Parlade Family Memoir

By Bob Parlade

Who were your forbears? What sort of humans were we? What kind of world have we moved about? How as a family have we lived and how have we interacted with people around us?
The contents of this book will very likely be of immense value to two or more generations down the line, specifically the grandchildren of our grandchildren, in the same manner as I, at this moment, would pay a price to see and learn how our forbears of past two or more generations lived within the context indicated above.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483633688

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Copyright © 2013 by Bob Parlade.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2013907914

ISBN:                  Hardcover                         978-1-4836-3367-1

                            Softcover                           978-1-4836-3366-4

                            Ebook                                978-1-4836-3368-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 09/20/2013

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Dedication

I have the reputation of one who has remained eternally young but who now has become painfully aware of my mortality, yet my grandchildren and great-grandchildren still call me papa in their vain attempt to keep me young. As I look back, the reality came home to me that the Parlade family, of whom I am a proud member, has a story to tell and that this story would be of great interest to them, if not to others. Thoughts of these precious young branches inspired me to write these, and for this reason, I dedicate this book of memoirs to all my grandchildren and great-grandchildren most especially to the divine gift I received during this twilight years of my life, who became not only the source of my never-ending joy but also the reason for my present being and why I feel the need to be remembered.

WHAT A KIN CAN EXPECT TO FIND IN THIS BOOK

Answers to the following:

Who were your forbears? What sort of humans were we? What kind of world have we moved about? How as a family have we lived and how have we interacted with people around us?

The contents of this book will very likely be of immense value to two or more generations down the line, specifically the grandchildren of our grandchildren, in the same manner as I, at this moment, would pay a price to see and learn how our forbears of past two or more generations lived within the context indicated above.

How was this undertaken?

All of us brothers and sisters, except those who earlier passed away, contributed the materials in this family memoir. Some entries are joint efforts.

Therefore, you will encounter a compilation of messages, exchange of letters via e-mail. There was a freewheeling exchange of recalled memory to give the spirit of this memoir a chance to be ventilated and corrected should there be a perception from anyone that may differ from the other.

As for Manoy Ping, our eldest, and Jun, our youngest brother, who had already departed from our mortal world, their contribution will appear in the form of commentaries about them, from any of us, the remaining siblings, as seen through our intimate eyes and/or as seen by our world. Also these commentaries are drawn from observations including how we see one another.

Newspapers last only a day. Popular periodicals such as Reader’s Digest or National Geographic magazines last for months even years. This book of Parlade family memoirs will be kept as a treasured trove of memories by those who belong to the Parlade clan and will be kept for as long as there remains someone in the clan who is proud of his ancestry and his heritage.

FAMILY MEMOIR

Preface

As we turn the pages of history, the page where we belong will be followed and covered by pages after pages belonging to subsequent generations. Somewhere along the line, someone no matter how distant kin he or she maybe place in a moment just like of this writing, where my mind is trying to reach out into the realm where my forbears were, and peek into the world about them, to learn what sort of person were they, only to face fragments of life lived and gone leaving only but kindly immortal shadows.

It is for the sake of the generations that will be following us that we thought of preparing this family memoir, as the doorknob anyone can open and look into a world from where they come, devoid of mystery, and be able to identify itself in kinship with one in terms of character, temperament, peculiarity, even idiosyncrasy, if any, depth of charity. May they be equal to the most outstanding virtues of the Parlades, which are kindness, compassion, generosity, and friendliness, most prone to help the helpless, the needy, and the abused?

Last but not least, this also is a window where anyone belonging to future generations may peek and see how their forbears were seen by the world around them.

The initiative should fall into the responsibility of our eldest but since already died, I, the next in line, bear the burden of getting this organized and worked on until its publication. When the idea was broached to my siblings, the enthusiasm expressed by each one made it an easier and possible.

This platter of memories prepared and served to you is a concoction of material elements drawn from the reservoir of past accounts, extracted from each of the siblings exerting a gigantic job to contribute and create this here family magnum opus.

Bob Parlade

INTRODUCTION

Our memories go back no further than the early 1900s. Our grandparents were then in their youth. The trappings of modern-day living were still a distant memory. There was no telephone. Radio was rare and movies occasional. Television has not been invented, and so is the concept of computer and video games; they still have to germinate in someone else’s mind. At that time, people lived in an entirely different world. The main pastime, in addition to gambling and cockfight in localities, was one that emblazoned national interest and consumed time, money, and effort of most: politics. There were only two contending political parties in our beloved Philippines: the Partido Nacionalista and Partido Democrata. Both were fiercely opposing each other, vying for control of the government by fielding candidates for elective positions from municipal councilor to mayor, congressmen, to senators.

