Part 17: The McKenzie Break

"Hiding places there are innumerable,
but possibilities of escape are as many as hiding places"
~ Franz Kafka


"These prison walls are funny. First you hate 'em, then you get used to 'em. Enough time passes, gets so you depend on them"
~ The Shawshank Redemption

Having passed the "test" and proved myself worthy, I was now being granted access to the inner sanctum. This was great because Pat provided occasional refreshments for his guests and I was always hungry. But my being chosen to be an active operative in the Chocolate Syrup Caper was not by accident. Despite my antics during the Halloween Carnival's Cabaret performance of Pete & RePete, I had demonstrated that I could be a trooper. Then came an incident that brought me into conflict with Pat Dillon some weeks later.

One afternoon a bunch of us kids were down at the gym messing around the set of an upcoming play. They had been painting scenery and there was a huge drop cloth on the stage. Some of the kids discovered that if we grabbed the ends and billowed it up, it was just stiff enough to hold its shape when you set it down and you could crawl under it. We were doing this when Pat Dillon came along and proposed we play a hide n seek of sorts. There would be one person on the outside and the rest would be under the tarp trying to hide. The person on the outside would run across the tarp tagging the kids underneath. Each person tagged had to leave the tarp. Last person tagged was It. Pat would be It first. Things were going along fine, but because he couldn't see who he had tagged we began to scramble away to another part of the tarp that wasn't collapsed. This pissed Pat off and he began to knock us down until the taggee gave up and crawled out. Stay down! But I wouldn't give up. Like the scene in Cool Hand Luke where Paul Newman and George Kennedy duke it out, he knocked me down again and again, each time getting a little rougher, but I just kept getting up and crawling to a new spot. Stay down!

Finally he tackled me and sat on my chest, then pulled the tarp back to expose my defiant face. I struggled to get free but he weighed twice as much as I did and I couldn't move.

Stay down you stupid little jerk!
For several minutes I kept trying to get my arms out and thrashed my legs about. He just sat there watching me with a grin on his face, waiting for the fight to go out of me.
Are you done?
I nodded.
Pat stood up and grinned as he held out his hand to help me up.
Waldo, You're OK
And so the partnership began.

Theater was a big deal at Brent, the school usually producing two plays a year. For the '71-'72 school year we had "The Drunkard", "Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs" and "Down in the Valley". The casts of these particular plays were made up of Seniors, faculty and in the case of "Down in the Valley" parents too (some of us kids were used in scenes requiring children). But Brent was a small school and they were always looking for extra hands to do the dirty work. The whole thing fascinated me and I spent my afternoons hanging out around the gym. Mr. Craig and Mr. Guerra soon had me hauling, painting and running errands for the director. As the opening night approached things got more hectic. There was a steady stream of students coming and going from the gym. One of the advantages to working on a play is that you could have permission to be out of the dorm at night. All the activity and this loophole to a strict dorm rule gave Pat an idea.
Let's go see a movie.

My heart stopped beating. what?

We will go down to the gym after supper tonight and then sneak off Campus and go see a movie. We'll be back in time for bed check.

Part of the problem with being a flunky is that occasionally you get put in the position of having to do crazy things. I had just risen to a new level in the pecking order and I didn't want to go back down. So that night after supper we signed out to go to the gym to "work on the play". Then after a few minutes of work we slipped out and worked our way across the soccer field to a hidden hole in the fence. This secret exit was well known to the Seniors and Juniors and a select few sophomores and freshmen. And now me.

It seemed like it took forever crawling along the fence to that hole. Then we were through and we hurried down along Brent Road keeping to the ditch, past the Pink Sisters Convent. We caught a cab at the end of the road downtown to the Pines Theater. We bought tickets to see Rio Lobo.

I had a hard time enjoying the movie, I was way too nervous to pay attention. We sat in the balcony and every time I glanced over at Pat he was calm, cool and collected. As the minutes went by I became more anxious till finally Pat leaned over and said let's go.

We retraced our route, catching a cab back to the bottom of Brent Road, keeping in the dark as we walked along the ditch. A taxi came up behind us just as we passed the convent and we dove into the ditch. The car pulled up at the Brent gate and some people got out and started talking to the guards and pointing in our direction.
Teachers! Pat hissed through his teeth. Hurry!

We quickly scrambled through the hole and raced across the field in the darkness. Behind us a guard was slowly walking down the road shining his flashlight in the ditch along the fence. We scurried behind the gym and raced down the path that led to the Infirmary. There we parted ways. I was signed in and in bed before Mr Swanson came to do the bed check. I was thinking never again, never again, never again.

The next day we watched as the hole in the fence was being patched, eliminating an illegal route off campus. The Seniors were not too happy at these developments, but as word spread of our exploits I discovered I was a celebrity! Even though the escape route had been discovered, not getting caught was everything, so our expedition was viewed as successful. Pat was happy and more adventures for us were in store. Over the next four years, I only snuck off campus two more times . I found there were easier ways around the rules and more exciting places to sneak off to on campus.

Part 16: The Dinner Ritual

"A man seldom thinks with more earnestness
of anything than he does of his dinner"
~ Samuel Johnson

"Bless us O Lord, this food to our use and us to Thy service. Make us ever mindful of the needs of others. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

~ Brent School Prayer

When I think back to my days at Brent, the images that first come to mind are those in and around the dinning hall; waiting for meals in the rainy season in the student lounge, trying to find a warm spot by the fire, in the dry season we would sit outdoors on the steps. Housed in a large, three story building directly across from the main building (Ogilby Hall), it had originally been built as a dormitory and was called Toddler Hall. As the student population grew it was continuously expanded and enlarged over the next six decades and eventually would be renamed Binsted Hall, after Norman Binsted, a former Episcopal Bishop of the Philippines.

