The Expurgated history of “The Carolinian”

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Part of The Carolinian

Title: The Expurgated history of “The Carolinian”
Creator: Escober, Ross
Language: English
Year: 1956
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Fulltext: ^BaN CARLOS would not have existed were it not for Magallanes. Probably, some Chinese educator would have established a school in Cebu (the name would not be Cebu, I hate to think of it) and in time would have made the school a univ ersity. But some daring European crossed the ocean smack right into this land, stomped his foot and planted his colors, crying some... "I hereby name this land ladrones" — thing to that effect. Anyway, Magallanes crossed Lapu-lapu's bolo and remained in Opon forever. San Carlos, after emerging from stages such as Colegio de San IIdefonso, Seminario de San Carlos, Seminario Real de San Carlos, Co legio de San Carlos, and finally Universidad de San Carlos, came to own a magazine. The magazine itself had to decoconize itself from El Estudiante (the ill student) to Carolinian (a name thought of by some editor with a hypersensitive brain). So the paper came to be. The first issue of the El Estudiante was in tabloid form, the size of which had to be measured through an electron microscope. The type setter must have been cross-eyed (linotype being a madman's dream then) for the paper looked like an edition of a local song hit kit. San Carlos had no College of Law yet and, naturally, no barristers. So the editorship went to a Pre-Law prodigy who played football and dismantled syllogisms. He handled the organ until the school, tired of his tirade against everything, grad uated him. But the Ed did some flipflop, somersaulted through the bar with a grade of 92.5% staged a comeback and landed as the Dean of the College of Law. Atty. Fulvio C. Pelaez still looks much after the paper's welfare. A pretty serious guy he is now, guiding lawyers-notyet and smartening up the neo phytes of his profession. A law office, his name on the phone book (Pelaez, Pelaez & Pelaez, more coming) a nice house and -family and the USC directory are some of the things that now carry his name. Luis Ladonga, who for years did a kibitzer's job with the Carolinian, waggled into the editorial chair and got himself entangled in a mess of writing about the current topics of the day. Like that day between July and August, 1940, when he wrote on the dignity of having arms (killing Japs was unknown then. Pearl Harbor not having been bombed). Perhaps, the Ed that time had funny ideas about ROTC and got himself a medal for lugging The Expurgated of “The around the city a seventy-five milli meter-piece. Anyway, Carolinian work, vintage '40, was pretty lull of soldiers. The Commandant that time was "Looey" Campos, a hand some guy with the sideview of the great sidewise. Looking back at the pictures of those soldiers, one would readily assume that some thing was terribly wrong with the sartorial makeup of those years. The waists of the sondalos were up to the bust, making them look like a bunch of tied potato sacks. But this is straying from the purpose of this article. Julie Severino, a cute pert chick in Ladonga's time, had an excursion for "a day in Paradise," though the paradise she talked about was the contentment of the simple people. Jose Local, the Bennet Cerf of those days, had a fine time ex plaining to his comical chemical professor why he wrote Mr. Manga nese instead of Managase. They had a fine time laughing the epi sode over a bottle of rice wine. The years up to forty-one were pretty much wrapped up in training sol diers, tying the knee breeches. Work on the Carolinian was con fined to making the magazine look less repelling to ad-takers. The Barba Press did the tinkering with the paper and the glass-eyed editors did the proof reading. The Carolinian is the only paper whose editors come and go with the regularity of a bill collector's visit. Recently, I contemplated on writing about the take-off of former editor Tom Echivarre, '56. He is a guy who thinks nothing of placing a comma here and there or chang ing the manuscript outright, mak ing the neophytes' invention read like Robert Nathan's, and still keeps mum on the downright incompet ence of his staff. The Carolinian under his direction, however, often lost much of its murky deep literary sound by coming to the students' level. The school organ under him was subjected to a lot of literary confusion by the local talents of the English langvich, but though the furor they raised was like the recent Cebu fire, Tommy still keeps on writing much in the same old way. Nene Ranudo, Tommy's con temporary in the school paper is one man