The Carolinian

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Part of The Carolinian

Title: The Carolinian
Issue Date: Volume XXIII (Issue No. 1) July-August 1959
Year: 1959
Language: English
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extracted text: Vol. XXIII, No. I • JULY-AUGUST ISSUE • 1959 We had a pretty hard time adjusting to some changes in the set-up, but we finally made it and you've got your copy of the mag. We hope you will find it as enjoyable and interesting as we wanted it to be when we were preparing it. Fr. John was transferred to a new Fr. John assignment in Manila early this Is Out school year. We cannot help missing Fr. John. He was the Moderator of this mag azine for the past three years, and we knew even then that he loved the Carolinian as much as we did, and was proud of it as much as we were; he even promised, on the eve of his departure, that he would read the proofs for the Carolinian if his new "home" would be the Cath olic Trade School. More than that, he was a good friend to all of us on the staff, and he was considerate and understanding. Long after we shall have left this institution, we shall still remember Fr. John. _ D Fr. Baum, as we call him, was rr. Baumgartner chosen to step into Father John's Is In shoes. We're only getting to know him. But we do hope our partnership will turn out all right. r Former Editors Quitorio, Sitoy, Ire Get anci Abao, Jr. all started their tenures an Office with a common wail: "We ain't got no office!" Their staffs had to do their work wherever it was possible —at the Registrar's Office, at the Cashier's Office, or in the Visiting Room. Our Father Builder, the Rev. Ernest Hoerdemann, gave us a room early this year, and equipped it fully. To him goes our most heartfelt gratitude. We have found a home at last! Artist Amorsolo Manligas was The Cover commissioned by the staff to make a cover lay-out "that is neither too con ventional nor too modern." The cover, as you see it now, is his in terpretation of the golden mean. This issue is a memorial to the late Cornelio Faigao. Thus, Artist Manligas depicts a poet and the things that are popularly associated with the latter. The cover is an experiment. Comments on it are welcome. We are making an attempt at The Issue sectioning. You will therefore find that the materials are classified and that there is an index on the free top corner of every page. Aside from this, however, you will find very few departures from our usual format. Demetrio Maglalang, who was asked by the staff to do a book review, comes up with a bold and frank assessment of Villa, in his Villas Footnote to Youth, A Study. The reader may venture into it at his own peril. Junne Canizares gives us his version of the streamof-consciousness story in his The Apprehension ot Things, which is a delicately restrained, yet powerful and moving, story of a deserted lover. Here there are only very faint traces of the dialectal, which characterizes many of Ca nizares' stories. Three of the four poetry pages are devoted to poems for the dead poet. We have indeed taken a very sober— nay, even morbid — tone in this issue. Our writers run true to fcrm. One laments in his accustomed modern verse, while another weeps in his classical pattern with great verbal melody and intensity of emotion. B.C. "Before Christ" Cabanatan turned holier-thanthou and decided to feature a pictorial on churches. Our feature writer has now become a photo-artist besides. We count that on our credit side. We have revived the news section. Associate Editor Filemon Fernandez is in charge of it. We call him The Historian. Junior Abao, last year's Editor, has turned columnist. He intends to run a regular column called Entirely Per sonal.. Hmmm, must be interesting stuff! Pal Joey has just got back from his proposed mining venture. He was a resounding failure in it, and in this issue, he tells you why. Somebody told us that when Pal Joey was yet a child, his mother thought him to be a budding genius, but he turned out to be a blooming idiot. For a summary of what we offer you in this issue, please refer to the adjoining table of contents. $ ScUtoiiat Statf MANUEL S. GO Editor JUNNE CASIZARES B. C. CABANATAN Senior Editors AMORSOLO MANLIGAS Artist RODOLFO JUSTINIANI TEODORO BAY FILEMON L. FERNANDEZ ALBERTO RILE Associates Epimaco Densing, Jr. Francisco Rob les, Alfredo Amores, Nelson la Rosa, Betty Antonio, Carmelita Rodrigues, George Barcenilla, Lorna Rodrigues, Ricardo Go, Redencion Alcantara, Florencio Gabales, Rodolfo Babiera, Potenciano Isaac Staff Writers ADELINO B. SITOY SIXTO LL. ABAO, JR. Contributing Editors MISS ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ Adviser REV. JOSEPH BAUMGARTNER, S.V.D. Moderator Editorial ^-Lke. CAROLINIAN Official Publication of the Students of the University of San Carlos Cebu