Nico, Interrupted

I am yielding my space today to this tribute to Monsignor Nico Bautista written by his good friend, ad man Roberto “Bobby” Caballero.

Ironically, Monsignor Nico administered the last rites on Bobby a few months ago, after the latter suffered a massive heart attack. And in one of life’s mysteries, it is Bobby now eulogizing Nico! Truly — only God knows when our final hour will be.

I remember Father Nico fondly because he was always there for me, as a devoted pastor is to his flock. I met Father through his UP High School classmate, the late STAR founding chairman Betty Go-Belmonte, who asked me to interview him about 25 years ago. I was still then with the STAR magazine and I remember Tita Betty telling me what an impact Father Nico’s homilies were making in his parish in Magallanes. This was after the assassination of Ninoy Aquino and the citizenry was breaking out of its cocoon of fear.

During my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary, I requested Father Nico to celebrate Mass as my parents renewed their vows. It was shortly before the EDSA revolution, and the economy was in a recession. My parents decided to celebrate very simply and only my sisters and I and my husband Ed were at the Mass. But we were happy and felt very blessed.

A year later, even if I was not part of the Magallanes Parish, I again called on Father Nico to baptize my firstborn Chino. Father Nico was there again for me and my family as we welcomed Chino into the Christian world.

In July 2005, we had a difficult time finding a priest to say the final Mass for my beloved grandfather Igmedio Conti Reyes, as there was/is a shortage of priests. And again, I thought of Father Nico, who again came to the family in its hour of need.

How could I forget you, Father Nico? You always made time for me and my family. In good times and in bad. It pains me that I missed the announcement of your death. But maybe that is you — intrinsically shy as Tita Betty said you were, preferring to go quietly into the night.

Here is Bobby’s tribute:

It was one of those dreaded early morning texts that shocked me last Sunday, July 12. Another dear friend and confidant had passed, but I took comfort that our Lord was indeed merciful to call “Monci” or Monsignor Nico P. Bautista, away from his earthly suffering.

We met over 20 years ago, during the heated pre-Edsa days. My dear friend Raymond Fuentes, told me “we should drop by Magallanes and hear this remarkable man, Fr. Nico, who doesn’t hold back anything during his homilies.” Indeed I was spellbound by Fr. Nico’s unrelenting tirade on the dark forces of that time.

Fr. Nico told me, “I’d like to discuss more matters with you as you’re into communications.” And since then, he would send me his handwritten opinions, dutifully Xeroxed and delivered to me. Asked what I thought, my reply was, “It’s not what I think that matters, but rather what you think needs to be fully understood. My only take is just stick to one issue or topic. Having multiple topics in one letter may give the impression that you are rabidly angry in your writing, and therefore run the risk of being misunderstood, or at worst, ignored.”

I served as emcee for the necrological service we put together Tuesday, July 14. The family took comfort in the stream of visitors notably; former President Fidel Ramos, Rep. Jose de Venecia, former Press Undersecretary Deedee Siytangco, PWU president Amelou Benitez Reyes and many more “name-droppables.” We had to finish by 12 midnight, so I got home around 1 a.m. I was so exhausted, I had to beg off for the final Mass on July 15. Bobby Bautista told me that Gaudencio Cardinal Rosales gave a moving tribute to Monsignor Nico. He described Monci as a fire that bursts into flame, then slowly dies down to its final form of ashes. And Monci, who after an inevitable outburst, would then simmer down, and his humanity and deep reservoir of understanding would prevail.

Monci was like a comet that spectacularly streaked our seemingly beleaguered skies. Considering his 76 years on earth, just like any great star, he left our skies, but not our minds. For one fiery blaze, Monci left scores of “candles of inspiration” ignited. So many young acquaintances came up to speak, saying “Monsignor baptized me” or “He officiated at the weddings of my two daughters.” One young speaker who flew in from Australia was so shocked he had to go to the Emergency Room for a check up due to a tightening of his grief-stricken chest. “Monsignor, I will never forget the values you taught me about the first Edsa revolution. And I will work to let many more know about what you had to say, and to never forget you and the message.”

Monci unselfishly served me and my family with Masses at home; but more importantly for a final Mass in my father’s hospital room after which he passed away peacefully. And more recently, when he visited me at the CCU of St. Luke’s after I survived a massive heart attack. I asked him to give me my last rites, and he obliged and more as I requested that it be given to me in Latin, as Monsignor loved to pray.

De Venecia, extolled Monci as “a philosopher, an avid learner of history, a humanist who sincerely believed that peace among all men should also have peace among all faiths.” They traveled to Taiwan together and had a dialogue with a Muslim cleric, a Buddhist priest, seeking further understanding of faiths praying to one and the same God.

When he gave up writing, I told him “if people cannot read about your thoughts, let them be more accessible to you.” So we conjured our “Visibility Dinners.” After his last Mass at Magallanes, I would collect him and we would go to the Peninsula lobby for dinner. He would not fail to raise that it was “too lavish” a thing to do, which always fell on deaf ears as far as I was concerned. Then our amusing game of “who gets greeted first?” Of course Monci would win each evening, and after a number of well-wishers our two hands couldn’t count, I would say “O, Monci, naka-boundary na tayo, (Monci, you’ve hit your boundary or a jeepney and taxi driver’s daily quota) let me take you home.”

He kept his illness and confinement like a gambler keeping the cards close to his chest. But I incessantly persisted, and had the last few meetings in his room. He brushed away a discussion on his planned 50th anniversary of priesthood this December, “Malayo pa yan (That’s still too far away).” I brought him his favorite “kaldereta” which he devoured with gusto, much to the protests of the caregivers and nurses. I tempted him with more delights like the original Ma Mon Luk mami and siopao, which I trekked to Quezon Boulevard to obtain, and some balut which again he brushed aside any protests from his carers group, as he devoured three pieces joyfully. I only learned later that he even consumed half a watermelon much to the disdain of the nurses around. He said to his care givers “just let me die happily with every dish I love.”

I will leave you briefly Monci, for a commercial break — a brief interruption, of death as our faith proclaims it to be a step towards freedom from pain and suffering. As the line goes from the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar — “to conquer death you only have to die.” You’ve become a brand dear Monci, with a consumer promise to “ignite” consciousness and values in the darkness of our present day realities. You won’t be missed. You’ll always be in my mind and heart. And almost surely, in the hearts and minds of many who knew you, whether they agreed with you or not.

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