In the 1950's and 1960's, as American involvement in Southeast Asia increased, so did the need for good boarding schools. By the mid 60's the boarding students at Brent numbered over 100 and keeping track of everyone and making sure all students were fed became extremely problematic. Meal-times were a raucous affair, necessitating strict rules.

These rules carried over to later years even as the enrollment dropped. During the school week, mandatory attendance was required at all meals for the boarding students. Dorm masters would count heads at every meal. While breakfast and especially lunch were more casual affairs, students were allowed to leave after they finished eating, the evening meals were much more structured. At times, when we got too noisy, an order of "silence" was imposed on us. Offenders were issued demerits on the spot.


Suppertime for the boarding students was always special. The sound of the dinner gong clanging to that Kalinga beat sent us scrambling from all over the campus, soon we would be getting the best meal of the day!

More than that, it was an important daily ritual that made up the social fabric of dorm life. It tied us to the past, to the beginnings of the school. Dinnertime was where we came together to learn about each other. We youngsters listened to the teachers talking politics, we told each other stories about our families. We watched the older students interacting with each other. It was a laboratory, teaching us skills in dealing with the opposite sex.

Just as I had learned how to get to dinner unscathed, over the previous six months I learned my place within the pecking order. There was an undefined Class System for the male boarders and the divisions ran by grade and dorm: At the top were the Seniors in Binsted, then the Juniors and Sophomores in Weiser and finally the Freshmen in the Infirmary. Anything lower that and you really didn't exist on the social register. I was in that lowest group of untouchables. Although it technically was a first come, first seated affair, tables were segregated along those caste lines, although from time to time some of the cockier kids tried to sneak in to a "cool" table. Transgressors were severely dealt with; they would be unceremoniously dumped from their chairs on to the floor, repeat offenders would be taken out for a cold shower. As for the girls, well they were enigmatic and mysterious, all grades living together in Hamilton Hall. They had rules and a class code of their own that we didn't know anything about.

Sundays were extra special and the biggest and best meal of the week was preceded by mandatory Chapel services. A formal affair, we all turned out smartly dressed, girls looking especially lovely, usually in dresses or sometimes in a pantsuit. Among the boys, those that had them wore sport coats, the rest of us in shirts and ties or Barong Tagalogs. After Chapel we would walk to the dining room, where it would be warm and glowing, candles flickering, white tablecloths and napkins on every table. In those early days there might be a reading from the Bible, or a few words from a visiting Bishop. Then, after any announcements from dorm masters or the assistant headmaster, we would stand for the mealtime prayer, followed by the boys holding out the chairs for the girls, waiting for all the ladies to be seated before we took our seats. Occasionally there might be classical music playing softly in the background from Mr Craig's stereo.

Then there was the food; served in courses, there would be salad, soup, rolls and an entree. A teacher at every table would educate and enforce proper etiquette: napkin upon the lap, which fork to use for the salad, please and thank yous.

Smiling waiters appeared, bearing steaming platters that smelled so heavenly. The kitchen did all the baking for the week that afternoon so the bread was fresh and warm. But for me the highlight of the week was ice cream! The only thing that might have made it perfect would have been a little chocolate syrup for the ice cream. Not an item readily available in sufficient quantities from the local stores to make it a regular part of the kitchen's menu, we had to do without.

One Sunday evening, just as I was about to pass through the Chapel doors, I was collared. St. Nicholas Chapel was Sanctuary, Hallowed Ground so I was quite surprised to be nabbed right at the threshold. Actually, I was grabbed by the arms on either side, lifted off my feet and carried into Weiser Hall. This was off limits territory for any underclassman, and the only time you were ever allowed inside was when you were having your head flushed in the toilet, you were being given a cold shower, or having your stomach pounded on with spoons. So naturally I was quite terrified when I was deposited in front of Pat Dillon. As Head Inquisitor, the majority of my hazing had been by his hands. But apparently I was not there for sacrificial entertainment but for a business proposition. I was very relieved to not be a victim and looked about excitedly. Pat's room was decked out with psychedelic black light posters and a collection of wooden owls. He ran an after hours canteen, selling soft drinks, chips and American candy to the boarders and the goodies lined his shelves. It was a treat to be allowed into his room and especially so since it did not involve torture.

Pat had determined that to overcome the lack of chocolate syrup we would have to make our own. And we would make it before supper. During Chapel.
Getting caught making contraband during the service was a serious offense, so the person making it would have to be expendable. Thus, the reason for my presence was explained.

His game plan was simple: at Chapel surround me with the biggest upperclassmen and during the hymns they would sing extra loud whereupon I was to stir like crazy. The trick was to stop stirring when no one was singing. I was given the ingredients and the tools and we proceeded to Chapel.

I quietly added the ingredients to a large beaker and waited for my cue. Then when my conspirators began to sing I stirred furiously. The noise of the spoon sounded awfully loud, but my pew mates just sang all the louder. With the end of the hymn I would rest my weary arm and waited for the next song. A few of the teachers looked over at us suspiciously but they couldn't see that we were doing anything wrong. I'm sure Father Houghton was very gratified by our enthusiastic participation that night. The culmination of all this was some tasty, though still rather lumpy chocolate syrup. The biggest treat for me, however, was being allowed to sit with the upperclassmen (but not the seniors!) during supper that night. I had risen a grade in the pecking order.

Part 15: Hunting Parties

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs"
~William Shakespeare


"I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty...you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are"
~J.D. Salinger

January brought sunshine, much cooler weather and the sweet scent of smoke. Pine logs popped and crackled in every building around campus and we would jostle for a warm spot in front of the fireplace in the mornings before breakfast.

