Part 38: Mourning Becomes Electra

With conclusion of "Joseph", work began on Everyman, a medieval morality play, to be performed once again at Brent's St Nicholas Chapel. Rug surprised everyone by promoting Gordon Strachan from his role of archbishop (in the play Murder in the Cathedral) to the role of God in Everyman! This was definitely not a case of typecasting! Jaime got the role of Death, Elmer was the Messenger. There were new faces to our theater group as well: Paul Becker got the lead, his brother Mark was Fellowship, Fred Thomas was Kindred, Robert Rivera was Good Deeds, Norman Van Vactor got the role of Knowledge (Everyman I will go with thee and be thy guide); and as for me, well I was relegated to lying under the front pew, holding a flashlight to provide extra lighting at key moments during the play. But at least I got a front row view!

This play turned out to be a real crowd pleaser and was another feather in Rug's cap! And he didn't slow down; right after the last performance of Everyman, he caught a flight to Italy so he could direct "The Most Important Man" by Pulitzer prize winner Gian Carlo Menotti. He returned three weeks later with autographed postcards from the theater signed by Mr Menotti for us!

Time was moving swiftly. The mile posts that signaled the final days of the school year came and went: Senior Skip Day, the Science Fair, PRISAA Nationals, Field Day and the Junior-Senior Prom. Even at Brent, where a single school year could hold an eternity of lifetimes, another year was all too quickly coming to an end. Teachers and students, people we had loved, laughed and lived with, would be leaving. Most we would never see again. Growing up with a transient lifestyle I knew this and comprehended it. But I wanted an end to the constant changes and movement. I wanted permanence. I tried to extract the most out of each moment, sucking up words, memories and mementos, storing them away, as if that could somehow slow the march of time.

I wasn't the only one who felt this way, the little farewells were taking place. Cathy McAlister had just been reunited with her boyfriend Nathan and now they would be separated again when she left for college. Daily now, faculty and staff would approach and hug graduating seniors like Jean Clark, Ginger Hamilton and Michelle Woods, some they had known their entire lives; now they were about to enter universities in the United States, a country they barely knew.
Then one day before graduation, Peg appeared with a pasiking on her back. Peg Hamil. Always quick to put me in my place, to correct my mistakes, pointing out errors in my judgment and thought process. More than any other friend she molded and shaped me. Typical anti-establishment Peg, she was leaving, not waiting around for graduation day. Her friends gathered around for hugs and goodbyes and she turned to go. Beth started sobbing and turned away, but Renee and I walked with her to the gate. She gave us some last words of advice and a whack on the head for good measure. We watched her figure growing smaller as she walked down Brent Road; I turned to say something philosophical to Renee (whose eyes were streaming) and she slugged me. Renee hit harder than most guys, her punches always left huge bruises. It was just her way of telling me to shut up.

The Jenista's were moving on. Mrs Jenista full of life and laughter; standing me up and singing in the dining hall impromptu! Mr Jenista brought history to life for me. Connections, he would say, it was all about connections. Random acts strung together precipitating monumental events. He showed us how the actions of individuals and governments could affect events decades or centuries later. He taught me to soberly reflect and review, not to be so caught up in the emotions of the moment. I wondered how it would be to grow up in the Philippines, to graduate from and then come back and teach at Brent, then have to leave again. Was it what he thought it would be, was the experience diminished by the changes at Brent?

And Rug was leaving us too. We had a going away party for him one night, Leigh and I went to town and picked up a bottle of wine as his going away present and we made him a card put together from the programs of the different plays he had directed. Later that night, after the throng had left, there remained those closest to him: Leigh, Elmer, Jaime and myself. He shared the wine, shared some advice, shed some tears. Of all my teachers he affected me the most. Not so much with his constant strive towards excellence and perfection, but in showing me that before one can stand firmly behind ones convictions first he must reflect upon his own character, its weaknesses and flaws before passing judgment on others. This has always been hard for me because it runs contrary to my upbringing. But I strive for it everyday.
Then, just as suddenly as he came into our lives, Rug was gone.



"...And that's the end. He passes away under a cloud, inscrutable at heart, forgotten, unforgiven and excessively romantic. Not in the wildest days of his boyish visions could he have seen the alluring shape of such an extraordinary success. For it may very well be that in the short moment of his last proud and unflinching glance he had beheld the face of that opportunity, which like an Eastern bride had come veiled to his side. But we can see him an obscure conqueror of fame tearing himself out of the arms of a jealous love at the sign, at the call of his exalted egoism. Is he satisfied quite now, I wonder? We ought to know. He is one of us and have I not stood up once like an evoked ghost to answer for his eternal constancy? Now he is no more, there are days when the reality of his existence comes to me with an immense, with an overwhelming force and yet upon my honour there are moments too when he passes from my eyes like a disembodied spirit astray amongst the passions of this earth, ready to surrender himself faithfully to the claim of his own world of shades..." from Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad

