of time and place and occasion. Elenita and I have at least fifty of them in our anniversary album – each one marking a period or moment in our lives that conjoined since 1956. “Thanks for the Memory” with lyrics memorable to Hope evokes in listeners memories from their own repertoire of shared experiences.

Ours include stints abroad, four years in Madison, Wisconsin, two one-year teaching assignments in New York, a year in Oxford, England, a year and a half in Malaysia, and twelve years in Montreal. We lived abroad for a total of 20 years before settling down in the “old country”, as expats say, to teach 15 more years before retirement in Imus.

The Hope song catalogues incidents, moments, details, impressions. I should be writing my own lyrics to the song. Not being a lyricist, I will do it in prose. Not quite the same though.

We treasured the seasons in Madison, like autumn when we first arrived. From our first apartment in what Eddie Reyes called “Dickensian”, we could see the autumn leaves from our window with our eight-month old Mo, the radio playing “Tammy” by Debbie Reynolds.

We had our first snow in Eagle Heights, a new housing for graduate students and their families, and made halo halo from the newly fallen white flakes. Autumn almost over, we walked through the woods to Picnic Point, and trod on the thick carpet of fallen leaves. We felt the chill in our bones, thinking a sweater would do in the open.

We had our first blizzard December that year, thankful that our apartment was well insulated, and we had just done our groceries so our small fridge was well stocked. We bought only the cheap cuts of meat good for soups and stews. Our only treat was at McDonald’s once a month.

I hated waiting for the school bus in winter when five minutes in the bus stop was an eternity. Good thing we got warm coats from the Salvation Army. I envied your staying home with Mo, reading Dr. Spock to her or letting her watch on TV the Mickey Mouse show or the Friendly Giant while you kept house. I was grateful for the hot beef stew or chicken soup you prepared when I got home from the campus. .

In Potsdam, New York, we would drive on weekends to see the St. Lawrence Seaway locks where at the viewing deck we could chat briefly with Filipino seamen on ships going to the Great Lakes. In the Adirondacks we visited Saranac Lake where Quezon was remembered as El Presidente.

We had no central heating in Cowley, Oxford, and made do with coal in the fireplace and electric fires in the bedrooms. We had to wear our overcoats inside theaters and endure the cigarette smoke. Good thing we had no asthma then but we stank after every show. On weekends we toured the English countryside with a Minor 1000 that still used a crank to start a stalled engine. .

In May 1967 we began our “grand tour” of western Europe with three kids and Minda. From the start the car handle broke and I had to secure it with a string so it wouldn’t fall off. The camp ground atop the cliffs of Dover was still frozen and we all slept in our tent with our winter coats on.

Camping grounds in northern France had not yet opened and we stayed in a small hotel with a full view of Amiens cathedral. Our “petit dejeuner” was a pitcher of warm fresh milk and a big bowl of croissants. The children still talk about it. And the juiciest weiners in Munich.

British soldiers in lorries waved at us in the Minor 1000 with its roof rack fully packed with our things. We guessed ours was the only Minor 1000 they had seen on the road in Europe. .

In southern France we checked in a camp site and wondered about the caravans with curtained windows and the big American cars which should have told us they belonged to gypsies. They became friendly when you talked to them in Spanish.

We crossed the Pyrenees to Spain late afternoon and had to check in an auberge at the border. We woke up that morning to see our Minor 1000 covered with snow. In sunny Zaragoza you marveled at tent sites, each canopied with roses. We did see the sky in Toledo as El Greco saw it.

Two more weeks we toured Italy, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, Holland, Belgium where we took the ferry back to Dover just as the Six-Day War began. We vowed to revisit Spain and Italy later on, and we did. A flood of memories of other places, other times. Thank you, Elenita, thank you so much.

(A memorial gathering for Elenita, 79, will be held tomorrow morning at 10, at the Island Cove, Binakayan, Kawit, Cavite.)

eaordonez2000@yahoo.com