Mornings were especially hard, crawling from my toasty bed, hopping across the icy concrete floor of the bathroom, teeth chattering as I quickly got dressed and hurried off for some warm breakfast. The reverse process, taking off the warm clothes and climbing in between cold sheets at night was equally tough.

The gray skies now were blue, the air crisp and clean. We could be outdoors all the time now, taking advantage of Brent's forested campus, sliding down the steep hills on pieces of cardboard, playing Capture the Flag in the valley behind our dorm.

Like "The Neutral", "The Valley" was another one of those places at Brent where the moniker connotated so much more than the ordinary, undeveloped parcels of real estate that they were. It was wonderful mysterious place, the pine trees so thick that it seemed to go on forever.

Here lovers had their trysts, here upperclassmen consumed copious amounts of assorted contraband, here we ran wild and free. We knew that somewhere out there to the east, were the houses and roads of settled areas, but in our imaginations it was thousands of miles away.


In the Valley, just below main building, maybe a hundred feet or so, was the entrance to a cave. It was supposed to have been dug by the Japanese during the war and led to a secret entrance under the stairs of Ogilby Hall. The cave had been partially filled in to keep kids out, but that didn't stop us from crawling into it as far as we could go. Old timers among the staff told us that at one time all the old buildings had been linked by tunnels. They would regale us with their stories, nodding knowingly about secret caches of WWII arms and loot buried around the campus. They filled our heads with tales of Yamashita's gold, the ingots hidden in the pasiking of the statue on Camp John Hay, the golden Bulol statue. This was exciting stuff and we wanted to be the ones to find it, so we would spend the weekend exploring the valley and crawling under every building looking for the entrance to these hidden tunnels. With all these distractions, Boy Scout expeditions, new friends and school, my days were full and I soon forgot my "Halloween Affair".

But along with the sun came the little hunting parties, usually in groups of two or three, with one acting as the bait. They'd call you over with some kind of homemade snack and chat you up. You'd think I kind of like this girl, but it was all a trick. They were there to check you out, soften you up for some unseen friend.

Girls are a lot smarter than boys, or at least more determined. Good or bad, they have a clearer idea of what they want and then work together in packs to achieve that goal. Some boys, the ones with the hunter instincts, recognize these movements and patterns and use them to their advantage. But for the rest of us, grazing contentedly on the daily fare that was boarding school life, we were unaware of the swirling rush about us.

The little cootie catcher quizzes appeared and there would be questions: "do you like this or that?". I'd open my locker and there would be a note. "Do you like so and so?" This went on for weeks and I had no clue what was going on. Finally, the identity of the stalker was revealed, by which time I was too worn out to resist. But my hunter was patient, kind, gentle and loved to laugh. She slowly but surely navigated me through the etiquette maze of going steady. We had been dating for a few weeks when one of her friends said "when are you going to kiss her?" I panicked. I had been kissed before but never made the first moves. What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to do it? I shouldn't have worried. She had it all under control.

So it happened one night, during a basketball game at the gym, that she took my hand and we wandered out into the blackness of the soccer field. There, in the dark she put her arms around me and then leaned forward to kiss.

At this point I need to tell you about my other family curse. I have mentioned before that the sins of the father are passed on to the son, and it is so biologically as well.

The first hole in the ozone layer was not discovered by NASA somewhere over the arctic circle, it was found directly over our house. Scientists puzzling over this anomaly discovered that incredible amounts of methane gas were being pumped into the atmosphere. This startling source of renewable energy was being produced almost single-handedly by my father. Not only was he prolific but he was musical too! No casual amateur, he took his occupation very seriously. Family lore claims that Al Hirt came up with the idea for the theme for the Green Hornet after hearing my father perform at a Chicago restaurant one night. I am a first hand witness to numerous discharges during weddings, funerals, meetings, in crowded buses and movie theaters. It took me years to figure out that a request for a moment of silence was not a request to pass gas. To this day my butt cheeks clench at the words "Let us bow our heads"... I can remember one Easter sunrise service as the minister, reading from the Gospels, reached the point where they go to the tomb and discover it is ... brrrippp! Like Joshua's trumpets toppling the walls of Jericho, the solemnity of the moment was destroyed by my father's tenor butt trumpet.

But, back to the story.
So, as our lips touched for our very first kiss, it happened. brrrippp!
Ah, the shame, the shame. My heart stopped and I waited for her reaction. But she didn't laugh or make a single comment. She just kissed me again.

That night I learned the meaning of true love. That night she set the bar so very high for all future girlfriends. That night I learned the most valuable trait to look for in a girl: One that doesn't mind when you fart.

Part 14: Halloween Carnival and Girls

"If you are ever in doubt as to whether to kiss a pretty girl,
always give her the benefit of the doubt"
~Thomas Carlyle

"For as children tremble and fear everything in the blind darkness,
so we in the light sometimes fear what is no more to be feared
than the things children in the dark hold in terror
and imagine will come true"
~ Titus Lucretius Caras


"You wouldn't believe On All Hallows Eve
What lots of fun we can make, With apples to bob
and nuts on the hob and a ring-and-thimble cake"
~ Carolyn Wells

A lot of the boarders were in Brent's Scouting program, from Cub Scouts on up through to the Explorer Scouts. Jaime Case and I joined up along with most of the guys in our room. We were in Troop 76, Mr. Asiatico was our Scoutmaster. Most of us didn't have any of the necessary equipment, so we had to order it. It was exciting going through the catalog, ordering uniforms, backpacks and canteens. It was not exciting having to write to my folks asking for the money to buy the gear.