Part 37: Visitors

We were rehearsing twice a day now and Rug was pulling out what remained of his hair, trying to get us to properly enunciate the lyrics for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. We finally got it down fairly well, but I think he just gave up hoping we would get it perfect. Besides, we were going hoarse from all the singing and the kitchen was now supplying hot tea steeped with ginger root to sooth our sore throats. It was a little awkward performing in the narrow Amos assembly hall, there wasn't enough room for the chorus and the band to join the actors on the same stage, so we were positioned about halfway down the room while the band was off to one side of the stage. We were facing the audience so we couldn't see the action on stage, focusing our attention on Rug, just where he wanted it to be! Jaime and Elmer really got in to their roles and we picked up on their energy and sang with gusto!

Between theater productions our Junior Varsity team got the opportunity to play soccer on the Varsity team. We were playing an exhibition game with PMA (the Philippine Military Academy) at Brent and they were killing us. They were physically so much bigger than the players on our high school team and injuries were taking their toll. The varsity coach (Mr Jenista) was even playing trying to keep us from looking too bad. Early in the game the Coach Allegre passed the word for the JV team to suit up and I ran back to the dorm to grab my uniform. He was going to rotate us in as filler to give the Varsity players a chance to rest. As I stepped off of the Neutral on to the asphalt my cleats slipped on the pavement and I landed on my ass! Right in front of the girlfriend. Ah, the humiliation! But I didn't look back to see if Trini was laughing at me and headed gingerly down to the field. Just as I got to the top of the steps I saw Mark Becker trying to steal the ball from one of the PMA forwards. They both kicked at the ball at the same time and Mark Becker fell over. He tried to stand up but fell over again. The ref stopped the game and Coach Allegre ran over to see if he was OK. By the time I got to our bench he was helping Mark off the field. A broken leg!
"you're in Walter" ... uh, that would be me.
My stomach was in knots as I ran out on to the field. These PMA guys were huge! Well, maybe our guys can keep the ball on the opposite end I thought. It didn't last long and soon this human tank of a player came barreling down the field towards me and I bravely raced forward to meet him. My foot connected with the ball, his shoulder hit mine and then the world got funny. I was flipping horizontally in the air, I saw the sky three times before landing on my back with the wind knocked out of me. I struggled to my feet trying to divine the location of the ball and hoped he wouldn't score. Our goalie managed to save the ball and once again I prayed that the ball would stay on the other side of the field. No such luck. Here came the tank again and when he spied me he got this big grin on his face. This time he just ran right over me. Literally. I saw stars and felt my teeth rattle as he stepped on my head, then heard the referee's whistle and felt someone lifting me up, the field out of focus; there wasn't any part of my body that didn't hurt.
"Walter you're out!" ...Thank You Jesus.

On the first of March the International Club (Pilipino, French and Spanish classes) took a field trip to the old colonial Spanish town of Vigan. We left Brent around 5:30 one morning and stopped in Bauang for breakfast provided by the parents of my classmate Bessie Manaois. When we got to Vigan a few hours later we headed over to St. Paul's Cathedral with it's free standing octagonal bell tower for a tour of the church and the Archbishop's palace all dating back to the late 17oo's. We then toured the Mestizo district with it's old Spanish homes, considered to be the best preserved colonial Spanish town in Asia. It was a city steeped in Philippine history: home to Father Jose Burgos, one of three priests executed in the early 1800's during a rebellion against Spanish rule; a hundred years later it was the headquarters for General Emilio Aguinaldo (first president of the Philippines) who fought against the Spanish and then the Americans. Then the Governor of Ilocos Sur invited our group over for a lavish barbecue luncheon at his ranch. The meal was more Spanish than Filipino in style, pit cooked beef, pork and goat served on sword-like skewers, Spanish appetizers called tapas, big platters of paella, meat filled empanadas and leche flan for desert. There was San Miguel beer and icy cold pitchers of Sangria, which unfortunately we were not able to taste. Well, at least not when any of the teachers were looking! Afterwards, stuffed and sleepy, we went back to town to shop in the open air markets and stores. Then, to top off a most excellent outing, on the way back to Baguio we stopped at the beach to swim before returning to Brent.

A few days later our dorm mother Mrs. Pettitt gave birth to a baby boy! We were excited to have another addition to our dorm. All was well with the world. Then one day all my sense of well being vanished. I received a letter from Mom telling me that my Aunt and Uncle were coming from Japan and that her and Dad were going to bring them up to Baguio for a visit. At the bottom of the letter she wrote "your father wants you to make sure you cut your hair..."

