The Writer, the Lover and the Diplomat: Life with Carlos P. Romulo

By Beth Day Romulo

“Recently, after I had finished reading and checking this manuscript, I picked out several chapters at random, and read them again, and found myself laughing out loud. I hope my readers also find things to laugh about in this ‘tell it like it was’ memoir of my life.”

— Beth Day Romulo

“In co-writing her story, what strikes me most is her resilient journey from crushing heartbreak at a very young age to a purposeful life full of international travel, romance, and adventure.”

— David F. Hyatt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anvil Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9789712731433

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

La Côte Basque, 1972

I was nervous as I approached the revolving door to La Côte Basque, one of New York’s finest restaurants. It wasn’t the restaurant that made me nervous or the fact that I was alone or that the dinner event was in honor of George and Barbara Bush. I was nervous because I would soon be seeing an old friend whom I had lost touch with over the past twelve years: Carlos P. Romulo, war hero and peace champion and co-founder of the United Nations. It was the fall of 1972 and Romulo, who was back in town for the U.N. General Assembly, was hosting the dinner for George H.W. Bush, the American Ambassador to the U.N. who would later become U.S. president.

I had been given an assignment to interview Romulo by the longtime editor at Reader’s Digest, Charley Ferguson.

Your old friend Romulo is in town and I’m sure he has another story. Go talk to him.

When I called, Romulo invited me to his dinner for Bush.

Come to La Côte Basque. We can talk afterward, he said.

I first met Carlos P. Romulo in 1957 when I was given an assignment by Reader’s Digest to write an article about his eldest son, Carlos, Jr., who had died recently in a plane crash. Romulo had already distinguished himself as a military leader, statesman, diplomat, journalist, and author. His list of accomplishments read like a Who’s Who in international affairs. He first came on the international scene during World War II when he rose to the rank of General in both the U.S. Army and Philippine Army. He was a trusted adviser to General Douglas MacArthur and served alongside him in the successful military campaign to end the Japanese occupation of the Philippines for which he earned a Purple Heart and permanent status as a true war hero.

As for me, I was a country girl from Indiana loving the idea of being a New York writer. I wrote books and magazine articles and never missed a deadline. In journalism, this is no small matter. Editors trusted me to get the job done on time. My reputation for reliability led to better and better assignments. My editors at Reader’s Digest told me to try to get an interview with General Romulo when he returned to New York for the opening of the United Nations General Assembly. I wrote a note to the Philippine Embassy in Washington requesting an interview, with no expectation of a quick response. The General was serving both as head of the Philippine delegation at the U.N. and Philippine Ambassador to the U.S. The next thing I know the General himself is on the phone agreeing to talk to me and letting me know when he would next be in New York. (I later learned the General treated a reporter’s interview request as a priority in his busy life.) He told me to meet him for breakfast at 8 a.m. at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, where he always stayed during his New York visits. On the morning of the interview, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late, so I left my home in Chappaqua at 5:30.

Romulo was the first diplomat I ever interviewed. He gave me his story in a fast forty-five minutes. My eggs got cold as I took notes feverishly, not wanting to miss any part of the story. The article practically wrote itself.

This was the easiest interview I ever had, I later told my editors at the Digest. The article was published under the title A Bridge of Helping Hands. It was straightforward but emotional at the same time, and it won the high readership award for that month. I knew why it was so appealing. Romulo, who was first and foremost a journalist, knew exactly what I needed for a good story. He had worked as a reporter at the age of sixteen, and won a Pulitzer Prize in 1942 for a series of articles that focused on Japanese intentions leading up to the war. Despite moving on to a number of other careers, he never lost the ability to think like a reporter.

When I first met the General, my husband was still alive and so was Romulo’s wife. I remember thinking at the time, Gee, this is someone I would like as a friend. So I was pleased when he made sure that we stayed in touch. The General believed in corresponding so we would write each other regularly. He liked the fact that I was a writer. It gave us something in common, something tangible to build a friendship on.

Early in our relationship, he would read my books and I would read his and then we would exchange views on what each had written. But there was no initial romantic spark that I can remember. He once invited me to lunch at the Waldorf so I could meet his wife, Virginia.

Romulo retired as ambassador in 1960 and returned to Manila, where he became president of his alma mater, the University of the Philippines. I lost track of him after that, except for an occasional Christmas card. I learned from news reports that he had become the foreign minister in the government of President Ferdinand Marcos in 1968. I later read that General Romulo had survived a near-fatal car accident in Manila in early 1972 but he still managed to return to New York for the U.N. session in the fall. And that’s how we both came to be at La Côte Basque on the evening of October 17, 1972.