Our patrol was named the Wolverines (♪ ♪ Wolverines, Wolverines, we can dig our own latrines ♪ ♪...), made up of Jaime, Mark Becker, David Ballard, Mike Murphy, Hata Dimaporo and Gary Duckett. We met weekly on campus after school, and on the weekends we hiked down to Asin Hot Springs and up to the top of Mt. Santo Tomas. At the hot springs we would change into our swim trunks and then hike up stream. We would float down in the cold mountain river,our lips turning blue, then jump into the steaming pool filled with hot sulfurous water. When we couldn't take it any longer we would climb out and repeat our journey. The hike back to Baguio after a long day at the springs was tiring and sometimes Mr Asiatico would arrange to have the Brent mini bus pick us up.

Our entire troop made a trip for a two night camp out on the beach where it rained the first night we were there. After we got our tents pitched and cooked our suppers, Mr Asiatico would tell ghost stories by the fire light. Most of these were variations on stories Auring had told me years before, but he threw in new twists and managed to make us jump every time. There is a surprising amount of natural light on at night and we would wake up in the middle of the night wondering if it was almost dawn. We would get up and wander down to the beach where the churning surf glowed with phosphorescent light. Mr Asiatico explained to us that microscopic plankton, when agitated by the waves would emit a glow.

With Slave Day behind us and the daily hazing slowing down to an occasional cold shower or pink belly, the anxiety of being in a new school far from home fading, I began to relax into the rhythm of boarding school life. Classes during the school week, afternoons and weekends at the library. Shooting baskets at the mini- court after school or, if it was raining, down at the gym.

Still, every week brought a new experience. Every week I would check out the table just inside the dining hall where there was a clipboard that held sign up sheets for various weekly activities. Trips to watch basketball games at other schools, Friday and Saturday night movies and trips to the beach were just some of the things the school planned to keep us busy and entertained. Sometimes local missionary parents would host youth programs for Brent students. These events were a particular favorite of mine as they always guaranteed lots of food. I was at one of these one night, sitting on a couch in the dark watching a film, anticipating the refreshment portion of the program. It was some biopic about Martin Luther and the Reformation called "Here I Stand" and it had barely got started when I felt something warm in my hand. I looked down to see what it was and was surprised to find that it was another hand! Not only that, but it was attached to the very pretty blond freshman sitting next to me! I can't tell you exactly what the movie was about because the racket from someone's pounding heart drowned out the sound. For the next 3/4 of an hour I sat marveling at the wonders of holding hands. When the movie ended, just before her father turned on the lights, she slid her hand out of mine and turned to talk to the girl next to her. I hadn't a clue on what to do next. So I did nothing.

They don't teach you about these things in school. There are no classes on how to talk to the opposite sex, no tutorials on kissing, no seminars on how to tell if a girl likes you and what to do about it if she does. My friend Jaime knew all this instinctively and never seemed to have any trouble asking girls out. Over the years he would date many of the girls I had crushes on. But for those like me, no amount of coaching and practical experience would ever really make a difference. I was handicapped by my naivety, ignorance of the opposite sex and a bookish sense of propriety. I was totally oblivious to all signals, the meaningful smiles, looks and small talk from girls who liked me. In hindsight, I can look back over the years and now see my many missed opportunities at young love.

The most anticipated event at Brent was the Halloween Carnival, a big fund raising event held every year in the school Gym. The Gym was a huge (to me anyway) multi-storied cavernous building. There were permanent bleachers on two sides with balconies above them. Affixed to the railings were 4x8 sheets of cream painted plywood, on them in bold maroon letters were the class year and names of the graduating students. There was one for each year since the gym had been built. I had carefully counted the remaining empty spaces and saw that there would be room for my class someday.

During plays, graduations or the Halloween Carnival, the gym floor was covered with 4x8 sheets of Masonite to protect the beautiful wood basketball court. 2x4 partitions were erected, each class being allotted so much space for two booths. One booth to sell refreshments and the other set up for games of chance: ring toss, pop the balloon, shooting baskets, bean bag toss. There was prime real estate: the boys locker room for the Haunted House, one of the balconies for the Spanish Club's restaurant, the other balcony for the Sophomore class to use for their Cabaret.




















On the night of the carnival Jaime and I hurried down to the gym after supper. We bought tickets at the door and used them to play games or buy food. There were so many things to do, so many things to eat. First a trip through the Haunted House, then a quick scouting expedition to see what kind of goodies were available. We each took a turn working at our class booths, then off again for some snacks and games. I had extra booth duties that night, besides my class booths I had to work at the Spanish Club booth and at the Cabaret. In addition to the musical numbers performed by students and teachers, Pat Dillon and Jerry Sullivan were doing a skit called "Pete and Re-Pete" and I was helping them out. Pat put on a long sleeved shirt backwards with his arms inside the shirt and I sat behind him and stuck my arms through the sleeves. While he did his comedic monologue, I would accompany him with nose scratchings, arm waving, gesticulations and occasionally getting my fingers in his ears, nostrils and eyes! The skit culminated with "waiter" Jerry serving him a plate of spaghetti and me feeding Pat. Needless to say his face was covered with spaghetti! For my services I got a free spaghetti dinner after the show and Pat came over to rub my face in the plate as payback for my antics!

After that I was free to roam the carnival. There was a "Jail", where you could pay to have someone thrown in the hoosegow by the "Sheriff" and he or she would have to pay to get out. The Freshman class ran two booths: a self explanatory "Make-out" booth and a "Marriage" booth, where for a fee you could get married to anyone including rings! Groups of giggling girls hung around both those booths looking for potential victims. I made sure I stayed clear of those booths!


The Seniors also had the dunking booth and it was great fun to watch Mr Craig, Mr Main and Mr Swanson getting soaked! You could buy 3 chances at hitting the target with a softball. Large groups of Senior, Junior and Sophomore boys lined up to get a chance at payback with Mr Craig! Every time one of them hit the target and the cold water poured over Mr Craig, a great cheer would go up!