We had been reading My Name is Asher Lev in Rug's English Literature class, the story of a boy with an artistic talent, a gift his parents, relatives and neighbors cannot relate to and do not understand. I saw my life mirrored in those pages, strong domineering father often absent from home, parents wrapped in work and academia with little time or patience for their son. While I found solace in the words, I found no solutions or answers. Only the directive to be true to ones self. So, of course I didn't get my hair cut. As the day of their visit neared, I grew more agitated, this was not going to be a good thing I predicted. My friends grew concerned about me, so much so that they approached some of my teachers and broached the subject. I guess they were concerned too because on the day they arrived I got called to the office and was told my family was at the gate, but to wait at the office. Then Mr Jenista went down to the gate to escort my parents on to campus. I could see him talking with my parents before they began the walk up the hill.

The tension was palpable as we walked towards each other but before my Dad could say anything my Aunt said "Paul his hair isn't that long! The way you talked I thought it must be down to his knees! My son's hair is about as long as his!" This simple statement endeared her to me for life. It not only altered the way my parents viewed me, it toned down the way Dad spoke to me. Well, a little bit anyway. Mr Jenista gave my family a tour of the Brent campus while I went back to class. Later that afternoon I changed into some nicer clothes and met them for dinner at Mario's. I'd like to say we had a pleasant visit but you can see from the expressions on everyone's faces that no one is too happy.

I didn't see too much of them the rest of their stay in Baguio (the first and only time my parents came to the campus to see me), they toured the city and the markets, visited some other Lutheran missionaries and then they were gone.



Below are excerpts from the program for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

Part 36: The Great Escape

"All the best stories in the world are but one story in reality - the story of escape. It is the only thing which interests us all and at all times..."
~ Walter Bagehot


"Ah, Herr Bartlett. And Herr MacDonald. We are together again. You're going to wish you had never put us to so much trouble..."

I adhered to my ritual when I returned to school: plane to Manila, taxi to bus station, bus to Baguio, taxi to Brent, two or three days with the campus to myself. Freedom. On the bus I would close my eyes in silent benediction, waiting for the first wafts of cool angel's wings to brush my cheeks, the scent of pine trees holy incense, then lifting my lids in supplication. Salvation. Like a returning soldier or a man released from prison, I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the ground; sometimes I did. Zion.

Jaime showed up the next day, his family was spending a few days at the United Methodist Mission cabins. He invited me over and we went down to Jean Clark's house to hang out. The Clark's had a tire swing on a long rope and there were a bunch of kids already there climbing to the top of a platform and jumping off. First one kid would drag the tire up to the top of the platform and start it swinging, when it returned they would climb on and then another kid would leap on the next time it came back. This would continue, with each cycle the tire getting further away from the platform, the rope twisting and spinning, kids on the tire making way for the next jumper. This was a rough game, there was no telling where the jumpers head, elbows, knees or feet would strike and sometimes the jumper would miss completely and belly flop in the dirt below. We did this for hours and were all pretty scraped and bruised up when Michelle Woods leaped from the platform and missed the rope. She managed to get one hand on the tire and another on someone's belt but was drug beneath the tire for several feet before letting go. This was a mistake because when the tire came back it struck her in the head. We all quickly piled off to see how she was doing. She had a bloody lip and bruised face; there were some tears and some first aid, then back to the swing!

That first Sunday back we had a new student at our table, Linda Schwartzendruber. Like Leigh, she had moved to the Philippines from Hong Kong and Leigh was tickled pink to have someone to talk to about it. Now there were 4 "L's" at our table: Leeanne, Lulie, Leigh and Linda. Intelligent, sharp, witty and cunning, they were to become a cardinal force never to be crossed. We were fortunate to be on their good side for the most part. Except on one occasion, when we were invited to join the girls for dinner off campus. Jaime and I had our "SPs" (special permits), were dressed and heading to the gate and as we passed the canteen below the kitchen we could smell supper cooking. Tapa. Our favorite. Tapa is a marinated then cured beef dish that the cooks at Brent made especially well, although not particularly beloved by those with western palates. Neither Jaime or I said anything but our pace slowed and when we reached the covered walkway we stopped. Then without ever saying a word we directed our feet up the hill to the dining hall. Boy, were they pissed that we stood them up! But they were serving tapa! I tried to explain.

The second half of the school year started out with the same flurry of activity as the first. First was the Science Fair, then Rug held auditions and began rehearsals for Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. This was a joint effort between the upper and lower schools with some help from teachers, parents and some students from St. Louis University. The lower school was going to act out the story while the upper school was going to do the singing. Jaime got the part of the Narrator, Mr Pettitt was singing the part of Joseph and Elmer Strasser was Pharoah.

