A farewell to ‘Dindo’ Gonzalez – a patriot to his last breath!

Last Wednesday night at 6:30 p.m., one of the finest men I knew, Manuel Juan "Dindo" Gonzalez, quietly expired in his home in New Manila. Thank God, I was able to visit him last Saturday – and had been shocked to see how our dear Dindo, so handsome, virile and athletic in his prime, had wasted away. I could hardly hear him when he looked at me, tired and wan, but still that same sparkle in his eye. What did he say: "Max, let’s go on fighting for our country!"

God bless you, Dindo! As we pledged each other so long ago, we will go on – inspired by you – struggling as best we can for our people, praying that someday they’ll find the leadership, like the Biblical flame in the darkness, to lead them to the Promised Land.

Dindo, who was once the confidant and adviser of Presidents, from the late wartime President Jose P. Laurel (although he had spent nine months as a prisoner of the Japanese, tortured by them in Fort Santiago); of Manuel A. Roxas; of Elpidio Quirino – and, most of all, the great Ramon Magsaysay, whom he loved, was half-forgotten in his retirement. But his nationalism and sense of dedication never wavered.

A resistance hero, he went on to be one of the nation’s top advertising executives, but what made him most famous was that he was the Guru of golf in our land. He wrote about sports and specially about golf, before the war and then, post-war, for The Manila Times. His Golfmate column appeared in the now-defunct Daily Express, Bulletin Today, Business Day, and finally Business World. He also wrote a few articles for us in The Philippine STAR, until he was stricken with cancer.

Dindo played championship golf for more than 60 years and promoted it all his life. He won the Southern Amateur championship in 1941, then, postwar, accumulated over 200 trophies from various tournaments. He once led the First, Second, Third and Fourth Philippine Amateur Golf teams as non-playing team Captain to Scotland – St. Andrews (1958); to Merion, Philadelphia (1960); to Kawana, Japan (1962); and Rome, Italy (1964). He belonged to ’em all: Manila Golf Club, Wack Wack, Baguio Golf Club. Up to the age of 82, he still played golf regularly, three to four days a week.

When he died at 88 the other day, the once robust Dindo Gonzalez had grown so frail one could never imagine he had been a topnotch golfer. Now, with one great swing, he’s scored that divine Hole-in-One, speeding his ball – with his intrepid soul perched merrily on it – directly to the throne of God, his Father, in Heaven! Of that I can have no doubt.

What I can say is that when Dindo was your friend, he was your faithful friend. He never missed greeting me, would you believe on my birthday – unfailingly I would get a phone call from him, wherever I was on this planet (which was often somewhere else), on my birthday! What an honor it was for me to be remembered so unfailingly by somebody – especially someone like Dindo.

To you, my comrade, I bid a fond farewell. Ring me up on my next birthday, please, if I get to that! Even if it’s a long-distance call, you can reverse the charges.

* * *

The best way I can think of to pay tribute to Dindo Gonzalez is to recount, in this corner, his own favorite story about one of his own heroes.

This is narrated in his own words:

When asked to relate a significant event in his life for this publication, Dindo Gonzalez spoke neither of advertising, for which he was once well-known, nor of politics, where he actively participated during the Laurel, Quirino, Magsaysay eras, nor of golf – the sport he loved and played all his life.

Instead he spoke of his incarceration at Fort Santiago and Bilibid Prison during the Japanese occupation in 1942-43. The Japanese at the time would send you to Fort Santiago for "investigation" and then to Muntinlupa for "trial, sentencing, and execution."

In March 1942, as the USAFFE resistance in Bataan and Corregidor crumbled against the Japanese onslaught, Douglas MacArthur, on orders from the US President, left Corregidor in five PT boats bound for Australia. At the time, Dindo was a captain and Aide-de-Camp of General Basilio Valdez, the Chief of Staff of the Philippine Armed Forces. He recalls that since "there was no more room in the 5 PT boats" (of which only 3 safely arrived in Australia), he and a contingent of officers were ordered to break through the lines via Ternate and return to Manila.