City, Philippines ATHLETICISM IN PHILIPPINE COLLEGES JULY - AUGUST, 1959 Varsity eagers on the hardcourt, sluggers on the diamond, sprinters on the track, and other men of bronze, are all spectacular college heroes. They make big names for their schools — big ad vertisement. College athletics is all very well—if it is kept within sane limits. But many Philippine colleges are making professionals out of their athletes. They do not set academic standards for the continuance of their players on their terms. So long as a player is good, nothing else matters. Let him flunk in all his subjects, let him learn nothing from the classroom, let him do all this and more, so long as he plays well. The point is not the education that he gets. It is the kind of play that he gives. The spirit of the amateur is gone. Our Philippine college teams do not now generally differ from the teams of soft drinks and steam ship and wax companies. And the spirit of athleticism, which has replaced the spirit of the amateur, becomes readily apparent when one compares the treat ment of athletes to that of people with intellectual gifts. See if there is any sense of proportion in it — find out if there is any reason. Take the case of scholarships, for instance. What is the score in it? It is: In a class of 500, in most cases, only two get scholarships—and only free tuition for the first, and half free tuition for the second. Under this set-up, a stupid athlete has infinitely better chances to continue in college than has a financially handicapped genius. We hold no brief against athletics — amateur athletics. But we do hold a brief for justice and reason and fairness, which all point against athleticism. Schools, tve are told, are supposed to encourage and turn out intellectuals — people with plenty of brains. But what are they doing towards this end? Nothing much. In extreme cases, nothing at all. The Anu-ricnu Nun F. Robles . . Feellnc Special N. McFarland . MISCELLANEA Faculty-Alumni Glee Club E. Yap A New Comer In CSC—Llnculstles Rev. E. Verstraelcn. S.V.D. . . . Mission Year Joey Returns F. Fernandez . - Sliderules Aside A. Amores REGULAR SECTIONS News F. Fernandez . . . Sports It. Justinian, KOTC F. Fernandez SCIENCE Listen, Palawan Is CnlllnK J. Jumalon The Science Library A. Rile SECCI6N CASTELLANA WIKANG PILIPINO................ PICTORIALS ................ Center If schools believe that good athletic teams deserve support and encouragement (we do not here pass judgment upon the wisdom or unwisdom of this belief), should they not also believe that intellec tual achievements merit the same — if not more — attention? Do not topnotchers and big name writers and artists mean anything to a school, a center of learning and culture? (ive are told) If the an swer to these questions be negative, may God save us all! We do not pretend to be potcerful. You know we are not. We cannot implement changes by our own volition. This editorial there fore is only a statement of facts. Take it or leave it. 32-33 But we do hope that someday, when Philippine colleges shall have ceased to be cheap circuses and become real colleges, academic standards will prevail, and desserts will be given ivhere they are due. # M- S. 0. ^iterar^ (eaturei VILLA’S footnote to youth — A STUDY FAME often tends to blur the true worih of an individual. Let's take Villa for instance. The continental acclaim he won in the United States might perhaps so dazzle some critics as to render a just and fair estimate of his achievement almost impos sible. There is an aura of sacredness about him, artificially created, such as would scare away timid critics, from making adverse observations, lest unless he bows with the herd he be branded either as someone behind the times or even a literary ignoramus. The present writer how ever is making a gamble — with this study of Villa's volume. Footnote to Youth. Whatever Villa may say about this book (he called it once puerile) I would still perhaps consider it as very much representative of him. Many in fact may even consider it as the summit of his literary career, his poetry and American critics not withstanding. Yet reading through it, one is inevitably confronted with a painful conclusion: Villa is a liter ary freak. It is quite difficult to agree with Mr. O'Brien's observation in the Introduction that "the book places Villa among the half-dozen short story writers in America who count." A typical jacket criticism no doubt. One however has to doff his hat to ^•Villa's mastery of technique, to the evocative sensuousness of his lang uage, to the smooth lyrical quality of his prose, classically reticent and restrained in form — in short, to his perfect mastery of all the external features that make up great short stories. The first story in the volume would easily stand out as an example. Footnote to Youth is presented