There were field trips, beach trips and dances: the anthropology class headed up into the mountains, the Explorer Scouts went to Bobok, the Art Department went to Crystal Cave and then dug some clay to experiment with. I tried to kiss Cecily Drury on the way back from the beach but Terrence Spencer, a perennial thorn in my side, kept turning around and grinning at us, chanting Mark and Cecily sitting in a tree... and that is as far as that went. Brent had a Valentine's Day dance at the Mile Hi Club on John Hay where Kathy Duncan was voted Queen, with Cindy Johnson and my classmate Marie Strasser (voted Princesses) placing second and third.

Madame Chan, the proprietor of the Old Pagoda came and gave a lecture on Li Po, Chinese poetry and art. She got a big laugh and lots of applause when she said if we didn't know who Li Po was we were not getting a good education.

And then Lulie wrote an article for the school paper about the quality of food in the dining hall which culminated in the "Great Escape". The food was getting a little iffy. There was a lot of grumbling amongst the boarders, some kids regularly filled up on Freddie's burgers before supper or visited the dorm canteens after hours. Sometimes Domingo, our waiter, would put the platter on the table, poke at it with the serving spoon and sniff disparagingly. The cooks were doing the best they could with the budget, menu and recipes provided and they knew when they had produced something questionable. Part of the problem was that a lot of the kids were used to better fare, few were familiar with the Filipino dishes that occasionally frequented our tables and none were used to institutional type meals that now graced our plates.

I don't know where or when the idea originated, but soon the topic of skipping off campus to eat somewhere was being whispered everywhere. The Seniors and Juniors formulated the plans, issued strict instructions, picked a date, made reservations and alerted our friends in the kitchen not to expect the usual number of victims. The basic plan was we were to abide by school rules (other than sneaking off campus!), stick together (no side excursions) and return to the campus en masse. We snuck off campus in twos or threes one Friday night, each group picking different locations to jump the fence and headed to Mario's for supper. Mario's was a great little Italian restaurant owned by the Benitez family and a favorite haunt of ours. All the Benitez kids went or had gone to Brent, so it was a little tricky because we were known, but it all worked out and the faculty never suspected a thing. Before we began eating Norman tapped his glass with a spoon, we stood up and said our school dinner prayer.
Bless us O Lord, this food for our use and us to Thy service, make us ever mindful of the needs of others, through Christ our Lord, Amen.

After supper, the bill paid and tips left, we walked back to campus, singing songs, laughing till we got in sight of the Brent gate, where it all died out.

There waiting for us were Mr Pettitt and Mr Jenista and they did not look happy. They divided up the girls and the guys and marched us back to the dorms. We got a lecture when we got back to the dorm about breaking the rules and respecting the feelings of the dietitian and the cooking staff, we were informed that the entire dorm (sans the cowards who didn't go) were campused for the rest of the weekend and Mr Pettitt hinted there would be additional punishments as well. Then we were sent off to bed.

The additional punishments began bright and early the next morning when we were all awakened and told to get up, get dressed in work clothes and go eat breakfast. Domingo and the other waiters pretended to be angry with us, frowning and wagging their fingers at us. A few of the cooks stuck their heads out of the kitchen and grinned to see so many tired faces, the biggest turnout for a Saturday breakfast yet!

After we ate Mr Pettitt and Mr Jenista announced that we would be forming work details. The boys dorm was led down to the pig pens, we were handed shovels and wheelbarrows and told that we would be digging pits for cesspools and emptying the old ones. The new ones were dug by early afternoon, but it was the emptying of the full pits that was giving us trouble. The contents had the color and consistency of stiff chocolate pudding , but there just was no easy way to remove it without getting filthy. A wooden plank was placed over the pit and we took turns walking it and shoveling it out. The smell was overwhelming. It was a wretched, dirty mess. Every so often someone would yell "Who's shit is this?" and the rest of us would shout in reply "Pettitt's!" or "Jenista's!".
They just laughed, we were doing the dirty work.

As the day progressed the plank grew slippery with manure. I was on the plank and turned to empty my shovel full into a wheel barrow when I slipped off the board. Up to my chest in pig manure! I struggled to get out because no one really wanted to give me a hand! I stripped out of my reeking clothes and there were leaches on my arms and legs, fortunately none in my underwear! Someone used a cigarette to get them off me and then I headed back to the dorm to take a shower. At least I got out of digging!

Part 35: Christmas in Manila

"She asked him why:
Why I'm a hairy guy?
I'm hairy noon and nighty-night night
My hair is a fright
I'm hairy high and low
Don't ask me why
Cause he don't know
It's not for lack of bread
Like the Grateful Dead
Darling

Gimme a head with hair
Long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming,
Streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there hair
Shoulder length or longer
Here baby, there mama
Everywhere daddy daddy

Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair"
~ The Cowsills

My hair had grown quite long; I hadn't had a haircut for sometime now and I was beginning to be a little apprehensive about the upcoming Christmas holidays. I let my hair go partly because it set me apart from everyone else, partly because it made me feel cool, but mostly because the girls liked it. Because of this I was more than willing to face my father's wrath. After lunch I'd sit on the Neutral and one or more girls would comb, brush, braid and style it. As it grew longer they would eventually give me a long braided pony tail or maybe a French Twist, using chop sticks, barrettes, hair clips and bobby pins. Sometimes I'd leave it for the rest of the day and sometimes a teacher would yell at me to take it out. I got teased occasionally but I didn't care, mostly it was because they were jealous.