So it was that in the two towns of Ligao and Guinobatan situated adjacent to one another in the province of Albay, just like anywhere else in the country, the rivalry between these two political parties were very much alive.

In the town of Ligao, the most prominent leader of the Democrata Party was Jose Parlade. He was a man known all over town and fondly and respectfully called Don Pepe (Don is a title of rank in Spain). He remained an important political figure in Ligao until the Japanese invasion in 1941. He was from Spain, and as the story goes, he was a stowaway in a Spanish vessel that left Barcelona. He became the headache of the captain of the vessel when discovered while the vessel was already in high seas. His name was Jose Parlade, our paternal grandfather. How he landed in the Philippines and eventually took up residence in Ligao remains a mystery.

An adjacent town nine kilometers south of Ligao is Guinobatan. One of the prominent active leaders of the Nacionalista Party was Florencio Ostonal, a landowner, our maternal grandfather.

The rivalry between these political parties was intense, passionate, and heated but, unlike today’s politics, was nonviolent. One tiny but interesting account about these contending political parties was one that involved our eldest brother, Manoy Ping, Jose Parlade III. He was just seven years old when—as a political strategy manipulated by our paternal grandfather, Don Pepe, Jose Parlade I—he was used by the Democrata Party during the public meeting in the town of Guinobatan. He sang a politically loaded song in the vernacular against the Nacionalistas.

But the main strategy was that he was introduced Peping Ostonal Parlade, by which he was identified to the listeners as the grandson of Nacionalista leader, Florencio Ostonal. After Manoy Ping sang, Florencio, in the audience, was visibly upset and demanded why, as a seven-year-old boy, he was participating in a political meeting. This, we suspect, was more for the benefit of Jose Parlade I, the propriety of whose tactic was being questioned.

Another interesting election account regarding our grandparents was when Democrata leader Jose Parlade sent for cows from his ranch and butchered them to feed electors in Ligao while Nacionalista leader Florencio Ostonal butchered a carabao to feed electors in Guinobatan,.

There is no attempt to write a biography of the family. Hence, the title of this book is Memoirs. It is intended to be a compilation of what I and the Parlade family members recall of past events. There is, unfortunately, no written record of such events, not even old letters—it was not fashionable to do so at that time—and so reliance had to be made upon memory, which is frail. There is no flow of events as there would be in a narrative form to make a coherent story. These collections of vignettes were contributed by my slightly younger sisters Aida (Dada) and Vivienne (Viv) the irrepressible, a few by Custodio (Ging) and Alfonso (Toy). Ging complains that the events narrated are disjointed and unexplained and perhaps even incomprehensible. But that is the reason this book is just a book of memoirs; it is for family consumption, not for general distribution.

In writing this book, I envisioned a gathering whereby we, the siblings and the next of kin, are seated around a campfire in early evening and exchanging and laughing at our recollections of past events, particularly the mischief that was caused and sometimes with hilarious results.

With this format in mind, all of us brothers and sisters, except those who earlier passed away, contributed the materials in this family memoir. Some entries are joint efforts.

Therefore, you will encounter a compilation of messages and exchange of letters via e-mail. There was freewheeling exchange of recalled memory to present, as much as it can be humanly possible, the events of the past that concerned the family and, in the process, correct misperceptions arising from the faulty recollection considering the length of time—over half a century—that had passed. Since none in the family had made a written record of passing events (even letters were extremely rare), photographs that had been kept became important aids to recollection.

DESCENT FROM THE PATERNAL

Jose Parlade, or Don Pepe, married Gregoria Santo Domingo, our paternal grandmother. Their three sons were Sabas Parlade, the eldest, who was our father; followed by the second son, Crisanto Parlade; and the youngest, Jose Parlade Jr.

DESCENT FROM THE MATERNAL

Florencio Ostonal married Matea Divinagracia. They were blessed with seven children: Josefa, the eldest; followed by Soledad; then followed by Paz, who was our mother; then Delfin; followed by Leonor; then Jose; and the youngest, Honorio.

Politics was ingrained in the soul of past generation’s way of life; it merits main consideration. This notwithstanding, it is the height of paradox how mother and father ever became conjugal partners considering how much the two contending parties repel each other. Out of the marriage between our mother and father, nine of us came out.

