The Junior Year (1971-72)
On our third year as III-412, we were assigned to the legendary (and feared) Prof. Josefina Roque as Homeroom Adviser. She was reputed to be the strictest teacher in school, and she could often be heard castigating and lecturing students for one misdemeanor or other. What a disaster this was going to be! Just when we were starting to live life to the fullest, here we were assigned to the ultimate wet blanket!
I remember the class was strangely quiet and subdued the first morning of our meeting with Mrs. Roque. I think she introduced herself to us by writing her name in big bold letters on the blackboard (this may be an exaggeration because my recollection is murky at this point). But she certainly had an overwhelming presence. She looked at you with piercing black eyes and woe to those who were caught red handed at some hanky panky. Kulang na lang maihi sa takot.
But wonder of wonders, we shortly realized that she was like a mother hen to her homeroom! She behaved altogether different when she was with us versus what she projected as her public persona. Everybody else considered her a terror, but we knew better. This became one of the most carefully guarded secrets of our class. I can honestly say that she was probably the homeroom adviser whom we felt closest to over our entire stay in UPHigh. At the end of our Junior year, we made a scrapbook for her of our class containing our pictures and a personal letter from each one of us. The time we presented it to her was the only time I ever saw Mrs. Roque at a loss for words.
There was only one time that I got into trouble to the point that Mrs. Roque had to talk to me. This was when I dismissed the English class (during Students’ Week -- where selected students took over teaching certain subjects) so that we could go and see the movie "Friends". (I had been trying to find a good excuse to see this movie with the girl I was making ‘porma’ to, and this opportunity was too good to pass up.) I could have gotten away with it, but the problem was that not all went to see the movie! The rest, fearful perhaps of the consequences of cutting classes (even if it was "officially" sanctioned by the Student-Teacher, decided to just hang around the library. This was where Miss dela Cueva (the English teacher) saw them and asked them what they were doing outside the classroom. Of course they had to tell the truth. That blew the whole caper wide apart!
When I and the group got back, I was summoned to Miss dela Cueva’s presence and my heart sank when I saw her with Prof. Roque! You can imagine what followed. I had no recourse but to apologize for my misdeed and promise that I would not do it again. Thankfully, it was not brought to the attention of the Principal or my parents. Otherwise, either I would have been suspended or grounded or both! But as it was, I got away unscathed and had had a date at that! All right!
My Junior year can probably be best described as the year I discovered the joys of ‘lakwacha’. Billiards at Pink House. Banana splits at The Malt Shop. Pizzas at 3M. The shops at Ali Mall and Farmers. The New Frontier and Quezon theaters in Cubao. Forays into these places were not always easy to do given the limited resources of a teenager (on the shoestring allowance I was given), but prices were not quite steep then and it was possible to enjoy oneself without becoming bankrupt.
Pink House was probably the ‘baddest’ place I had ever gone. Cutting classes in order to play billiards was for me the nadir of rebellion (didn’t I say I was ‘mabait’?) Never mind that I was a ‘chambero’ at the start, I picked up the fine points as I went along. The Malt Shop was located somewhere in Timog and served sandwiches and various concoctions of soft ice cream. The most sinfully calorific was the Banana Split -- 3 mounds of ice cream and oodles of straberry and chocolate syrup between the two split halves of a banana. At that time, we had absolutely no compunctions about eating such rich, fatty and sugar-drenched foods.
Speaking of food, one must not fail to talk about 3M. No, this is not the scotch tape, but the very first pizza establishment in the Philippines (I think). The first outlet was located in Cubao somewhere to the side of the Quezon theater. The ‘special’ was a round crust about 12-inches in diameter topped with quick-melt cheese, about a teaspoon each of chopped mushrooms and green pepper, and about 10 or so 1-inch square pieces of salami. Not knowing any better, it tasted heavenly! To complete the experience, it was best to eat the pizza in situ (inside the store, that is) with an ice cold Coke and a girlfriend (fabulous!)
Admittedly, my diversions pale in comparison to the legendary exploits of the more worldly-wise boys of the other classes, but to each his own level of enjoyment. I never got into drugs, booze or cigarettes -- these were simply not my scene. Besides, frankly I couldn’t afford these vices. Also, despite my intense fascination with girls, I remained a virgin (except perhaps in my fantasies). I was completely and totally ‘square’ (the word ‘nerd’ had not been coined at that time, but I would have easily fit the description).