who can write deep mov ing poetry. He never believes in the word inspiration; desperation is a word more likely to appeal to his senses. His “Christmas Tear", one of the best of his poems to come out in the paper, won ac claim even from his critics. Ranudo's world is a poet's world, one of beatified suffering, where pain and sorrow have more depth and love soars heavenward to joyous dimensions. After the Japanese made mincemeat of our national defense and after they, in turn, got keelhauled by the returning American liberators, the Carolinian went into business again. There was Virgilio Kintanar, the paper's ed of 1941, who thought nothing of the beauties that sur rounded him, (those faces of Julie Severino, Trinidad Alvarez, to name two of them), but kept on doggedly digging his brain for thoughts that he hoped would affect the changing world of 1941. There were quiet epigrams of Bernardino Tabada: "meandering in the quiet spell of the moonlight.... dreams of won dering delight.... memories when evening falls".... too bad she wasn't born during Juliet's time. She would have been a great love Page 8 THE CAROLINIAN History CHROLINIMN” poetress. She is still great. Then there was a man who loved to sleep in his class and came up with a defense of the royal art of daydreaming. Most have been a regular siesta maniac. "Well. . . uh. .. perfesser, I didn't get your question. Mind if we go over it again?" Nice guy, if he was still around. Should be teamed with our present Ed, who possess the two sleepiest creepers this side of the hemisphere. Roberto Garcia used to sing in the KZRC “CSC Commerce Hour" but the years have changed things a bit. Now, he is singing for the whole ca boodle of the Cebu Broadcasting Company. Fortunato Borromeo, who used to handle the Spanish section of this magazine, featured Don Vicente Quibilan in one of his regular presentation of the CSC faculty "El Sr. Quibilan nos hace recordar aquello lo que dijo Napoleon de que la estatura baja no es ninguna remora a las actividades de uno." "Whatever that means, it certainly sounds like a tribute. Mr. Quibilan, one of USC's truest pioneers, was a victim of Nipponese atrocities. The local Kempetai killed him when his guerrilla activities were detected. His death was mourned by many Carolinians who found in him a friend and a teacher. The war years brought a halt to the operation of the school magazine. The Colegio was used by the Japanese as a gar rison and, therefore, was used by the American pilots and shipmen as a practice target sight. As a result, there wasn't much left of the old building. After the hostilities ceased and the school professors came out of their hiding places, the institution went into a flurry of re habilitation. After feverish activi ties on- the part of the good fathers, a new institution, complete with a roof garden, arose from the dust and that started that. Francis Militante was handed the responsibility of jerking the press of the school. As the headman of the mag, he came across such sen timental pieces as "goodby mother America, we are free but not yet" and things like those which brought good tears to the guerilleros who were sorry to be separated from the US Army. Ginnie Peralta got moony over her "Moonway," lamenting upon the loss of someone dear and under standing. When she thought she finally could unburden herself, the only word that shaped her mouth was "goodbye!" No more good byes now. Not today. Not with a boy to take care of and a radio to wrestle with. by ROSS And then Nap Rama came with fit ting fanfare, through the courtesy of typhoon "Jean" in 1949. Faigao, in his "Canto Voice" creaked: "who has seen the wind, neither I nor you; but when the science garden sheds its roof, the wind is passing through." Nap Rama is an old gen tleman who is dark but not too much, slightly turned but not so, hugging the lines of the tape meas ure between five and six feet. NGR wielded his pen with the stance of d'Artagnan al bay, could compose notes which could make Cyrano ’Long Nose' Bergerac squirm in envy. He was a mean man with his pen, soft in his heart with the ladies and generous with his ci garettes. The drugstore people missed him much and so suffered his loss that the solesladies became quite hesitant to allow other editors to draw any account with them. Nap Rama, like any other editor of this magazine, went around the campus with ears cocked, nose tilted, and pencil in his ears. The ladies were no nui sance; yes, to him they were god send. And his staff were just as talented as their faces. One made the front page of a national daily. The others were frequently seen among the bigshots of the campus, making faces at the cameramen. And the written pieces they