My grandfather brings a small brown satchel wherever he goes – whether on a drive to Sta. Rita, Pampanga where he was born or to Sunday dinner in my father’s house just across the street. The leather carrier is constantly at his side. For all Col. Juan del Rosario Zapanta’s fortune and accomplishments, reminders of what he holds dearest, are kept inside the hollow of this bag: photographs of his wife and children, a picture of his mother and a document certifying that he had fought for his country alongside the Americans during the Second World War.
The Colonel (as he is fondly called) turns 100 years old this month. He has outlived most of his friends, all of his siblings, several of his employees and suppliers who had helped him create hundreds of structures in Metro Manila. He has outlasted his beloved wife Isabel who peacefully passed away in their home last December at the age of 99.
When I was much younger, I thought that my grandfather was mayor of the city. He was one of the pioneers of condominium building, having started his construction and realty business in the late ‘50s. Starting with his first house in Quezon City, he made and sold homes and eventually erected residential and office structures. By the end of the 1980s, the Colonel had erected hundreds of houses and more than a dozen high rises in Makati City alone. There would be other buildings in other cities later on but Makati was what the Colonel would always feel bullish about.
As a six-year-old, I remember strolling outside Magallanes Village with lolo as he would walk to Mayfair Center, his first strip mall, which was one of a few retail centers in Makati. Upon seeing him, people would quickly approach us smiling, bobbing their heads oh-so slightly without breaking eye contact. “Magandang araw po, Colonel,” they would say. And it didn’t matter if the greeter was rich or poor for the Colonel never made such a distinction in his dealings with people. He would always engage them in enthusiastic banter. With his booming voice he would inquire about their families, share a quick joke and then laugh like Santa Claus and all the while I watched in silent awe because to me he was greater than Santa Claus for although both figures made people happy, my grandfather did not create toys that lasted for a season; he created buildings that would last a lifetime.
Everything the Colonel was he earned through intelligence, perseverance and hard work. He was the third of six children. During his elementary years, he would walk several kilometers to and from Sta. Rita to the neighboring town of Guagua. Juan Zapanta excelled in high school, graduating among the top in his class. Another topnotcher in his batch would be a young man named Diosdado Macapagal, the “Poor Boy from Lubao” who would later become our country’s ninth president. From their daily interactions in Pampanga High School, the classmates would become the best of friends and were destined to live long and accomplished lives. I would ask Lolo about his years studying with “Apong Dadong.” Lolo would say, “Well, Dadong graduated salutatorian, I was next to him as first honorable.” “But who was valedictorian then, Lolo?” I would ask. The Colonel would laugh and naughtily say, “Dadong and I could not remember his name!”
I have only seen my grandfather cry twice; the first time was when he thought Lola would die and the last time was when she actually did. My grandfather loved Lola very much and she adored him. They were the opposites in so many ways but had cared for each other as man and wife for more than 70 years. My grandmother would recall how Lolo, apart from being a soldier, was a teacher at the Philippine Military Academy in Baguio when war broke out (former President Fidel V. Ramos was one of his students). She told me how Lolo fought during World War II, how he was one of those who survived the Death March of Bataan and how after the war he was granted a scholarship to take his Master’s Degree in Engineering at Columbia University in New York City. When Lola spoke about Lolo to other people she would refer to him as “the Colonel” – always “the Colonel.”
The Colonel has no secret recipe for long life save for the passion he always had for building. Even if his fortune now far outweighed his material needs, he would still focus his sights on the next project. He would often tell us, “If I stop building, I will die.” His was no longer the goal of securing work for profit but the acquisition of work for the love of being relevant in the world.
My family and I were hoping that Lolo and Lola would turn 100 together this year. Without his wife next to him, the house has become so terribly lonely. To this day the Colonel insists on going to the office, enjoys having lunch and dinner with his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, employees and suppliers. One expects devotion from one’s relatives but the love and loyalty that his staff and associates have shown him can rival that of any close knit family and I believe that only a man of great character and honor can ever command such fealty.
Lolo sits at the head of our table on Sunday dinner. Without any dietary restriction or pressing physical ailment, he eats heartily and enjoys his glass of wine. I notice that he clasps the hands of his grandchildren longer than he used to and laughs loudest at the antics of his great grandchildren. By the end of dinner, Lolo will stand up and say “Tengo ya sueno!” and that would be the cue for the men in our family to escort him to his home across the street. It is a short walk from my father’s house to my grandfather’s as it has been a long journey for the boy from Sta. Rita to the builder, the soldier and the patriarch. And every time he walks away I silently pray – perhaps selfishly so – that his life’s voyage would be far from over.