in starkly naked prose, limpid none theless, and with a pained objecti vity worthy of even a French master. Or what, for another instance, could be more hauntingly beautiful than Kamya. In flowing ecstatic language Villa has woven a tale of love, jealousy and death. Gifted with sensitive descriptive powers, he harnesses all the reader's sense faculties and feasts them with sensuous details. In the opening paragraphs of Footnote he writes: "The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender soft worms emerged from the furrows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm marched blindly to Dodong's foot and crawled clam mily over it." The reader sees the ground, smells the earth, feels the clammy touch of the worm. More can hardly be said. Too, the flow of the story is smooth as the style, natural, almost to the point of naivete', devoid of the strain so much a part of many a story of recent vintage. Despite, of course, the fact that the story covers three generations. Like a passing scene, the story presents no begin ning and no end, but nevertheless it impresses the reader with a sense of finality effected not so much by the slice of experience it purports to present as by the meaning the author attaches to it and the form with which he convey it to the reader. Death into Manhood is much of the same pattern though there is a shift of point of view from that of a man's to that of a woman's. The settings of the stories vary, the Philippines in some, AmericCt in others, though this hardly makes any difference at all, considering the universal themes of love, hatred, jealousy and human loneliness on which Villa constantly played; and he played on them to such a degree that setting has become a secondary consideration and hence practically of no moment whatsoever. For the stories could possibly happen any where to anybody, today yesterday or tomorrow. One is almost tempted to wish Page 2 THE CAROLINIAN Jjterary [eaturei literature were mere form or style or a mere presentation of reality. For indeed it is very regrettable to have to exclude a man of Villa's talent from the roster. Literature however is not a mere presentation, it is also an interpretation of reality. For much as a writer would aspire to objectivity, the subjective element, and of consequence, his vision of life, is ever unavoidable. And here is where Villa falls short of the mark. In one sense it is not his fault, for Villa is as much a child of his age as any. With hard ly a trace of the Filipino soul in him, was born of the birth-pangs of the modern spirit as individualized in the American spirit. The Filipino soul as such is still in its virginal stage, here and there succumbing We live no doubt in an age of perplexity, an age perhaps more restless and harassed than any other. The old sign-posts (thanks to Science and its discoveries) have been torn down, and the modern man, rootless and lost, travels in a trackless waste. . . But still there are, despite all this timeless patterns of experience, elemental realities at the center of all lives? The most out standing discoveries of science have not altered the basic physiological and psychological processes of hu man experience. The artist has but to recognize this and with it the basis, to synthesize the conflicting patterns of his time to a meaningful and intelligible harmony. If the artist has no other function but to give expression to the confusion of lonely man trying to find solace only within himself and his puffed-up genius. His fellowmen are the Ariels of his mind, his God is his ego. One cannot expect much of such a one. His poetry however is not our main concern. It is the Footnote to Youth on which the author wants to focus the reader's attention. In this volume, Villa as in his poetry, created a world of unre lieved gloom where men are bar red from one another by fences of their own making, living their lonely separate lives within the shells of their hatreds and jealousies and inner frustrations. He presents men, as in the story The Fence as "separate worlds, opposing planets so near together that their repulsion . . become stifled and in its repres★ ★ ★ ★ by D. M. Maglalang ★ ★ ★ ★ to the modern temper, spasmodi cally, if not insincerely. Villa is an expatriate, from the spiritual point of view as welt Having called Villa in the first paragraphs a freak, I would be much more just perhaps, were I to add that Villa is as much'freak as any of the so-called greats in Ameri can literature though not perhaps as voluminous or as outspoken, but nevertheless as astray. They all are of the same feathers. I would not wonder very much therefore if many of the critics in American letters were to give him ovations and applause considering the many other writers to whom they have given the very same ovations. Faulkner, who as yet has not