dished out were just the right kind for that romantic period. Emilio B. Aller, the man who prides himself with, of all things, a bone breaking handshake, shook hands with Rama, tried the editorial hotchair, found it fitted him like a camel with the straw and launched his campaign. To him belongs the distinction of having made four deadlines of the school paper before the manuscripts finally sailed in, in slow motion. With him were irrepressible Delia Saguin, her writ ten campus oddities lively as her personality; gay and vivacious Ro sita Ty, Leonie Lianza, with eyes that launched a thousand sighs, Rosario Teves and Annie Ratcliff of the snow teeth family. Finally there was Ben Cabailo whose hands were talented beings distinct from himESCORER self. His battlecry "siopao!!!" is still well remembered. Emilio stayed for a while in the editorial desk, tangled up with the editors of the local dailies for writ ing a controversial piece on politics (always a hot issue 'round here), got advised by Father Schonfeld to stay out of politics until he wore long pants (he never got to, he now is wearing bahama shorts), finally lit out for the United States on a (Continued on page 20) SUMMER, 1956 Page 9 fiLUMNOTES Newlyweds PETRONILO CHAVEZ and JULIETA CORNIESTA . . till death do us part." THE LAST MILE . . . Calm, reserved and thoughtful GUILLERMO JUANICH has finally delivered his valedictory address to bachelorhood. He committed ma trimony!!! Or, in another way of describing the act, he threw his hat into the matrimonial arena. Perhaps the happiest men on earth last April 19th were Prince Rainer III of Monaco and GUILLERMO JUANICH ol Bohol. If the Monacans witnessed a grand wedding that date, the people of Tubigon, Bohol, had their share, too, in the touch ing, simple and impressive rites which took place in the town's Ca tholic Church where Guillermo slipped the little golden band of his bride, the former Miss NORBERTA LIBARIOS. Members of the wedding entourage were: Mr. Apolinario Cener and Mrs. Florencia Abuloc, as sponsors; TERESITA ARANAS and FLORENTINO ZOZOBRADO, chord sponsors; ROSARIO TALADUA and GREGORIO YNCIERTO, veil spon sors; KATTY ESPIRITU and PAU LINO BONGATO, candle sponsors; NENA ARABIA, ROSALIND VILLALUZ, DELIA GADOR, and ROSARIO HERMOSA, bridesmaid; SAMUEL (Coittinned on page 21) ' Under him the "C" was harrassed by slanghappy yokel Nestor Mo relos, and surrounded by the sweat boys. Through all these hazards, he managed to live. After Aller unceremoniously left his hotseat, white, big-eyed, eloquent Vestil acted as the supremo. His posture, stern eyes and polished i writings undoubtedly made him successor to Leo Bello which is I Aller's nome de plume. The Editor that time had a funny idea about ; reporters. He thought they were the most glamorous souls operat ing on earth. But about the time J he got fed up with the job of cor recting all the manuscripts, he I changed his mind in favor of script 1 writing. Vestil is now an established ! name in local cinema. The editorial i "office" that time was the comj munity boarding house of the Dean | of the Liberal Arts and the staff | members. So, the scramble for seats during press days was a sight [ trying to the Dean, who finally exI iled the "boys" to the basement floor. Anyway, here was Jess Vestil, smoking his cigars, handing out his favorite brand of cigarettes | to the yokels who were now bend■ ing their backs rattling their brains I and stretching their eyes to make , the magazine more readable. There ! was VNL and his "Herbie" series, I Buddy Quitorio, Agustin Jamiro, ! and the guys who thought they j could do a neat fadeaway during i d-lines. The act is always rei peated every time there is a dead; line to beat. There were hecklers, i and an assortment of characters which could have driven a sociol ogist crazy. Right now, I am wondering how I ever came across you. But that will be for some other fellow to write about. Anyway, this is the paper and its rip-snorting history. Those poor souls who will come behind ; the desk of this paper will have to -1 thank the administration, those fa(condnued front page 9) Expurgated History of THE CRROLINIHN Smith-Mundt travel grant. He has wonderful stories about big build ings, small people and tall thin men with pockets full of mazuma. Hear him talk but don't make the mis take of shaking hands with him. He packs a mean, crippling grip. He says the US is a land where honey and money flow as sweat pours from your body. The Caro linian under his management bag ged first prize in editorial writing. thers who have a patience as long as the history of the Church. For without them, this "hysterical narrative" would not have been possible. # Page 20 THE CAROLINIAN