Fruits of This Paradox

The marriage between Sabas Sto. Domingo Parlade Sr. (known as Abay) and Paz Divinagracia Ostonal (known as Cita) resulted in the following children:

1.   Jose O.Parlade, III, who we called Manoy Ping, now deceased

2.   Salvador O. Parlade Sr., often called Manoy Badong or simply Bob

3.   Aida O. Parlade, called Dada, married to Burt Raymond (now deceased)

4.   Vivienne O. Parlade, married to Kendall Kerns or Ken (now deceased)

5.   Custodio O. Parlade Sr., nicknamed Ging or Jing, married to Solita V. Parlade

6.   Patricia O. Parlade (Pat or Tunay), married to Gorden Chiwi Warner (deceased)

7.   Alfonso O. Parlade (Ponsing or Toy), married to Luz (now deceased)

8.   Sabas Parlade Jr. (Jun), now deceased, married to Estela Ramos

9.   Teresita O. Parlade (Tess or Tita), married to Bert Smith, now deceased

Note: Ariel was born during the Japanese occupation and succumbed to meningitis after a year.

The contributors to this memoir are Bob, Dada, Viv, Ging, Pat, Toy, and Tess. Some encouraging words were contributed by Dawn, the eldest daughter of Toy, coming across Facebook or e-mail, which is the major medium used to span the ocean for these exchanges of communication.

Pg12.jpg

This photo of Papa and Mama elicited the following volley of words from their grandchildren, including great-grandchildren. They are printed here exactly in the same form as received via e-mail or Facebook:

PHOTO

Dawn, the daughter of Toy from the Philippines: IF I AM NOT MISTAKEN, BOTH GRANDPA AND GRANDMA WERE BORN IN 1900!!!! YUP THEY BOTH SURVIVED WWII, GOD WILLED IT AND PURPOSED IT… so out of their LOVE… we were all BORN!!! Now, we are such a huge family!!!!!! Truly they are such a perfect pair!

Katrina, the granddaughter of Dada, from London: Lala looks so much like her father.

Angela, the granddaughter of Dada, from California: I got all of my good looks from my uncle bob… I look just like him and that is why I am so pretty!

Bert, the son of Tess, from Utah: Thanks Dawn for the clearer picture. It is great to see this picture. Sure wish I could have had a chance to know them both better. I remember meeting Grandpa Sabas, but never Grandma Paz. I still love them just the same as if I would have grown up with them.

Candyce, the daughter of Dada, from California: AWW. I MISS THEM SO MUCH!!!!

Rochelle, the daughter of Viv, from Florida: This photo took my breath away. I wish they were still physically with us. Thank you for putting this photo in your album. Priceless!

Dawn, daughter of Toy, from the Philippines: DEAR UNCLE BOB, I believed that we do POSSESSED some character qualities of GRAND MA and GRANDPA we just have to LET IT SHINE! CAN U BELIEVE ONE OF YOUR CHILDHOOD NEIGHBORS LIVE A BLOCK AWAY FROM our place today. AND PAPA SAYS GRANDMA USED TO GIVE THEM CAVAN OF RICE, COCONUT ETC… GRATIS ET AMORE!!!

Bob from California: Dawn, yes indeed I know the neighbor you are referring to. One of the brothers was my classmate in Grade 6 or 7. Mama used to provide their daily need for rice, in measures of chupas or gantas, not cavan. A cavan of rice weighs more than 100 lbs. But then who in the world do we know, would do even a fraction of that? Uncle bob

Jaylyn, the daughter of Jun, from Oregon: That homeless family was taken in by my mother. Just kids. They were orphans who escaped the beatings and abuses of the adoptive Uncle and Aunt. My mother immediately enrolled the kids in school. She didn’t waste time getting their lives back to normal.

There was a time; my father took home a homeless guy from Luneta Park. He had not bathed and eaten in who knows how long. The following day, he was hardly recognizable in his new barong and his new haircut. To top it all, my father made him liaison officer of his life insurance agency. But the best part was, he addressed the president of the company, my father, Daddy and not boss. Oh, and not only that, Daddy drove our newly adopted brother to work every day.

I never once heard my mother nor my father complain whenever one of them would bring home a homeless person or a family. Whenever confronted by one of us kids, the answer we always got was, We’re blessed to be on the giving end. One day, you will understand. I didn’t then, they are both right, I do now. I am certain, my sisters do too. Crystal is right, our Uncles and Aunts showed us true generosity and often unconditional love. May the Parlade legacy continue? Love you all.

