Lolo Pablo

My grandfather was 93 when he died, having outlived all his siblings and friends. During his last years, he would often complain that "everyone is gone" and "I have lost authority over my own body." I was born when he was over 60 years old, when he was still very strong and vital, being the health buff and retired military that he was.

He would wake up every morning at 4 am, gather all the leaves in the yard, which he would then burn in a big pile, after which he would complete his exercise routine. Shower at 6, breakfast at 630, after which he would read his daily prayers - from a book of daily prayers that his military chaplain gave him in Corregidor ages back. After a simple breakfast of coffee or tea, and pan de sal with a fried egg, he would sit at his desk promptly at 7 am. There he would hold court, like a doctor or magistrate, ministering to a constant stream of simple people - farmers and fisher folk who fought as guerillas during the war.

He would work on their applications for USVA pensions, or notices for changes of status, such as when a veteran would die. His reward came in many forms - tobacco leaves, or cigars; newly harvested rice, or fresh vegetables, fish, sometimes the occasional live chicken. But I suspect that his biggest reward were the smiles on the faces of his hardy comrades.

He established American Legion Post 14 in Pasuquin, to take care of the mostly unlettered veterans, writing and typing their letters and petitions, answering bureaucratic communications, reassuring his comrades that everything is in allright. He kept their files in order, to ensure that he is on top of their current situation. He kept up this free consultation for as long as he could, giving it up only when his eyes could no longer see, his ears could hardly hear, and his fingers could no longer type.

He had a military issue jeep - an Eisenhower I think it was. Once or twice a month, he would drive to Laoag, with me in the passenger seat. Dust would trail us as we traversed the 17 kilometer distance over the neatly kept gravel road. The wooden bridge at Bangsirit would creak ominously as we gingerly crossed its short span. The reward for accompanying Lolo would come later - a short glass of halo halo in one of the kiosks east of the provincial capitol, or an ice cream sandwich at the old Peppermint on Rizal Street.

Lolo Pablo joined the Philippine Scouts while he was in his teens. He walked the ten-odd kilometers from Vintar to Laoag, to apply at the local military camp. Passing the physicals, he was sent first to Fort Stotsenburg (present-day Clark), then to Fort McKinley (now the Bonifacio Global City), and from there to the far island of Mindanao, to Zamboanga.

He trained under his Cabo, Facundo Aguinaldo, who happened to come from Pasuquin, the town to the north and west of his native Vintar. There he met Facundo's daughter Petra, four years his junior. When Facundo was assigned to Corregidor, he brought Pablo with him, and in December 1926, Pablo and Petra were married at the island fortress. Their first child died in infancy, and my mother, Gliceria, was born in 1929, followed by Rita, Pablo Jr, then another uncle who died young. Their youngest, Johnny, was born in Pasuquin during the war, while Lolo was a guerilla leader in the mountains of his native Vintar.

Lolo Pablo was with the artillery at Corregidor, and fought until the end, when Gen. Wainwright surrendered in May 1942. He crossed the narrow strait to Ternate, Cavite on a banca with his fellow soldiers, and slowly found his way back to Manila, then to Ilocos. (His family left Corregidor sometime 1939, when talk of war was rife, evacuating first to Manila, and then to the small sitio of Pacac in the hills east of Pasuquin.)

Captured by the Japanese forces, he was incarcerated at Capas, Tarlac, but later released when he was diagnosed with malaria. He recovered and rejoined the guerillas.

He was military mayor of Pasuquin towards the end of WWII. He availed of his GI Bill entitlements, returning to school for his Associate degree. In the mid-1950s, he left for the United States, going first to San Francisco, and later Phoenix, Arizona. (His elder brothers were among the early migrant workers brought to Hawaii, who later resettled on the mainland.) By the time I was born, he was back in Pasuquin to take care of the veterans needs. He was also an active mason, and a civic and community leader.

He was a constant presence in our lives - the anchor that kept us rooted, and stable. Lola Petra was strict yet loving, while Lolo Pablo was quiet and reassuring. Together they held our family together, cementing the bonds with love and the values they taught us - much like their namesakes, Peter and Paul, nurtured the church at its infancy.

We remember them both with nostalgia and gratitude everyday of our lives.