Everyone was in costume, teachers, staff, their families and parents of the Day Students would all be there dressed in costumes too! One of my classmates father looked just like the actor Vincent Price and came dressed like a vampire! Then, towards the end of the night a "parade" would occur, with everyone marching around the gym, while the judges looked them over and Best Costume prizes would be awarded. Mrs Alcantara won the adult category for her Mother Time costume, Alision Ploesser won in the student category for her Yellow Pages costume, Tanya Boyd's Harem Girl won sexiest costume and Joel Wren won for scariest costume.

The next morning we were back at the gym to help clean up. It didn't take too long and by mid afternoon I was over at John Hay Air Base hanging out with my classmates Robert Huff and Donny Davis. We went down to the Base Haunted House to see what was going on there and ran into some other kids from school. It was closed but Robert found an open door around back, so we went in and began exploring the empty building. I found myself alone and came upon a closed coffin set up on saw horses. I climbed up on top and was sitting there when two girls came in and crawled up to sit next to me. There we were talking and laughing when one of them took my chin in her hand and turned my head towards her and kissed me! Before I could process that information the girl on the other side of me turned my head back and kissed me too! Then the other girl pulled me back! They went back and forth and my circuits shorted out and I don't even know how long this went on. We heard the sound of voices approaching and they slid off the coffin and skipped away leaving me dazed, a foolish grin on my face.

I was putting my books in my locker the next day, still reveling in the experience, when "Adolf' grabbed me from behind, spun me around and started swinging, knocking me to the floor. He was mad because one of the girls who kissed me was "his girl". I don't know if she told him or if someone else had seen us. I didn't even know he had a girlfriend. Senora Palacios came out of her Spanish class to see what the racket was and saw him sitting on my chest punching me. He was sent to the office and I to the Infirmary. While the nurse was applying iodine to my scratches she asked me what I was smiling at. Ahh. I was thinking of those kisses. It was worth it!

A few weeks before Christmas break I got a letter from Mom with instructions on how to make airline reservations. I went downtown to the Philippine Airlines office on Session Road and made my reservations to get to Tacloban for the holidays. I don’t know how the tickets were paid for, I know I didn’t ever pay for them. I would continue to make my own reservations for the next 5 years. This turned out to be a great thing because I could decide when I would go to see the “family” and when I would return home to Brent. I was the last boarder to leave and the first to return. As the years went by and I got older, I put off making the reservations till the last minute and eventually was able to spend two Christmas’s away from home.

Most kids were looking forward to the holidays, while I viewed them with growing trepidation. It was relief and disappointment when I arrived at the airport in Tacloban and was met not by my parents but by Auring. We took a Jeepney back to the house where she had a special "Welcome Home" dinner cooking for me.

Christmas day came and I was mortified by the gift my parents gave me: a gold colored plastic sword. I can remember holding it up and watching as the plastic blade drooped and then bent over. Apparently my absence from home had also kept them from remembering to buy something for me and the sword was a last minute "oh, shit!" purchase. Auring and the students had put some money together and bought me a wallet and a sweater, so it wasn't a complete wash. I think Mom felt bad, because she gave me some cash in an envelope the next day and before I left gave me some sheets and pillowcases and a quilt that Grandma W had made. I still have them to this day.

The two weeks in Tacloban were a little tense, but cordial. I was full of stories about the new and interesting things I was doing. But no one seemed too interested or know how to treat me. I now felt like an outsider in my family and was only too happy when the day came and I found myself flying to Manila. After the plane landed, as soon as I had my bag, I took a cab straight to the bus station and caught the next bus up to Baguio, rather than waiting till the next morning for a flight. I sat by the window, waiting for the first scent of the pine trees, waiting for the cool air to brush my cheeks. I was going home.

Part 13: Bullies, Hazing and Slave Day Auction

"Schoolboys are a merciless race, individually they are angels, but together, especially in schools, they are often merciless."
~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"All through my school life I was appalled by the fact that masters and senior boys were allowed quite literally to wound other boys, and sometimes very severely."
~ Roald Dahl

"I won't say ours was a tough school, but we had our own coroner. We used to write essays like: What I'm going to be "if" I grow up."
~ Lenny Bruce

I found myself doing a lot of running. Running to get to class on time, running to get to the dining hall, running from my tormentors.

So I settled into dorm life and my new school. Everything was new, it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. There was a predictable daily pattern to life that (for me anyway) was very comforting. This included checking my bed every night to make sure it was dry or had not been short sheeted and having to check the toilet seat for saran wrap or Vaseline before using it. Sometimes the bedroom door would be wedged shut with coins. But soon the routine included running a nightly obstacle course. In between us and our daily meals were the Sophomores and Juniors at Weiser Hall. Right above the dining hall were the Seniors. There, in the evening twilight, they would lie in wait for unsuspecting underclassmen. No one was really immune, it was a trickle down effect from oldest to youngest. Aah, the gut wrenching agony when you were caught.

Most times the tortures were relatively painless: wedgies, where your underwear was pulled up and over your shoulders, wet willy, where the tormentor, using his forefinger would place a glob of saliva in your ear, or maybe they would just pour a glass of water down the front of the pants! A knuckle punch in the arm and Indian arm burns were very common too. Other times it would involve being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the dorms and having your head dunked in the toilet, a swirley. You could only hope that it had been flushed first. Another popular torture was the cold shower. The north windows in the dining hall were at the same level as the bathroom windows of Weiser Hall. It was a common sight to see the screaming, bobbing heads of the hapless victims as they were held under the cold water. We quickly discovered that the more you resisted the more intense the treatment. The worst torture was the dreaded pink belly. You would have Tiger Balm rubbed on your stomach and then spoons would be used like drum sticks, pounding away until your belly would welt and burn. Sometimes things got out of hand; kids like Mark Perkins were defiant, shouting, cussing and fighting and so got this treatment daily. Others were just unlucky to be a popular victim; sometimes I'd hear kids crying at night. A few students turned traitor and joined their tormentors, helping them track, catch and hold down the other kids. As we little kids searched for new ways to get to supper, so too our tormentors found new ways to ensnare us. They would fan out across our likely routes in ones and twos, waiting to ambush us.