Duchess, the daughter of Pat, a.k.a. Tunay, from California: Truly, their examples live on today. I have seen and been blessed by the continuation of their character traits coming to the fore in the lives of the majority of our large family. When we lived in Clark, I was among the youngest of the cousins so I didn’t get to know the ‘older’ cousins in the Phils. too well. None the less, the evidence of the Parlade character was quite visible among them as well as the cousins i did ‘grow up with’ here in the states. We do have an amazing legacy. Not one of financial greatness, but greatness that can only be aspired to by the majority of society today. Things like faith, compassion, deep love, generosity, grace… these intangible things that no money could purchase. These are our greatest legacy. As Honey said, I too hope our children (my nieces and nephews) will first learn and then pass on the love and the good things—these earmarks of the Parlade legacy. To the Glory and Honor and Praise of GOD who first gave life to the Parlade.

Ilene, the daughter of Toy, from Kuwait: Hi Chas! My family (husband and kids) are well and having a great bonding time Here in Kuwait. Sure glad to keep in touch through FB. I enjoy reading all these comments. I hope more members of the family will get involved. Ha, ha, ha it really is amazing to have a huge family like ours.

Michael Fowler: Awesome pic. It’s crazy 2 think we ALL came from them.

Bob, from California: Michael Fowler, how did you get related to the Parlade? Who are your parents?

Katrina, granddaughter of Dada, from London: No I’ve never heard of this Michael Fowler kid… I think he’s added us by mistake? Definitely not cool enough to be a Parlade.

Ilene, daughter of Toy, from Kuwait: Hi Mikey! I really don’t know who you are. But if you are carrying the Parlade blood, then you are very much welcome the family! Are you Teten’s son? I’m your auntie. Nice to meet you nephew!

Bess, daughter of Toy, from the Philippines: I don’t understand why everyone is commenting on Michael f! Is he a Hollywood star, a rock star? Etc etc? All I know he is Teten’s son and that’s all! Then he’s Parlade and welcome to the family!

Eric, the grandson of Bob, from Las Vegas: Papa, you met Mikey at my apartment swimming pool during a BBQ back in 2008. You, Lala Tess & Lala Viv, and Lala Dada came to join us. I took a video; we stuffed our face and had great family times.

Ilene, the daughter of Toy, from Kuwait: Hi Parlades of the world! What is all the commotion about the Parlade name or the Parlade blood? It seems to be a major, major issue to everyone ha, ha, ha. I understand why. We are all proud to be a Parlade. Who wouldn’t? We have great loving and gentle grandparents, great handsome, intelligent loving uncles, lovely cousins, nieces and nephews, huge extended families, loving and doting parents and not to forget the mission impossible wonderful fun loving aunties! One of a kind if you may say so. Is it still surprising to know if someone wants to belong to our lineage?

Eric, the grandson of Bob, from Las Vegas: Mikey, when you and I spoke 3 weeks back, you mentioned you were contemplating upon changing your last name to Parlade. What did you decide? I’m just asking because with all this commotion going on about you, then if all of a sudden you changed your last name, everyone will think that you were taking these FB comments WAY TOO seriously. Hahaha! Nahmeen?

Crystal, the daughter of Dada, from Malaysia: You guys… . can’t you tell when Uncle Bob is just pulling your leg? Hahahaha Mikey is probably just taking this all in his stride! We love you anyway Mikey. You know Uncle Bob is just kidding.Well… he could be a hollywood star!! Parlade kasi eh!!

Who Is Butch?

butch.jpg

Photo Of Butch

By order of priority this name is ahead because Butch is the very first grandson of our parents, Sabas Parlade and Paz O. Parlade. As a young boy, he was the source of joy not only of Mama and Papa but of the entire family. He was also the source of unbridled problem. The family had reserved one cute loving line of comment for this little dynamo: that it was easier to take care and handle ten carabaos than to look after one Butch. He was not only mischievous but also was everywhere at the same time. Living up to that reputation, as an adult, he was a prankster and full of jokes. To everyone in the Parlade family from whom he has earned an endearment, he is known as Butch. Very few know his real name, which is Cedric Parlade, the son of Vivienne Parlade Kerns.

BOB’S CORNER

BREEZING THROUGH EIGHTY-YEARS PLUS

Hi, I am the second son born to this family in Guinobatan, Albay, on May 23, 1925, only one in the family to fall in love with grade one so much to take it two times. Or reciprocally, grade one loved me so much to keep me for two years.