I paused outside the entrance, and considered why I was feeling so nervous. I decided it was the kind of nervous excitement one gets when meeting an old friend after a very long time. I wondered how life had changed him. Taking a deep breath, I entered and was immediately surprised to be greeted not by the General’s wife—which would have been proper protocol—but by his daughter-in-law, Mariles, who was acting as the hostess for the evening. When the General saw me, he rushed over and, ever the diplomat, made an effort to make me feel welcome.

You have matured and mellowed, he said.

Really? What was I like before? I asked, curious about his impression of me then.

You were attractive then, too, but—different. You hadn’t matured yet.

We spoke for only a minute before he returned to his duties as host for the evening. The dinner went well. I enjoyed the Bushes; they were easy, friendly people and were obviously good friends of the General. And I enjoyed the elegance of La Côte Basque, which the New York Times described as a high-society temple of French cuisine at 60 West 55th Street. I didn’t consider myself high society but I liked the food and the restaurant’s atmosphere, with its murals of the French seaside and its tables covered with fine white linens and flowers of reds and yellows and blues. Frank Sinatra and Jackie Kennedy and many others considered La Côte Basque their favorite restaurant in New York.

Later that night, I learned some important news from Romulo’s grandson, Mike: The General’s wife had died of leukemia four years earlier. In a twist of fate, Romulo and I were now both single. My husband, Harry, had died five years before.

After the dinner, I sat down with the General for a one-on-one interview. The conversation flowed freely. So did the laughter. The General was openly warm and friendly and at his most charming. The years fell away. At one point, I found myself thinking, What an enchanting evening! But I also thought, This is the stuff of movies. Kid stuff. Not the kind of thing that happens to older adults who are all too familiar with life’s hardships and heartaches. I eventually pushed those thoughts aside and decided to just enjoy the moment. When the evening was over, I thought I would return to my writing life. But the General had other ideas and I soon found myself in the middle of an international romance full of intrigue and closely-held secrets and spies around every corner.

Years later the General would tell his friends exactly when he decided he wanted to marry me.

When I saw her walk through the revolving door at La Côte Basque, the night of my dinner for George Bush.

CHAPTER TWO

Not the General!

He paused one last time before sending the secret cable. He knew what he was about to report to the president would upset him. He knew it would cause a stir. An international scandal. If he had not witnessed it with his own eyes, he too would find it hard to believe. So he reread what he had written. He studied every word and concluded there was really only one way to say it: brief and to the point. So off the cable went to the president of the Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos.

Not the General!

Marcos read the cable in disbelief. One of his spies in New York had just reported that his foreign minister was romancing an American woman, a writer, a journalist.

This can’t be, Marcos said. Any other member of my Cabinet I could believe. They’re in the their forties and fifties but the General is seventy-four.

Marcos always addressed Romulo as the General, the title of his choice, a title of profound respect.

The year was 1972 and the oldest member of the Marcos government was indeed caught in an international romance—with me.

Not long after that night at La Côte Basque, General Romulo asked me out to dinner. Just the two of us. It came out that I had lost my husband in 1967 and he had lost his wife in 1968. At the end of the evening, he asked me out again. And then again. And again. Romulo did nothing to hide his interest in me. We dated openly. I had not given any thought to whether our movements were being monitored. I was more interested in our movements on the dance floor. To my surprise, I learned that Romulo was a good dancer—and I loved to dance.

How did you learn to dance so well? I asked.

Don’t tell anyone but I went to Arthur Murray, he said.

Romulo took me to some of his favorite restaurants in New York, including the Sign of the Dove. Unfortunately for us, the Sign of the Dove had become a popular high-end restaurant and the talk of the town. I didn’t think about it then but its popularity almost guaranteed that my relationship with the General was about to get more complicated.