We were paranoid, jumping at the slightest sound. We lived like hunted rabbits; we became quick, nimble and clever. We would leave our dorm early, darting behind bush to tree. Maybe my previous experiences had prepared me, but I became very adept in evading capture. I took to climbing out my bedroom window, dropping the ten feet or so to the ground below and then I would sneak down along a roundabout path through the forested valley. I would come up from behind the gym, creep up the hill and wait behind the shrubs for an opportunity. Then in a mad dash I would sprint for the hall, faster, faster, I can feel their hands reaching for me and then into the safety of the lounge! It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Getting back to the dorm after supper was equally difficult. Woe to the boarder who failed to be on constant alert!

But even after we were safely in bed at night, sometimes they would slip in to our rooms and nab someone and drag them out for torture.

You would think that during the school day it was safer, but being the shortest in our grade made Donald Irvine and I easy targets for the class bullies. One of them came dressed as Adolf Hitler one day and wanted us to salute him. We refused and his gang knocked us to the ground and proceeded to beat on us. This went on for weeks till Donald's older brother Richard came to the rescue. He was a tough looking guy who wore a leather motorcycle jacket. He grabbed one of the bullies by the neck and said "if you ever touch either of them again you're dead". This had the desired effect, although they hated us even more and looked for other ways to humiliate us.

From my very first day at Brent I had heard dreadful rumors of something called Slave Day. During the first school assembly it was casually mentioned along with the Halloween Carnival, Sadie Hawkins Day and Field Day. I had no idea what these events entailed and except for the former, had no idea what they might be.

Apparently, all new students and freshmen would be auctioned off to raise money for something called Senior Skip Day. For one school day we were the property of our "masters". We would have to do chores for them, minister to their needs and worse. The upperclassmen were teasing us daily with the prospect of all the horrible things they were going to make us do when they bought us. On the day of the sale we new kids huddled in nervous little groups while the wolves circled us whispering and laughing to each other. But some of us had a plan. Jaime and I pooled our money together and bid on each other. It was a long drawn out nerve racking experience standing before the entire student body while our virtues were extolled, waiting for that final bid. Some teachers were bidding too! Fortunately we went low, I was sold for a paltry 7 pesos. Jaime sold for 15. The next day proved the worst of our fears to be mostly unfounded. There were rules regarding what could and could not be done. So some boys had to wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes, other boys were decked out in dresses and make up. Other kids had their clothes on backwards and had to walk backwards all day too. Girls bought boys they liked. Some girls were bought by friends, others by boy friends and so got off fairly lucky. Some could only communicate by singing! For those of us who had bought our freedom it turned out to be a really fun day. For those who were not so lucky, it wasn't fun at all.

Part 12: Rules and Regulations

"It's not wise to violate rules until you know how to observe them."
~ T.S. Eliot

"If you obey all the rules you miss all the fun."
~ Katharine Hepburn

"Get your motor running, head out on the highway. Looking for adventure, in whatever comes our way. Yeah, darling gonna make it happen, take the world in a love embrace. Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space. I like smoke and lightning, Heavy Metal thunder. Racing in the wind and the feeling that I'm under

Like a true nature's child, we were born, born to be wild.
We can climb so high, I never want to die"
~ from the song Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf

I awoke early Sunday morning to the sound of bells tolling. At first I thought it was the breakfast bell, but then realized that the loud noise was coming from the Chapel bells. I thought about trying to go back to sleep for a bit, but the smell of bacon cooking was drifting in through the window and my stomach growled. So I got up and got dressed, made my bed and wandered over to the kitchen. It wasn't time for breakfast yet, but I guess the sight of this forlorn little boy hungrily peering through the windows like some modern day Oliver Twist made them feel sorry for me. One of the waiters (whose name I found out was Arsenio) came over and unlocked the door and let me in. He must have heard my stomach growling because after awhile he brought me out some scrambled eggs and bacon and then some pancakes. This was standard fare on Sunday mornings I found out. The only reason a sleepy upperclassman would drag himself out of bed that early (kids in the lower grades were required to attend all meals) was to partake in this excellent repast.

After breakfast I went back to my dorm and read a book. By mid afternoon the rest of the boarders began arriving. As high as my anxiety had been on my first day at Brent, I was really dreading the first day of classes. All the hub bub of students unpacking reminded me that tomorrow school would start.

Before Chapel that night, a tall, lanky kid came up to me and introduced himself. His name was Norman and his parents knew my parents. He had been going to Brent for several years now and knew all the ropes. The relief I felt at knowing just one person was palpable. He filled me in on some of the rituals and rules. I soon found out Brent had a lot of rules to remember. A lot of the kids had never had so much structure in their lives before. It was a big shock to them.

The meal after Chapel services was completely new for me. White linen tablecloths and napkins, the dining room was only lit by candles. I had never had eaten a meal by candlelight on purpose before. Before the meal Mr Craig stood up and read some announcements, which really were just some additional rules, one of which was to remind us to stand for the prayer before the evening meal, to hold out the chairs for the ladies. Then we said the meal time prayer which was printed on little slips of paper for us.