These were also the most emotionally diffcult times for me in all of my high school years. My romantic inclinations almost shattered my relationship with one of my best friends when I discovered to my utter surprise that we were interested in the same girl! How could I have missed it all these years? Either I was pretty dense (which I probably was socially) or he was quite a smooth operator (which he is, by the way). I was torn between winning the girl or losing my friend. I risked the latter because I reckoned a friend is a friend, but a girl friend is something else altogether. After the girl and I became ‘on’ (yes, in Junior year!), it took a while for my friend and I to come to terms with our friendship -- until he found the girl meant for him in college. From then on, we started to rebuild the torn gaps in our relationship and we are back to being good friends now -- as are our wives.
After the self-imposed moratorium on involvement in extra-curricular activities in second year, I found that I was utterly bored and chaffing at the inaction. Also, I had recovered from my immature reaction at my classmates’ lack of appreciation and I decided that I would simply do what was good for me. The renaissance of my involvement started right after second year as several of us joined the COCC training the following summer.
COCC training was really more of hazing rather than training. There were all sorts of senseless poems to memorize. Choreographed sequences of precise movements instead of ordinary moves. Push-ups or squats at the slightest infraction. Shouting "Sir, yes, sir!" at the top of one’s lungs. Daily doses of labuyo chased down with Sprite or 7-UP (which further heightened the burning sensation exploding in one’s mouth all the way to the stomach). Crawling through the pavilions and literally wiping the corridors with our clothes. Endless marching, drillling, and jogging. Cleaning and polishing vintage WWI bolt action rifle replicas. Mirror-bright buckles and leather shoes. Sequences of mental torture as one is led blindfolded to the comfort room and commanded to fondle and mash the curiously slimy objects floating in a toilet bowl (actually, just a water basin with corn husks). Forced ingestion of worms (actually spaghetti, but difficult to tell when one is terrorized and blindfolded).
We entered as a gang (Pone, Senen, Mon and I) because we were impressed with the officers of the PMT in the earlier years. And since we all felt we deserved to be more than just ordinary cadets, we opted to take the training. But after several weeks of punishing hazing, we (and a few others -- Joe Malanyaon, Egay Manaois, I think) -- decided to call it quits because we were thoroughly disillusioned with the entire process, as well as with some of the officers ‘training’ us. I remember thinking that they were completely undeserving of respect. Also, where was the training we were supposed to get? And so, shortly before the summer was about to finish, we reported for the morning assembly, lined up in rank, and shouted "I quit!" one after another, threw our rifles away and calmly walked away to gather our things.
The officers "training" us were stunned. I don’t think they expected such a thing to happen, especially not from the supposedly more intelligent segment of that batch of COCC cadets. But we were adamant in our decision, and despite being talked to by a couple of officers whom we personally liked (George, Mannix, Chito), we stuck to our decision and left the rest of them drilling under the merciless heat of the sun one fine summer day. Oh, well, at least we got a lot of exercise out of it.
On hindsight, not being an officer left me free to engage in other more worthwhile extra-curricular pursuits. I resumed my involvement in student government, joined the UP Highlights as Asst. Features, directed 2 plays by Alberto Florentino (‘Cadaver’ and ‘Cavort with Angels’) at the Abelardo for the Drama Guild, and participated more in the activities of the Juniors. These would not have been possible had I been in training as a PMT officer. So there...quitting was not quite the wrong decision I was told it would be.
Not only did I increase my involvement in school activities, I also increased the length of my hair. I must have looked really funny because I went around with a hairstyle like a big, black "bunot’ (coconut husk) had been plopped into my head. But even at that, I probably looked less weird than the other long-haired freaks on campus and so I was generally ignored.
The Junior student council was dominated by the ‘aktibistas’ with Guy Estrada at the helm. And so most of the activities tended to be ‘relevant’ -- at least to the extent that the administration allowed so-called ‘revolutionary’ acitvities. I never joined any of the teach-ins, D.G.’s (discussion groups), rallies or whatever. I remember thinking, "Who the heck is going to listen to a bunch of teenagers?"
