Still ‘groovy’

Batch ’83 of the Ateneo de Manila University, spearheaded by the English 11 class of the late and much-lamented Doreen G. Fernandez, are holding an art exhibit and sale called Art for a Chair. The exhibit and sale will run until Oct. 24. The batch is holding it "in loving memory of an extraordinary teacher and friend."

Over 50 art works will be auctioned off. The artworks deal with the theme of food, on which Doreen was one of our best writers. The kind and talented artists who donated the artworks include Chito M. Antonio, Menchu Arandilla, Philipp Brita Badon, Marcel Baldomar, Greg Bolanos, Remy Boquiren, Angel Cacnio, Ferdie Cacnio, William Cadag, Allen Casacop, Carlos Cea Catimbang, Myrna Cayumo, Buds Convocar, Cris Cruz, Andi Cubi, Eugene Dawag, Anna de Leon, Cristina Dela Cruz, Jose Dinglasan, Bert Sison Estolas, Elmer Gernale, Gerrico, Chris Gonzales, Frank Hari, Ben F. Infante, Elmer Invento, Joel Janer, Dani L. Javier, Solomon Lalo, Jeline Laporga, Bobbi Makani Lim, Felix Chan Lim, Ian Im, Crisanto Lodornio Jr., Rudy M. Lunod, Entes Magpusso, Mauro Malang, Malcampo, Jun Martinez, Nick Masangcay, Eric Mercado, Pol Mesina, Nards Miranda, Dandy Roy Morales, Narding Navarro, Clarisa Navidad, Victo Ng, Ochango, Ogatis, Intes Pagpusaw, Keith Paras, Dani Parungao, Jimmy Patena, Efren Pelay, Lex V. Picana, Tessie O. Picana, Loreto Racuya, Ton Raymundo, Fred Rivera, Jonahmar Salvosa, Blaine San Luis, Boy Santiago, Jimboy Santos, Fernando Sena, Euene Silawan, Sir Levi, Danilo Sola, Aed Solis, Sombrio, Jun Taniano, Claude Tayag, Sheila Tiango, R.S. Tomas, Miles Rubi, Varela, Lydia Velasco-Cruz, Nestor Villanueva, Waldy Villanueva, Rolly Yakit, Manuel Yarte, Christine Yu, William Yu, Nards Zepeda, and Antonio Zorilla IV.

The exhibit and sale time is from Monday to Friday, 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. and Saturday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. at the Triumph Bldg., 1610 Quezon Ave., Quezon City All proceeds from the sale will support the Dr. Doreen Gamboa Fernandez Professorial Chair in the Humanities at the Loyola Schools of the Ateneo de Manila University. For details, call or text Sol at 0906-3042343 or call Lara at 426-6001 local 4089. To view the artworks, visit www.artforachair.com

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Of course, I have vivid memories of Doreen, of whom I’ve written with love before. This project of the English class reminds me of an article I wrote about our reunion ages ago. It was published in the souvenir program of that reunion. It goes this way:

It must be the times we graduated, because ours was not just a reunion for the sake of making beso-beso to each other. Oh yes, we did that, too. And more: I noted how the few cute boys in college now looked so old and fat and prosperous. And how the girls now landed in the society pages of the newspaper, having married into this and that sosi family.

But we also met to raise funds for two educational projects: the first was to help upgrade the level of teaching in Metro Manila’s public schools; the second to develop the level of teaching at the Ateneo de probinsiyas. In effect, it meant teacher-training, twin projects mainly developed by my classmate Bobbit Suntay, the former Xavier School principal who still looked like Superman after all these years.

They also asked me to write something for the souvenir program, revolving around the line "Still groovy after all these years." So I said that our lives had always been groovy, if not nervy. After all, we started college in ’79, when President Marcos was running the country through his decrees and Imelda Marcos was drowning the country with her crocodile tears. The elections for the Batasang Pambansa had just been rigged, with Ninoy Aquino losing and Imelda – and her obscure party members – winning. But let us forget, for a while, the politicians. They would always stink, they would always be furry, they would always be there. Only their faces and their clothes would change.

Remember our classes? Mr. Ilustrisimo in Physical Education made me heft a barbell twice my weight of 93 pounds. Miss Bragado in Theology told us that Jesus Christ would always carry our yoke for us. When she saw we were all sleepy (because it was three o’clock and the comatose heat was killing us), she asked: "What does yoke mean?" I then raised a timid hand and said with confidence: "Ma’am, the yellow part of an egg."

Our history teacher asked the most mind-boggling question like "What was the height of Rizal?" It was a good thing I remembered Rizal’s height. When I was in high school, we went on an excursion to Fort Santiago and I noted that Rizal was as tall as my mother, so I wrote five feet, four inches. But then, the next question was: "What was the name of Rizal’s dog in Dapitan?" What the hell do I care? But of course, I had to give an answer, so I wrote "Bantay." I could almost hear a button going "Ngeeee." The correct answer was Usman.

We had a Literature teacher who, when he was teaching us Lord Alfred Tennyson’s "The Eagle," stood on a chair, raised both hands as if they were wings, then recited the whole poem. I was fresh (fresh from the province of Pampanga) and here was my teacher in front of me, with his nostrils flaring so I could almost see his brains through his nose!

We also had a poetry teacher who, when he was teaching Rainier Maria Rilke’s "Spanish Dancer," turned on his cassette to a tape of Spanish music, picked his castanets from the table, and began twirling and twirling on the platform while he recited Rilke’s immortal lines: "And then: as if the fire were too tight/around her body, she takes and fling it out/haughtily, with an imperious gesture,/and watches: it lies raging on the floor,/still blazing up, and the flames refuse to die–/Till, moving with total confidence and a sweet/exultant smile, she looks up finally/and stamps it out with powerful small feet.

Then he ended his performance with an "Ole!"

I could not do that, not in 10 lifetimes.

We also had Fr. George Michael Leonard, SJ, who would bring an armful of books and dump them on the table before every class. He talked about the books of Barbara Tuchman as if she lived down the road, then added: "When I’m dead, these are the books I want on my chest." Fr. George Michael Leonard made history come alive to us. "I was a young boy when I would watch footage about the Nazi occupation of Europe. Such atrocities! That’s why I can’t understand the biblical injunction to turn the other cheek, or to give bread to somebody who casts a stone at you. If a Nazi cast a stone at me, why," he would say, his wicked eyes twinkling, "I would pick up a rock and throw it at him!"

Oh, we remember them all: our teachers cranky, weird, and memorable, some of them beloved even, as we now move on into our lives as doctors and gentlemen farmers, businessman and non-government organization workers, teachers and jet-setters, philosophers and priests, musicians and lawyers, stock brokers and real-state brokers, politicians and winners of centennial song writing contests, homemakers and peacemakers.

Statistics from the placement office showed that many of my batch-mates were in social-development work and in education, breaking out of the mold that was hip and fashionable in the ’70s: a large house in the suburbs with a three-car garage, a wife and a mistress, three Taglish-speaking children, big tummy, and no hair. We were educated by the Jesuits with whiskey in their breath; our husbands and wives, our boyfriends and girlfriends did not love us all the time; we wish we were taller, slimmer, sexier, richer; but at the back of our minds we seemed to sense that, perhaps, this life was enough. The bones were not yet brittle, and our pores could still feel the coolness in the air. We could still sashay to Dancing Queen and jiggle to Rock Lobster. We could tell our children nephews and nieces that our lives were not so bad, after all.

You could even call it "groovy" (Jesus, that word was so ’70s). Yes, I guess we were still groovy (if not grabe) after all these years.

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