One afternoon in July 1942, the Japanese raided Dindo’s home in Sta. Mesa and arrested him on charges of spying. Hans Menzi, already an inmate in Fort Santiago at the time, had allegedly written Dindo’s name on the list of those who were "left behind by General Valdez to spy on the Japanese."

For five months he was locked up in cell no. 6, each day not knowing whether it would be his last. Dindo recalls sharing his cell with E. Rodriguez, Jr. and Major Chit Alfonso, as well as others whose names he has now forgotten. Dindo is grateful to Major Alfonso for his frequent advice on how to behave with the Japanese. Following this advice enabled Dindo to avoid the torture that many others in Fort Santiago received at the time. As it happened he was "only occasionally beaten on the head and became partially deaf as a consequence."

He remembers receiving a smuggled photograph of his first son, Ricky, born in November of that year. It was the highlight of an otherwise dreary and often horrifying existence in a damp cell, whose inmates were fed twice daily with a handful of spoiled rice and kangkong.

There were in fact many notables who were incarcerated by the Japanese in Fort Santiago at the time. Some were released early, some later; others never heard from again. One Ferdinand Marcos was arrested and jailed in Fort Santiago. But he stayed for only one day, as many of the inmates at the time would attest.

Dindo spoke of being in the company of an almost totally unknown boy who became an inspiration to the inmates of Fort Santiago. His name was Carlos Santiago Malonso, a 17-year-old Filipino who showed both the prisoners and the Japanese what real courage was about.

Malonso had been the announcer in the Voice of Freedom, a radio station transmitting from Corregidor at the time. He identified himself over the radio as "Juan de la Cruz." Broadcast(ed) three times daily, Juan de la Cruz’ programs were closely monitored by the Underground. It usually opened with the US and Philippine anthems, followed by encouraging news about the war’s progress, including the Japanese losses incurred elsewhere in the Pacific, followed by a short commentary on the need to resist the invaders, and closing usually with an offer of 50 bottles of beer to anyone who would capture the Japanese Commander-in-Chief, dead or alive. The last part was particularly insulting to the Japanese who must have found the idea totally galling and impertinent.

When Corregidor fell, the Voice of Freedom continued to broadcast from underground. But despite the many ingenious ways of relocating the transmitter to avoid detection, the Japanese eventually triangulated and captured the clandestine group. In his last broadcast, an agitated Juan de la Cruz announced that their equipment were actually mounted on a calesa and that he could see the enemy closing in. Then, against a background of rapid gunfire, Malonso chocked a last goodbye and the station went off the air. Arrested with him were Oscar Arellano who wrote the program scripts and Antonio San Juan who built and maintained the transmitter. The date was July 9, 1942.

Only five days earlier Carlos Santiago Malonso had married 16-year-old Violeta Brown. Carlos was 17 at the time, turning 18 only later that year in Fort Santiago. Following a few months of courtship, they decided to marry on July 4th, Independence Day. On July 9, 1942, after only 5 days of marriage, Malonso was arrested. Four days later, on July 13, Violeta herself was arrested and sent also to Fort Santiago.

In a recent interview, Violeta Brown Malonso recalls the following incident as vividly "as if it happened only yesterday":

At first the Japanese could not believe that the manly, authoritative radio voice of Juan de la Cruz was that of 17-year-old Carlos. But when they were finally convinced that Malonso was in fact Juan de la Cruz, the Japanese gathered many inmates, including Malonso and his wife, in a large room where Malonso was publicly asked to choose between two flags – the US and Japanese – laid on a table. They informed all present that if the Japanese flag were chosen, Malonso and all his companions, including his wife, would be set free. If however he chooses the other flag, then he knew what would happen to him. Malonso defiantly said, "Yes, I know."

The Japanese, of course, wanted only to show the inmates that the impressive radio voice of Juan de la Cruz belonged not to a brave man but to a wimp who would opt for expedient release.