Peg Hamil, Cathy McAllister and sometimes Kathy Duncan would spend hours after school talking and working on my hair. For Cathy McAllister it was therapeutic, her boyfriend had been "detained" by the PC. One day he never made it home from school. No one knew where he was or what happened to him. Then two or three weeks later his parents found out he was being held at Camp Crame, headquarters for the Philippine Constabulary and one of many detention centers for "dissidents". So, we tried to keep her mind off of it, keeping her company, telling stories, going to movies and working on my coiffure.

I was over at Hamilton Hall helping clean up the day after a dance and the girls started working on me, clips in my hair, a little make up and a crepe paper skirt. Mrs Jenista wanted a picture so here I am posing, with Elmer Strasser down on one knee in mock proposal.





Brent was participating in a citywide Christmas festival and we were organized to be in a parade and then some folk dancing down at Burnham park. Peg, Cathy, the Duncan sisters and I were at the back of the line.

Here we are waiting for the parade to start, notice I am pulling a bottle of Mateus from under my jacket. Hmm, the Duncan sisters seem a little too jolly.



This is as far as we ever got, because as soon as the parade started we ditched and first went over to Madame Chan's to do a little Christmas shopping. The Old Pagoda Shop was one of my two favorite places to shop for gifts, the other was the Pied Piper. The Old Pagoda was filled to the rafters with things to buy. Some were genuine antiques and artifacts, others artful fakes, all of it very interesting. I picked out some incense, a few things for my mother and special friends, then we headed over to the Rose Bowl for some fried rice. It was vaguely disconcerting to see these slightly tipsy, normally straight laced, follow-the-rules kind of girls nervously clutching their bottles of San Miguel, Beth laughing uproariously with her booming laugh at the slightest joke.

What with the plays and parades I forgot to make my airline reservations to get home that Christmas. No, really, I forgot. So, when school let out for the holidays and I got to Manila I was stuck at the Guest House. First available flight out was December 27th. Not too bad a place to spend Christmas I thought, they had a fairly good selection of books and there were plenty of shops and department stores within a few blocks. It was fun to shop and browse those first few days, but then my parents decided I needed to spend Christmas with a "family", so they telegraphed some missionaries they knew and I ended up spending a few days at "Sydney's" home. I hadn't seen her since the Christmas before and she still was as cute as ever and her volumes had gotten bigger too. Her Dad was painfully aware of this and kept a close eye on us whenever he could. She was used to him playing watchdog and devised all manner of evasions that would give her a minute or two alone with me. But most of the time we hung out in the kitchen with her Mom, baking cookies and other treats for Christmas. Sydney had some peculiar habits and tastes one of which was dill pickles dipped in Elmer's glue. I'm not kidding and she kept trying to get me to try it. I thought of all the nasty stuff glue is supposed to be made from and would put her off. But girls are real good at getting boys to do things and she turned her feminine wiles on full blast. Not the worst thing I have ever tasted, but not the best either. I was surprised, but pleased when on Christmas day they had presents for me too, thinking that at least I would be getting something for Christmas. It was interesting to see how other missionaries lived, especially those in the cities with access to imported American products. Their lifestyle was so different from ours in the boondocks where even getting comics or magazines in English was tough.

I did make it home for about a week that year, though it hardly seemed worth the effort. It started with the usual "My prodigal daughter returns" and ended with "My prodigal daughter returns to school". Mom really tried hard to make it a good Christmas for everyone, she had even asked me what I wanted and tried to get them for me, although when I said I wanted an "ELO" or "The Beatles" album I meant Electric Light Orchestra not Enoch Light and his Orchestra play the Beatles. She also gave me some cash and a bundle of Enid Blyton paperbacks, really out of my age range but they were real gifts this time and she was trying to pay attention to the three boys, kissing and hugging us, playing the piano and singing. She brought Mrs Hinakay over from Samar exclusively to make me some shirts and Mom and I went to buy some fabric where I picked out some off white muslin and assorted cotton pastels. Auring didn't really approve of my hair either, but she still made my favorites: beef adobo, fried chicken, roast beef and browned potatoes. Of course I had tuyo and bulad every day.

