Goodbye, friend

I will not add anymore to the eulogizing of Cerge M. Remonde. Better words have been spoken of the man, in a manner far more eloquent, by those who enjoyed the pleasure and privilege of closer proximity and friendship to a man they call a friend to everyone.

The job that I have forces me to be a public person, even if deep inside I have always nurtured fiercely this longing to keep my life private. But the passing of a dear friend forces me to come to a point where, very briefly, I must allow the confluence of both in the open.

The job that I have I owe to several great and wonderful persons to whom I owe a deep sense of gratitude. But the journalistic career I pursued I owe to Cerge who gave me the break in a most unusual way. That much I will narrate now.

Back in 1981, the search for employment brought me to the offices of the now-defunct Visayan Herald. Blessed with a fair grasp of the English language, I thought a proofreading job would be a good start. I had no formal journalism training, so that part did not cross my mind.

But as it happened, the day I presented myself to Cerge, the paper’s managing editor at the time, was the very same day then-president Ferdinand Marcos kicked out Aquilino Pimentel Jr. as mayor of Cagayan de Oro City.

Apparently, with Cebu being the hotbed of the political opposition to martial law, Cerge wanted to get reactions to the Pimentel ouster from such opposition luminaries at the time like Tony Cuenco, Inday Nita, Valentino Legaspi, George Baladjay, etc.

The problem was, Cerge had no reporter left in the office. They have all gone out and there was no way to get in touch with them and assign them to do the story. In 1981 there were still no paging devices or beepers, much less cellphones.

So there I was, trying to interrupt Cerge from his dilemma with my application for a proofreading job. Suddenly he threw aside my application letter and said: “Ayaw na lang pag proofreader, pag reporter na lang.”

I almost collapsed. Not that I did not want the job. But having had no formal training, I knew I was unprepared. And I am not a haphazard kind of person. I am meticulous and a perfectionist. A true Virgo, they say. So I protested that I know nothing of the job.

But Cerge was insistent. He said don’t worry and started scribbling questions that he said I must ask the aforementioned opposition leaders. He also gave me their addresses. Then he literally shoved me down the cramped wooden staircase of the Visayan Herald offices.

   By mid-afternoon I was back, mission accomplished. “Write it,” Cerge said. But I don’t know how, I countered. As if he didn’t hear me, he proceeded to give me a five-minute lecture about “what-where-when-who-how” and inverted pyramids, strange things I heard for the first time.

 “Got it?,” he challenged. Scared to death, I nodded. He then shoved me down a chair in front of a typewriter. But I have never typed a single word in my life and told him so. “Susmaryosep,” Cerge exclaimed. “Unsa ra man diay imong nahibalo-an?”

Still he never gave up. He slammed a pad of yellow paper on the table and slammed a ballpen on top of it. “Write!,” he said. And so I wrote, in script, my very first newspaper story, a story that was to be the banner headline of the Visayan Herald the following day.

And thus begun my career in journalism. We would eventually part years later. He, with his gift of gab, would go on to radio while I, with my aversion to it, stuck it out with print. But we maintained a deep sense of friendship that did not wane through the years.

I would like to take this opportunity now to thank Cerge for a friendship that held many meanings for me and my family, a friendship marked with respect, understanding, and extraordinary kindness. I never felt the loss of a friend as greatly as this. Thank you, Cerge, for everything.