It took quite a while, according to Violeta, for Carlos to decide. It must have been agonizing to choose between his wife and friends on one hand and the principles he had espoused for so long.

After what seemed like an eternity, Carlos walked to the table and to everyone’s surprise picked up the Japanese Flag. But before the smiles of their Japanese captors could be fully expressed, Carlos crumpled the Japanese flag between his palms, threw it to the ground and trampled upon it. The Japanese were incensed and there and then, in the presence of everyone, bayoneted him in various parts of his body, but avoiding his torso.

When Malonso recovered from his wounds, the Japanese began a series of daily interrogations and beatings calculated to break his will. Malonso had become the symbol of resistance within the inmate community; he needed to be broken.

At the earliest hour each day they would take Carlos from his cell, and threw him back in his cell in the afternoon. Often he arrived as one bloody mess, "black and blue where he was not bloody, and full of cuts and welts."

Often they returned him to his cell hardly breathing, yet able to barely smile. "He would sneer at this guards gesturing at them in defiance calculated to infuriate". The almost daily torture designed to break him became so horrific that time and again his fellow inmates cried out of pity and frustration over their inability to stop the inhuman treatment of the young, but brave boy.

The Japanese tried hard to have him retract in order to show their superiority and dominance. Instead Carlos Malonso became the inspiration and sterling example of valor and defiance within Fort Santiago.

* * *

Late in 1942, Dindo and a number of other inmates including Malonso, were transferred to Bilibid Prison in Muntinlupa for trial.

This time Dindo shared his cell with a number of officers including then Admiral Santiago Nuval. Two cells away was Eulogio "Amang" Rodriguez Sr., later to become Senate President of the Philippines.

Dindo related two events that occurred during his three months in Bilibid Prison: one had to do again with Carlos Malonso, and the other with golf and how the game led to his (Dindo’s) eventual release from prison.

The first incident involved a photograph presented during Dindo’s trial. A few years before the war, while in Japan with Larry Montes for a tournament, he met and was photographed with Butch Inoye, a member of the Princeton Golf team and son of Sheichi Inoye, Japan’s Prime Minister before Tojo. During their raid of Dindo’s house in July 1942, the Japanese had come upon the photograph and now discussed it during the trial.

It is one of the vagaries of life that the two subjects in that picture met entirely different fates. Butch Inoye, was later captured by the Russians in Manchuria and never heard from again, while Dindo Gonzalez was released by Inoye’s military compatriots on grounds that someone who fraternized with the son of Japan’s former Prime Minister could not possibly be a spy.

At last Dindo was free and could return home to his family. At home and resting, Dindo recalled the final days of Carlos Malonso – in particular, an incident that became indelibly seared in his memory.

One evening in February, Malonso was again called to stand before the Japanese authorities in the presence of almost all the inmates. The prison commander loudly informed Malonso that this was his "one last chance" to take back what he had previously said about the Japanese Imperial Army. If he retracted, he would be released "at once, now." But if he still refused, he would be executed.

Defiant to the end, Malonso answered that he would never retract and that if he had a chance to do it again, he would. Everyone knew that that answer would spell his doom.

The Japanese commandant replied, "So…. you have made your choice. But I salute you… courageous Filipino." The commandant then actually saluted Malonso and it is said that many of the onlookers reflexibly stood proudly upright, but with tears in their eyes. On the evening of November 1, 1942, Carlos Malonso is reported by his fellow inmates to have said, "They are going to execute me soon. Remember if your time comes, show no fear. Never give them satisfaction. Die with pride. Die with dignity." The next morning at 5 a.m. Carlos Malonso was beheaded. His body was never found.

* * *

Two medals were posthumously given to Malonso at the behest of Captain Dindo Gonzalez and Col. Luis Alfonso.

His widow Violeta received the medals in Camp Aguinaldo in 1955. To our knowledge, nothing more has been done to honor the memory of Carlos Malonso.