Part 34: Murder In The Cathedral

"So the darkness shall be the light,
and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth...
As, in a theatre, the lights are extinguished,
for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama and the bold imposing facade
are all being rolled away"
~ T.S. Eliot

"There is Holy ground, and the sanctity shall not depart from it though armies trample over it,
though sightseers come with guide-books
looking over it"
~ T.S. Eliot

We began pre-production work on Murder in the Cathedral the week after the last performance of After the Fall. While the principals of that play were mainly Juniors and Seniors, the cast of Murder were mostly Sophomores and Freshmen. As with the previous production, Rug went into great detail in giving us the history and background for this play. We learned about the struggle for control of the Church in England between King Henry II and Thomas Beckett. He talked about the similarities for the purpose of the chorus in this play and those used by the ancient Greek playwrights. One of the first things we did was to decorate St. Nicholas Chapel: the maintenance shop made wooden shields and we painted them with Church symbols which were then hung around the sanctuary. Rug ordered iron candle holders, swords, helmets and shields from the metal shops of some of the local mining companies. He designed costumes which were made by Mrs Tabafunda, the school seamstress. The actors who were portraying the acolytes, priests and archbishop took classes on how to respect and wear the real vestments (donated by the Catholic Church) we would be using for the play. Because we would be using the school's chapel as the "stage" for our play, Rug impressed upon us the importance of respecting the sanctuary. This was very difficult with Gordon Strachan who would be portraying the Archbishop of Canterbury; he loved to cuss everytime he forgot a line.

There were a lot of lines to learn, pages of dialogue for us priests and the Christmas sermon was especially long and caused Gordon and Rug much grief.

While all this was going on I still had tons of homework in his English class. We read Catcher in the Rye and A Separate Peace. I didn't care for the former, I thought Holden was a whiny idiot. I did like the later and found many similarities between myself and Gene. It was about this time that I had my first fight with Jaime. It was during P.E. class and we were on opposite sides of a volleyball team. The ball kept getting knocked out the open doors of the gym and someone would have to run outside to fetch it back. This delayed the game repeatedly and Jaime was getting frustrated. Then during his serve, the ball bounced off my hands and out the door. As I was coming back into the gym with the ball, Jaime met me at the door.
What did you do that for?
I automatically replied with some off the cuff sarcastic remark never dreaming that it would lead to the following event: time stopped and I saw his fist suspended in front of my eye. I could see the hairs on the back of his hand and the pores of his skin with microscopic clarity. Even as I comprehended what was about to happen, I couldn't help but marvel at this amazing spectacle.
POW!
Jaime walked off and I went and sat on the bleachers, hand over my blackened eye. A member of the other team came over, Bill Amedee. He was a big, tall senior.
Are you OK?
At his words, my shoulders began to shake, shamed and embarrassed as I was I couldn't stop the tears from running down my cheeks. It didn't really hurt, but I was shocked and stunned, the betrayal shook me to my core. I couldn't say anything but nod my head. He came over and put his hand on my shoulder.
I'm sorry.
I wondered then and still wonder to this day why he apologized, he didn't hit me. But it did make me feel better.

That night I sat with Peg Hamil and the Duncan sisters at their table instead of my table with Jaime. After supper, Peg said to me Do you want to spend the night?
I must have got a funny look on my face because for the second time that day I got hit in the head.
Don't you have a boyfriend? I asked and jumped out of the way of what would have been my third punch of the day.
Just because a girl asks you to spend the night doesn't mean sex!

And so began the many lessons I learned about women from Peg Hamil. I snuck out of the dorm that night and was met at the back door of Hamilton Hall by Renee Case who lead me up the stairs to Peg's room. There Kathy and her sister Beth had already gathered, clad in pajamas, bearing chips, popcorn and soft drinks. We played cards till the wee hours of the night, then arranging the mattresses on the floor we snuggled up together and went to sleep, Peg's comforting arm across my shoulders. It was then I realized that all I ever wanted was someone to love me.

Jaime didn't stay mad at me too long, which was good because I saw him everyday at rehearsals. The number of rehearsals continued to increase weekly as we approached opening night, and it wasn't just the students; Rug and Mr. Pettitt were practicing the Gregorian chants they would be doing during the play. We only had one rehearsal with the horses and they were skittish and Gordon was cussing up a storm: You're stepping on my F___ING Robe!; Rug looked worried.

The play began at dusk Friday evening, the audience gathered outside the chapel behind ropes as the Chapel bells announced the beginning of the play. The Chorus came down the steps from Ogilby Hall, telling the back story of the dispute between King Henry and Thomas Beckett. Then the three priests came out and filled in the gaps. A messenger arrives announcing the arrival of the Archbishop and then up the hill from Richardson Hall comes Gordon on horseback. We all held our breath, but other than a muttered "Stupid Horse" he stuck to the script. He made it off the horse with out incident and we entered the chapel. The Chorus escorted the audience into the chapel, the acolytes lit the candles and the sun set. The rest of play was performed by candle light. The Christmas sermon stands out vividly in my mind, the billows of spicy sweet incense as we went up and down the aisles. Then the tempters/knights arrive and the Archbishop is murdered. The second night went even smoother, as it should have, it was my birthday; I was 15.