I went through grades 5 to 7 in Ligao Intermediate School in Binatagan. My comic strain manifested in our grade 5 class dramas when I put on a girl’s dress, applied heavy lipstick and makeup, and did comedy acts. It made the whole class laugh, which finally broke into thunderous laughter when I turned my back on the class, raised my skirt, and stooped, exposing all my behind featuring knitted red underwear. The resulting pandemonium attracted classes in the adjacent rooms, and all the students came in to join the fun and laughter interrupting, the holding of classes.

I took my first year uneventfully in Albay High School, second year in Mayon High School in Ligao. My best friend was Antonio Cerezo. Then war broke out, and classes stopped.

Classes resumed at the end of the war. I took my third-year high school in Guinobatan, where Arturo Torralba, Ramon Rebeta, Edith Olivares, Corina Sanchez, Corazon Orap, five classmates, and I moved around as one in the most exciting school year. We were identified in Albay High School and Rural High School as the Parlade Group. Our group was salient because of good looks and outstanding brilliance in school. They were brilliant except Ramon and me who were just regular students.

Arturo and I took our fourth-year high in Manila, at the FEU. My last class, history, began at 6:00 p.m., which was the time of dismissal for Arturo. I cut my class to be with him. This went on for quite a while until one time, while attending class, I sat at the very last row and the teacher looked and, pointing at me, asked. Do you belong to this class? I said yes. How come it’s only now that I see you? Notwithstanding this, I graduated.

Finishing high school uneventfully, I enrolled in the College of Architecture at the UST. I got a job in the circulation department of Voz de Manila. I had the power to employ, and as fate dictates, I met and employed Norma, who in the end became the mother of my four sons. My sons and stepchildren went through Claro M. Recto High School where I became perennial vice president of the PTA extending even long after my children finished college.

I met Santiago Yap who employed me. He was a Bicolano owner and operator of Marvex Company and who took over of ownership of the Metro Garden and Grill, then the most famous nightclub in Manila. I was the bar manager with close to twenty waitresses under me. During the Korean War, Manila was a favorite R&R for the U.S. Armed Forces while the Metro Garden and Grill was the most sought-after spot in Manila for aircraft carrier personnel.

I made lots of money in dollar exchange rate, which began 52630.png 2 to $1; as the years went by, the exchange rate became 3:1, 5:1, then higher and higher, allowing us dealers to profit from the ensuing black market. At one time, I became the biggest dollar dealer in the whole port area. NBI agents ran after black marketers of dollars all over the port area. When they finished their raid, they came in to the Metro Garden where I gave them whatever they wanted on the house. They enjoyed the free meals, and perhaps they knew that I too was dealing in dollar, but they never touched me.

Because of this, I went to work always with several thousand pesos in my pocket. It was the first time in my life I was making money right and left. All the employees of the nightclub including waiters, waitresses, and the twenty-five band members owed me money; the photo concessionaire owed me enough to turn over his photo concession and equipment to me. I made money through instant photo offered to nightclub goers; I made 52636.png 300 to 52640.png 500 daily from the pinball machine.

I made money from items hocked to me by the endless sailors and military personnel coming to the club. If they who ran out of money at a time when they had to take out a girl, they hawked anything from wristwatches, rings, cameras, to music instruments—almost anything of personal value. At one time I had two dozens unredeemed wristwatches.

At the end of the Korean War, business slackened. I left Metro Garden and shifted to photography. At one time I had a dozen ambulant photographers. Norma became expert in processing hundreds of photos daily.

In the later months I got a job at Luzon Advertising as an account executive. My salary was okay until every one of my sons was in college. For this reason, I asked for a raise, but my demand was declined. I sat down with all my sons with the following proposition. I said, I will resign from Luzon Advertising to venture into my own advertising business. The undertaking was bound to either succeed or fail. If it failed, they can’t go to school; if I succeed, they will all continue schooling. My sons had faith in me. They opted for my resignation.

I started my own advertising business. For additional capital, Norma worked out a loan in a bank where Mr. Castillejos, Norma’s townmate, was the manager. With adequate funds, we were able to have for our clients Radiowealth, Volkswagen, Weinstein Piano, paint products, Marca Piña Soy Sauce, General Rubber & Footwear Corporation, etc.

I made good money; however, every time my powerful nemesis reared its ugly head, I was powerless to do anything. I exhausted all my funds. Others in the same outdoor advertising business suffered also from typhoons.

It was during these days when I had my advertising business that I became involved with the Lions Club.