The high point of this year was the Junior-Senior Prom. True to our reputation of being trailblazers, the J-S Prom our batch hosted was a break from tradition. Instead of being held at the Multi, ours was at the Elegant Diner (in Quezon Avenue)! It wasn’t the most glamorous place to hold a dance party, but at least it was much better than the Multi!
The girls were in formal long gowns, while the boys were in the craziest, loudest and wildest outfits . These consisted of floor-sweeping flare pants (at least 12 inches wide at the bottom!) made of some shiny double knit material held in place low at the hip by a 3-inch wide leather belt; long-sleeved shirt with huge collars (made of synthetic material which was wildly colored with complicated designs); and the de rigeur long hair. Some of the guys were wearing neckties and blazers in an attempt to look formal, but their long hair gave them the look of gangsters anyway.
The food was Chinese (I think it was awful) but I don’t think anybody really noticed. We were more interested in dancing with our dates who looked so nice, smelled so good and felt so soft. Standing on the threshold of adulthood, and pumped up with rushing hormones, I think many of us were giddy with the experience of interacting with the opposite sex in a social setting like the Prom! There were half-hearted attempts to turn the lights off (the best way to enjoy a ‘sweet’ dance!), but the ever vigilant teachers promptly turned them back on again. Despite these, it was a great night. After all, during those times it didn’t really take much dancing skill to look really professional on the dancefloor. Maskipaps, remember?
I think it was during this year that we had some student teachers from the College of Education doing some practicum at UPHigh. After all, the high school was set up to be a laboratory school of the College. One of these was a certain Miss Busoy who can best be described as looking like an old, soft-spoken spinster. Because she was mild-mannered and soft-spoken, certain classmates (particularly Egay Manaois) took perverse pleasure in trying to rattle her to no end. One particular afternoon, the entire class was talking, laughing, throwing paper airplanes, milling around -- right in the middle of what was supposed to be an English class under Miss Busoy.
After several attempts to control the chaos that was swirling all around her, Miss Busoy finally gathered enough energy to say: "Class, please keep quiet and listen because I have a secret to tell you." We all settled down in our seats to await this revelation. Miss Busoy continued: "You know class, I hope that you will not be so unruly because it is not good for me. You see, I have just recovered from a stroke."
There was a moment of stunned silence and then Egay’s howl of laughter rang out: "Mwa-ha-ha!" and he started rolling down the floor in uncontrollable merriment! The class found this extremely hilarious and soon everybody was holding on to their sides and laughing our hearts out. Miss Busoy was utterly devastated and the next day another student teacher had taken her place. We were so cruel. We found out later that she actually had a stroke some years back and as a consequence had to re-take her education degree all over again. But we didn’t realize it at that time, and simply delighted in teasing and making fun of her.
I remember one time she was waiting at the bus stop infront of UPHigh. She flagged down the oncoming bus and walked slowly towards the one that stopped. This took an agonizingly long time because she took such small, slow steps. The driver, perhaps getting tired of waiting for her, drove off just as Miss Busoy was lifting her hand to grab the door handle and lifting her foot at the same time to step onto the bus. As the bus slowly pulled away, Miss Busoy was left with her hand and foot still upraised and frozen in immobility. This would not have been such a big deal, but the inimitable Egay happened to be nearby and witnessed the whole thing! The next day, this whole incident was all over the campus. What cruel clods we were! Wherever Miss Busoy is now, if you read this, we hope that you will forgive our utter insensitivity. But it certainly gave us a lot of entertainment at the time...
It was also during our Junior year that the GOP embarked on a campaign of petty thievery that was to last even through our college days. Whenever any of us had a birthday, we could expect to receive as gifts items that had been stolen from either the UPHigh or University facilities. And so, I remember receiving one of the dwarf statues sitting outside the front of the office and one of the wooden chairs from the Chemistry Room. I still have the latter (we use it as a piano stool), but I don’t have the dwarf anymore. I think we may have put it back, although this act of gallantry was completely wasted because this only allowed somebody else to steal it!
My Junior year ended with a real sense of having accomplished worthwhile achievements. I had finally overcome my reluctance at being a part of this school and I had completed my transformation into a full-blooded UPHigh nerd. Fourth year, here I come!