Part 33: Brother Sun, Sister Moon

"... grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned ..."

- Francis of Assisi

This was a year of momentous change for me. Maybe it was moving from middle school to high school; but not only had I finally grown a little taller, but I also had begun to see things around me differently too. New teachers, new friends, new books and new ideas were opening the world to me. I was active in extra curricular activities; the Student Council, student representative on the Disciplinary Committee, the Ganza year book staff, Brent Players and the Junior Varsity soccer team.

It was sometime in September that I got a letter from Mom telling me that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer and she was going to have radical breast removal surgery in Manila, but not to worry. I did anyway and bought her some gifts at an Arts and Crafts show that was being held in Amos Hall. I went down to see her one weekend after her surgery at St. Luke's Hospital and she looked weak, tired and gray but in good spirits. Mom's brush with death had an interesting effect on my parents; it changed her and her outlook on life and parenting. She asked about me, school, if I had a girlfriend and really seemed interested in hearing my answers. It didn't seem to affect Dad at all, he was still mad about my hair and made sure I knew it.

It was while I was on the Disciplinary Committee that I got to defend my friend Leeanne Colvin. Periodically the lockers and dorm rooms were searched for contraband. During one of these searches a pack of cigarettes had been discovered under her mattress. Intelligent, an Honor Roll student, Leeanne was also brash and outspoken. The school paper ran an article about new boarding students and qouted Leeanne saying she "liked dorm life and have already broken all the rules!" This statement put her on the watch list of some of the teachers on the Disciplinary Committee and when they finally caught her at something they decided to make an example of her and expel her.

It was a dour looking group as the charges were somberly read, the incriminating evidence placed on the table before us and the recommendation for expulsion presented; I was reminded of cartoon caricatures of vultures, they seemed to be drooling. When it came my turn to speak I reminded them of her excellent scholastic record and then played my trump card: enumerating previous "crimes" and the punishments dealt by the committee to other students and noted that expulsion for having an unopened pack of cigarettes as compared to the Campusing (being restricted to the dorm or campus) of another student for a month for being caught drinking alcohol seemed out of balance. I asked if they felt that smoking was worse than drinking and could they in good conscience deal out so severe a punishment to a good student. After several moments of uncomfortable silence the committee voted for a two week Campusing. The vultures would have to go hungry. After the results of the trial were announced and my role in the outcome got out, I had minor celebrity status and Lulie began calling me the Wizard of Words.

I saw two movies that year that subtly affected me as well: Brother Sun, Sister Moon and Godspell. Rug took a group of us to see the former, he had a minor role working with Franco Zeffirelli on the production of Romeo and Juliet and I was interested to see this one as well. It really bowled me over, the images, the music and the message. I wanted to be a Franciscan monk too.

I loved the music of Godspell and felt that the songs seemed vaguely familiar. The following Sunday I was sitting in chapel thumbing through the hymnal and there was one of the songs. Intrigued, I searched through the first lines index and one by one I found most of the songs from the film.

In late September we spent three days at the Cultural Center of the Philippines in Manila to see some operettas directed by Rug. The place was enormous. The first two days we took a tour of the Center, learned about lighting and set design and watched rehearsals. The last night we dressed in our best and were escorted to our reserved seats in the nose bleed section. Still, we could see and hear the performances fairly well. This was the first time I had seen an opera performance and it was exciting to be there knowing that my teacher was the director. We watched scenes from Madame Butterfly, Rigoletto and Faust. After the show ended, Rug came out and took his bow and we embarrassed him by standing up and screaming, hooping and hollering! Not proper Opera etiquette!

After the show eleven of us crammed into Mr Pettitt's little Minica and went to the cast party. It was a tight fit, with elbows and knees all akimbo and me with my face smashed tight up against the glass of the rear hatch as we zipped in and out of traffic through the busy night streets of Manila. The party was a lavish affair, with tables piled high with food. Waiters in white jackets roamed the crowd carry trays of hors d' oeuvres, others carrying trays of champagne. There was caviar to go along with the champagne, neither of which I cared for. I had a champagne cocktail which was a little tastier and grabbed a plate and filled it up. Leigh was really enjoying herself, reveling at being able to hob-knob with the rich and powerful high society folks of Manila. I was more interested in the free food and being able to drink cocktails without retribution.