Misfortune or, to put it mildly, fate programmed my life to be estranged from my wife, Norma. I moved out to live in Quezon City for a couple of years then moved to San Juan, Manila, to be closer to the medical school of Cho, my junior. My place in San Juan became the meeting place of fellow Lions members when we needed to while away our time with beer.

I was with the Lions Club when I was granted a visa as delegate to the International Lions Convention in New Orleans. While in the United States I lived a life of ease until I met Jane; then, seeking a paying job became imperative. I was employed briefly as assistant manager of Sambos, a restaurant operating all over the United States. Then I became a manager for Taco Bell. I didn’t like the job and got involved in prepaid legal services, a multilevel marketing venture where I met Atty. Marlow Camelo.

Being a frequent visitor in his law office, he took a liking and propositioned me to work for him. I acquiesced, and I learned how to process and investigate auto accidents. Later I mastered the intricacies involved in collecting insurance benefits covering damages arising from accidents.

I excelled in the line of job that soon I was operating my own office. I hired lawyers in a sense that I used their license in exchange for a split in the fee. I made lots of money and excelled in the job to a point when I was successfully handling and winning cases rejected by other law offices that got entwined with the liability issues.

Though I was not a lawyer, I excelled in this line to the amazement of many lawyers. I have documents to prove this. I used the names and licenses of attorneys in Los Angeles; Houston, Texas; and San Antonio, Texas. I made money by splitting the income with these attorneys whose license only I avail of.

Some Pilipino professionals newly arriving in the United States earned a living by being restaurant waiters, dishwashers, gas station attendants, newspaper deliverers or caregivers, and other menial jobs; on the other hand, as virtually a high school graduate, I started as manager of a restaurant and ended employer of licensed lawyers. Some lawyers were awed at the successes I made of winning cases where veteran attorneys failed. I excelled in this particular calling enough to be able to write a book on personal injury cases.

Even now in my retirement years, I still am being sought by persons having difficulty claiming from the insurance for auto-related accidents.

Comment from Ging

Footnote To Bob’s Highlights

I have just gone over the highlights of your life presented in a sketchy and breezy manner. You have validated what I said about your restlessness, audacity, imagination, and, to an extent, your reckless abandon of what may lay ahead of you in the future until sobriety and responsibility set in to dictate the manner by which you lived your life.

You started with your work at the Metro Garden and Grill and the money you made while there. Not only from buying and selling dollars but from the related photo concession and pinball machines you operated.

When I said, as far as I knew, you made oodles of money; you confirmed it with your account. I must say that Lucio Tan or John Gokongwei started with much less, and they are now among the richest taipans not just in the Philippines but in the world. Being Chinese, they measured success not by how much money they made from a particular transaction or within a given period of time. They measured success by how much they saved. They were never extravagant. I was told that John Gokongwei who had a penthouse at the Robinson Plaza sometimes received visitors there. A particular account involved some people who narrated this incident. When they arrived, Big John, as he was called, was seated in a large sofa. He opened a can of crackers telling his guests that it contained cookies from Cebu. He removed one cookie from the can, closed it, and started eating the cookie. He has earned the reputation of being a tightwad. But that is who he was. You obviously were not a tightwad. From your account, nothing was said about making any savings.

Your story reminds me of an experience, which makes me look back with horror. I finished high school in FEU in 1949. I graduated with a general weighted average of 94.2 percent. I even beat the Chinese in their forte: math. I had the highest grades in physics and mathematics. For lack of residence, Mila Cordero was selected valedictorian and I was salutatorian. Mila started her high school from first year. I joined FEU in the third year.

Comment of Bob to Ging’s footnote:

The Metro Garden and Grill was essentially a first-class nightclub patronized by high-profiled people and movie stars. At that time, the few existing nightclubs along Dewey, now Roxas Boulevard, were honky-tonks compared to the Metro Garden. The place was located just at the gate to the South Harbor areas. The adjacent bars were for customers needing to imbibe alcohol only; they were patronized by customers mostly U.S. Navy personnel stationed in the port area and by merchant marines from dozens of ships calling on in the South Harbor.

Your footnote brought to memory occasions when your FEU college classmates would come. I usually gave those unlimited rolls of coins knowing they would all be back inside my machine; no matter how much I gave away, every coin came back. This is the reason why even the well-paid members of Iggy de Guzman Orchestra owed me money, along with taxi drivers, nightclub or bar customers, and 90 percent of the employees. It was because no one—I repeat, no one—ever won in a pinball machine. I knew I was making between 52644.png 300 to 52648.png 500 daily from the pinball