Bless us O Lord, this food to our use and us to Thy service. Make us ever mindful of the needs of others, through Christ our Lord. Amen.


Sunday after dinner we gathered in the sala and our dorm master went over the boarding student rules. Attendance at all meals was required except for breakfast and lunch on Saturday and Sunday. You had to get up by 6:00 am, then beds were to be made and rooms cleaned every morning. Demerits would be issued for being messy. You had to be at breakfast by 7:15 or you would get a demerit. We had a dress code. More demerits issued for not abiding by that code. After school we had to sign in and out every time we left the dorm. If we went to the gym, the library, the basketball courts or the girls dorm we had to put down the destination, time and reason along with our printed name and signature. If we left the campus we additionally had to sign out at the main gate. We had to be back on campus by 5:30. Failure to follow the sign out procedure would get you more demerits. We had one hour of free time after dinner and then, when study hall began at 7:30 pm, it was Quiet Time, no socializing or rough housing. Then lights out. Depending on your grade this time would vary. Our room had kids in different grades so they just averaged it out and made it 8:30 p.m. We had Chapel twice a week, once on Wednesdays and again on Sunday before dinner, formal attire required. To receive your allowance, letters to parents were to be written once every two weeks and turned in to the Dorm Master.

When you had accumulated so many demerits you would begin losing privileges, like having free time after school, TV time, being allowed to go off campus. Some kids started getting demerits right off the bat and soon would be "campused" which meant you could not leave the school campus, or worse "dormed", which meant you were stuck in their dorm for weeks on end.

The next morning after breakfast we were told to assemble by the flag pole. Once there our homeroom teachers organized us by class and took roll. They lined us up facing the flag pole and Mr. Craig walked up and down the rows checking hair length and hem lines. When you looked up at the flag boy's hair was not supposed to touch the collar. Skirts could be no shorter than fingertip length. We were all in our school attire, white shirts and ties, dark slacks and shoes for the guys, white blouses and gray skirts or jumpers for the girls. There were some offenders amongst the day students, a few haircuts needed, a few hemlines too short. Some girls were sent home to change, some boys given a haircut on the spot.

Then we had flag raising and afterwords we went to our homeroom. Our homeroom teacher was Ms. Estacio. The first thing she told us was that our class had the worst reputation in the whole school and that she was mortified at being our home room teacher. She told us not to be embarrassing her by acting up in other classes. I wondered what these kids had done before I got there to get us branded this way. Then she discussed what she expected from us during the upcoming year and told us we would be holding class officer elections the following week.


After homeroom we went down to Amos Hall for a school assembly. We sat by grade and were introduced to our "new" headmaster Dr. Ship. I didn't even know we had an "old" one. We were given handouts and he went over the school handbook and school regulations. There was scattered angry grumblings as various regulations were enumerated. Some of the students were having a real hard time with all the rules. The hair and clothing restrictions were just some of the things the students new to Brent had never dealt with before. Some kids really couldn't take it and went home after a few weeks. It was the early 70's and the anti-establishment rebellion was just beginning to show up at Brent. It would begin with a strong push by the Seniors to loosen the dress code restrictions that year. Apparently there had been a time when Brent did not have "uniforms".

I didn't know it yet, but I was witnessing the end of an era. The traditions and rules that unified Brent and bound us together would all too soon give way to individual freedoms. We were beginning to lose our identity. When I arrived at Brent, there still was an air of magic and mystery about the campus. The school was little changed from the days when it was a single building on a hill. Wandering around the campus, exploring the old buildings, generations of students whispered to me of their adventures among the pines. Brent and Baguio were being painfully wrenched from the golden days of the colonial past and thrust helter skelter into the 70's. Faculty and staff fought to maintain the dream, while out in the real world challenging the status quo would soon lead to Martial Law. As I grew and changed, I too would struggle to keep my new home from changing.

But in August of 1971 I was a naive 12 year old boy and I really couldn't understand the other students and their problems with rules. I kept thinking you should live at my house! Yes, there were rules which I had never had to follow before, but now at least I knew what the rules were. I felt liberated.

Part 11: The Next Day

"School is where you go between when
your parents can't stand you and industry can't take you."
~ John Updike


"Well I left my happy home to see what I could find out. I left my folk and friends with the aim to clear my mind out."
~ Cat Stevens

"My school days were the happiest days of my life; which should give you some indication of the misery I've endured..."
~ Paul Merton

The next morning I woke with a start to the sound of banging and pounding on doors. Mr. Swanson was going down the hallways waking us up. Heart pounding I leapt from my bed. Time to get up and get dressed for breakfast.

Like some threatened forest animal, all my senses were on high alert since I arrived the day before. My brain was busy collecting and cataloging data; new terms and words, new faces and names, new sounds and smells; Fellow boarders on the floor above walking about and laughing (who were they?), teachers down the hall talking (would they be my teachers?). The fresh scent of pine wafting through the open window mingling with the musty smell from the bathroom. The rich browns of the hard wood floors, the peeling mint green paint in the bathroom.

We were first required to brush our teeth and comb our hair. Then make our beds, clean our cubbies and sweep. Failure to do these things would earn you demerits (whatever they were?), and so many demerits would cost you privileges. Then the clanging of the dinner bell! It meant we had 15 minutes to get to the dining hall. I hurried to finish up and then we all walked up to Binsted Hall for breakfast.

Binsted housed the seniors on the top floor, the senior lounge was on the bottom, on the middle floor was the dining hall and just off that was Mr. Craig's room. He had his stereo playing Carol King's album Tapestry at full volume. When it got to the song "Beautiful" he would come bursting into the dining room singing "you've got to get up every morning, with a smile on your face...". I soon found out that this would be his routine every weekend. Breakfast was bacon, fried eggs, cereal, toast, juice and fresh fruit. Pretty good, I thought, although I could see a few kids making faces and poking at their food.