The Sign of the Dove was located on the Upper East Side and was owned by a curious man by the name of Dr. Joe Santo. Joe was a non-practicing dentist from Massachusetts who had taken all his money and invested it in New York restaurants, including Arizona 206, Yellowfingers, and Contrapunto. It was a high-risk move that at first looked foolhardy. Early on, the Sign of the Dove was described as the restaurant New Yorkers love to hate. The food just wasn’t good. So Joe went back into the kitchen himself and worked with his chefs to develop the kind of food he wanted to serve to the public. And Joe knew what he wanted; he had a great sense of taste. He also knew how to turn bad publicity into good publicity. Once the food suited his tastes, he reintroduced his restaurant to New Yorkers. Eventually, the New York Times upgraded the Sign of the Dove from zero to three stars, reporting, elitist ‘foodies’ find themselves competing for tables with glamorous jet-setters, U.N. diplomats, and nouveau riche suburbanites. A headline in the Chicago Tribune read, It’s Been A Long, Hard Climb, But Joe Santo’s At The Top Of The Heap Among New York Restaurateurs. At that point, Joe’s restaurants were bringing in $10 million a year.

Not long after that first night at the Sign of the Dove, the General got word of the spy’s report to Marcos. It was clear that going out to dinner with the General would not be quite as simple and straightforward as I thought. I felt like our bubble had been burst, but the international tug and pull had just begun. It was a new dance that I was going to have to learn.

CHAPTER THREE

Champion of Peace

I soon discovered the General was a much sought-after widower. I was not surprised. There was a lot to like. Romulo was a dapper and fastidious man and despite his small stature (he was 5’4"), he managed to dominate a room when he entered through a combination of self-assurance and great charm. He considered good grooming an adjunct to diplomatic life and took it very seriously.

A person who is well dressed is at ease and sure of himself, he maintained.

His clothes were all custom tailored. He would spend twenty minutes selecting a tie. Shoes must be shined before each wearing. This, plus his strong and winning personality, made him seem much younger than his seventy-four years. I was forty-eight but as I spent more time with him, I quite forgot about the differences in our age.

One day he invited me to a luncheon sponsored by the Philippine-American Chamber of Commerce in New York, where he was to be the keynote speaker. When he was introduced, he received a standing ovation. He was yet to say a word and yet everyone already was standing and applauding. And the enthusiasm was real. He was obviously the crowd favorite. Every seat was sold out.

I don’t know if anyone ever gets accustomed to a standing ovation. I do know that if you get a standing ovation before you even start your speech, you must feel more pressure to deliver, to impress, to excite the audience. How embarrassing if you’re introduced to a standing ovation and then receive only polite applause at the end, with everyone seated staring at you with that why-aren’t-you-off-the-stage look. But Romulo delivered. He paused for dramatic effect at the right times.

He peppered his speech with humor. He lifted the audience with the right cadence and volume and rhythm. And when he finished, the audience rose quickly to its enthusiastic feet and Romulo walked down the platform to sustained applause.

I was surprised and pleased to learn that despite his military background, Romulo was also famous as a speaker. He loved words. Here’s how he once put it:

Language has always seemed to me the most marvelous gift. Speech has been my treasure chest, and everything I have achieved in my life has been won by words.

After World War II, Romulo used his oratory skills as a champion of peace. He was elected the first Asian president of the U.N. General Assembly. He served multiple tours as the Philippine Ambassador to Washington, and was later honored in the Philippines as the greatest diplomat of the twentieth century. He worked closely with every U.S. president from Franklin Roosevelt on, and was among the rare recipients of the U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom for his contributions to world peace, which also earned him a Nobel Peace Prize nomination and a United Nations Peace Medal.

During the limo drive back to my apartment, he asked me what I thought of his speech.

You’re a great performer, I said. There are many orators but few good ones. You know how to work an audience. I’d put you up against Bob Hope any day.

Actually he reminded me more of Jack Benny, one of America’s top performers. Like Jack Benny, the General was so sure of himself he could use long pauses to build up a punch line. His speeches were serious in content, but he used anecdotes and jokes to keep the audience interested. Then, when they were laughing, he slipped them some important thought. (Wasn’t it Mark Twain who said you can tell people anything if you make them laugh?) The audiences loved him. In the early forties, he had crisscrossed the United States, speaking in 466 cities and towns to rally American support against the Japanese occupation of the Philippines. He was described by the New Yorker as the hottest thing to hit the American lecture platforms.

After the Chamber luncheon, we started seeing each other more often. Romulo made it clear that his intentions were serious. The only thing standing in our way was President Marcos who was still stewing over his top diplomat’s romance with the American.

Reviews for The Writer, the Lover and the Diplomat

[C.J. Urquico · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Phenomenal storytelling by Beth Day Romulo and David Hyatt. She manages to cause even more reverence towards her late husband, Carlos P. Romulo. Beth's charming, endearing simple style will disarm you. I look forward to reading more of their books.