Part 32: After the Fall

"The theater is so endlessly fascinating because it's so accidental. It's so much like life"
~ Arthur Miller

"Cause the free wind is blowin' through your hair
and the days surround your daylight there.
You're gonna go, I know"
~ Dewy Bunnell

Music became an integral part of my boarding school experience, helping me to express my thoughts and feelings. I soon came to delineate my years at Brent by the changing styles of Rock & Roll.

I woke every morning to the sounds of music blasting from Gordon Strachan's room. Usually he would start the day with Stevie Wonder's Inner Visions, or Rod Stewart's Gasoline Alley, I learned the lyrics to those albums through the walls dividing our bedrooms. I loved his extensive record collection. Gordon came from England and looked and dressed like Rod. If he was in a good mood he would let me thumb through his shelves of records carefully reading the liner notes, if he was in a really good mood he would let me select an album and play it. This did not happen too often as he usually woke up cranky and irritable and would yell insults and criticisms at my lack of musical knowledge. I didn't care as long as I got to hear the music.

Long before playing air guitar became a regular part of Pop Culture, Gordon would be in his room jamming with Robert Plant and Jimmie Page. I thought he was a total freak but I loved the music. Led Zeppelin IV: Stairway to Heaven, Going to California, Rock and Roll were just a few of my favorite tracks.

Rug had come to Brent from the American School in Rome. We were a little awed by this sophisticated, cosmopolitan teacher. While in Italy he had worked with composer/conductor Gian Carlo Menotti and film director Franco Zeffirelli. He spoke with his hands, passionately gesturing, throwing in Italian words here and there. We learned to knock on his door and say "Permesso?" and he'd call out "Avanti!".

Rug was a busy guy. Besides his regular English Literature classes he also was the adviser for the school newspaper and yearbook; and he was directing plays and working with the Manila Opera Company.

After school he also conducted a workshop called "Sensitivity". Leigh, Jaime, Elmer and I were in this workshop and it changed the way I thought about my friends and people in general. We would each take turns talking about things that were bothering us and then we each got a shot at telling the person what we didn't like about them. Tough stuff and painful. One of the things I came away with is that sometimes the irritating habits we find so infuriating in a person are exactly the same ones we have. So, I found myself reflecting on my own character more and more.


Soon after school started Rug held tryouts for the Arthur Miller play After the Fall which was to be presented towards the end of October. While most of the lead roles went to Junior and Senior students, my friend Leigh who was a sophomore had a major role and I even got two bit parts as a porter and a student. The set was surreal and modernistic, black ramps and catwalks, a chair, a park bench and street light. Jaime worked on the sets and helped man the lights.


I can't say the play was a popular one, it was very confusing and kind of boring even after Rug explained it to us. We worked hard for almost two months, rehearsing and memorizing lines, building and painting sets.

All but the initial and final seconds of the play take place in the main character Quentin's brain, which is reflected by a set consisting of a single chair before a guard tower, which is itself surrounded by a giant, winding ramp made up of crevices, pits, and abutments. The plot unfolds over a period of time; characters and occurrences appear as the protagonist remembers them, and, reflecting the nature of the mind, they often disappear and their stories remain unresolved until later in the play, when they spontaneously reappear again. Quentin sits around and moans and groans about how miserable his life is. Whatever. Can you say LOSER!!!

The biggest controversy was that one of the characters appears on stage in a robe which she opens to reveal her... bikini clad body. OK, in the original play she is naked but this was the Philippines in the early 70's and it shocked the Baguio community plenty. I was down in one of the pits shining a flashlight up at her and it shocked me!

After the play was over we had a cast party in the Senior Lounge and all signed a program for Rug which I embellished with little caricatures of various cast members. Rug told me he had a speaking part for me in his next production: Murder in the Cathedral.



Jaime's parents gave him a record player and he slowly began to build a record collection of his own. Simon and Garfunkel, Jim Croce, James Taylor, Cat Stevens and Seals and Crofts were the artists of his taste. I waited a long time to make my first record purchase. Part of it was because I had no record player of my own, but really it was because for me it was such a monumental decision, akin to buying your first book. What you bought said a lot about you and your character.

So, come Friday we would take our allowances and head downtown. Most times we would just walk till an empty taxi came by, in the early 70's it was still possible to walk all the way to the Pines Hotel and never have a taxi pass you. Our first stop on our weekly pilgrimage was D&S grocery where we bought a quart of Magnolia chocolate milk and a jar of Lady's Choice dill pickles and shared them as we strolled on down Session Road. By the time we reached Assumption Road we had finished both off and we headed up the hill towards Mabini Street. The stores by SLU and UP was where we shopped for books, records and posters. I looked through the bins, wondering what it would be. Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Steppenwolf, Emerson, Lake and Palmer; what would it be? We narrowed our choices down and finally Jaime picked "Diamond Girl" by Seals & Crofts. I ended up with "Homecoming" by America and "Songs for Beginners" by Graham Nash. I still have these albums today.