After breakfast we went back to the dorm and "signed out". All Boarders were required to print their name, destination, reason and then sign a sheet everyday whenever we were not in class. This way the dorm master could keep track of us.

Some of us new "Boarders" walked around the campus with our schedules looking at the buildings and seeing where our classes would be. This was my first experience with having each class in a different room or building. We had 5 minutes to go to the locker room, get our books for the next class and get to the classroom.

We started with the main building, Ogilby Hall. Here was the locker room and just off that was English with Mrs Brewster and my Spanish class with Senora Palacios. On the other end the building, off a large porch just down from the bookstore was my History class with Mrs Ng.

Then we went down to Amos Hall, a four story building which had a wonderful library on the top floor. The Head Librarian, Mrs. Albarracin was just unlocking the door when we got there. I could see right away that this is where I would be spending my free time. There was a reading area right next to the periodicals, well stocked with current magazines and newspapers, with sofas and chairs arranged in little reading areas. We looked around for a little bit and then headed downstairs, past the school auditorium on the 3rd floor, already set up for the first school assembly on Monday. Then we went down to the lower level, here I would have Math with Mrs Alcantara and Science with Mrs Rivera. On the very bottom floor around back was Mr. Asiatico's classroom where my roommate Jaime's Earth Science class would be held.

We checked out Weiser Hall, consisting of dorm rooms for 10th and 11th graders on the top floor, my Typing class with Mr Reyes was on the middle floor and the school canteen on the bottom level. The canteen was already bustling with laughing "day" students. It made me wonder why there were so many students hanging around campus on a Saturday. I was soon to find out that Brent was a popular place to hang out after school and on the weekends. When we went in the door Manong Freddie was busy grilling some burgers. The smell was heavenly. He welcomed us in and asked us all our names. Some of the kids got pop and candy, but I still didn't have any money. "You should write and ask your parents for some" one of the kids said. Another said helpfully "well, we do get our allowances next Friday."

Right. You don't know my dad.

I knew I was getting an allowance, but I also knew it wasn't going to be much. My old allowance had been the occasional peso now and then. My parents told me they had asked another missionary family what they gave their child. My Dad took that amount, divided it in half, then divided in half again. I would soon find out that I had the smallest allowance of any of my contemporaries who boarded at Brent.

Then we walked down to the gym. This is were I would have P.E. with Mr Allegre. I was surprised to see that all remnants from Registration Day the day before were gone. The floor had been covered with 4x8 sheets of masonite to protect the basketball court, these were all put away. It seemed immense, certainly the biggest gym I had ever been in. A few of the older kids were playing basketball as we filed past to go down to check out the locker room.



We were headed back to the dorm when I caught sight of something gut wrenchingly familiar: a pink briefcase bouncing up the hill. It was attached to my father. When he had got back to the Guest House down in Manila he found a telegram from the Headmaster informing him that would have to return and get the missing items on the required items list.

Dad was not happy, he never liked being told what to do. The cost of flying back to Baguio and messing up his schedule had him boiling. For my Dad, parting with money is like asking him to donate both kidneys and a lung. Somehow, this was my fault.

We went downtown and began shopping for clothes. Two weeks worth of white dress shirts, dark slacks, underwear, t shirts, socks. A pair of tennis shoes, a clip-on tie, a sweater, a jacket. The exact amount, not one item more, nothing from the "suggested, not required" items list. It took forever. By the time we got back to the school he was pretty hot.

This was a first for him and he discovered three things: he had never bought clothing for kids before and had no idea how to do it; he had no idea how much it was going to cost; he totally miscalculated the amount of time it would take to get all the items. He had missed the last flight out and had not made reservations to spend the night.

So, it was not too surprising then, that soon after we got back to Brent he was in a nose to nose argument with Mr. Craig. It began with his demand that the school put him up for the night. From his point of view the school was the reason he was stranded and therefore owed him lodging. Mr. Craig, the ex Marine, stood his ground and told my dad that the school was not a hotel. Dad, the ex Sailor, was not having any of it. No Jarhead was going to tell what he could or could not do. They exchanged some expletives and the dispute ended with my father stomping off.
(Dad had a real problem with Marines, stemming from his days in the Navy. He relished telling us stories of the tricks they played on the Marines and the bar fights they had.)

So I was shocked to see him, just before supper, back on campus again. Dad had called the local Episcopal Church office and asked Bishop Cabanban if there was any place the church could put him up for the night and the Bishop said "You can use the Bishop's Cottage at Brent."

That night at dinner, Mr Craig was even more surprised and his face went red as he stormed over to the table where we were sitting. He started in on Dad, who gleefully pointed to the distinguished gentleman next to him and said "I'm the Bishop's guest".

This was a hard pill for Mr. Craig to swallow, because he had to sit at the table with the Bishop and his "guest". Dad was looking pretty smug and happy and I thought well it's now or never, so I took this golden opportunity to ask my Dad for his other lung and heart:
uh, can I have some money Dad?

For a second I thought one of us was going to die. Dad choked on his water, but with the Bishop and the assistant headmaster looking at him he was trapped. He pulled a couple of pesos out of his wallet, then after a quick glance at the watching faces pulled out another 4 pesos and slammed it on the table (the equivalent of just under a dollar at the time).

"That's a lot of money. It is going to have to last you a while!"

Mr. Craig got a funny look on his face, cleared his throat but never said another word.
But after that the tough, gruff and blustery Mr. Craig was always kind and encouraging with me.

This still is one of Dad's favorite stories. Of course he leaves out the last part and the part about why he needed a place to sleep in the first place.