proven himself worthy of the Nobel prize, continues to wallow in a riot of violence and horror for its own sake. Heming way, but for his Old Man and the Sea. continues to study the mean struggles of mean souls. Caldwell of Tobacco Road and God's Little Acre notoriety continues to gloat over the meaninglessness and sor didness of life. If these be the pro phets, the artists of whom American critics tell, then God pity us. Then indeed to Villa with his neurotics and themes of loneliness and futility finally belongs. his age and to immortalize its chaos, then he may just as well rot in his grave. Villa and company have been miserable failures in this respect. And yet we acclaim them. It is per haps because we confuse their ma terial with meaning, their technique with value, their eccentricity with originality. For they are not merely sensitive but neurotic, not merely troubled but jittery, not somber but morose. One must finally get sick of them as they bask in despicable self-pity, parading before men their private aches and woes. In what specific sense then did Villa fail in his mission as an artist? If one were to peruse his poetry, one is confronted with a metaphysics as strange as it is absurd, with strange notions of God bordering at times on the tasteless and (forgive the word) even on the blasphemous. His poetry suffers from an undue straining for effects: a fault of the metaphysical poets. Occasionally however, like the latter, he strikes gold nuggets of brilliant images. On our part, however, we mix up his often silly excursions into the empy rean and incursions into the inner life of man as bold flights of imagi nation and his unintelligibility as poetic depth. His is the voice of a sion become more envenomed." His characters speak for his dis enchantment. They ask questions and get no answers. "Why did life not fulfill all of youth's dreams?” so Dodong asks of himself. "Why must it be so? Why must one be forsaken after—Love?" Youth and love are not of the stuff of life. Youth is an illusion, life is a disillusionment, so Villa seems to imply. As once upon a time Dodong, young and loving, with no thought of the life after marriage, had asked his father's permission to marry, so was his own son young son asking him too the very same thing. "But he was help less." so Villa writes. "He could not do anything. Youth must triumph... now. Love must triumph. .. now. Afterwards... it will be life. Do dong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt ex tremely sad and sorry for him." This in essence is Villa's vision of reality. For him it is something op pressive, a dreary spectacle of pain and suffering without surcease. It is a monster with destructive fingers. "Teang loved Dodong... Dodong whom life had made ugly." Must life indeed be ever the scape goat of man's fumbling and blunder ing? Must life be held up always (Continued on page 10) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 3 J^iterar^ features PLAYS of Three by ESPERAN3 The Plays of Tan Dr. VIDAL A. TAN is a man of many interests. Although he is a mathematician by training and pro fession he wields some literary skill which expresses itself not only in articles of current interest but also in short plays. The four plays studied here attest to his literary ability. The play "The Meeting in the Town Hall" is an episode from the Social Cancer. The said meeting dis cusses the plans for a coming fiesta and the young men, the liberal group, desire a more sensible ap proach to the celebration. Fiestas have always played an important part in the social life ol the Filipi nos. The usual way of celebrating fiestas in the Philippines, down to the present day, is the noisy and ex travagant way — fireworks, rockets, banquets, dances, etc., and families think nothing of debts staring them in the eye the whole year so long as they can splurge for a week at fiesta time. The young liberals in the play propose simple amusements and games, prizes for the best farm producers, and a tidy sum set aside for the construction of a school house. But the gobernadorcillo throws a monkey wrench into their plans. He brings the news that he has acceded to the curate's wishes — an extravagant affair with all the trimmings, or else! The same playwright takes an other episode from the same book The Plays off Romulo (SEE PAGE 36) for another play, "Souls in Torment" — the famous story of .the tragic Sisa. Her two sons, Basilio and Cris pin, are accused of stealing some valuables from the convent and are held in custody. When the two boys escape from the convent, the mother is arrested. The poor mother is tor mented with the thought of the cruel accusation and the uncertainty of the whereabouts of her sons. Her grief overcomes her; and nature, many times kinder than man, takes over. Sisa becomes insane. "The Husband of Mrs. Cruz" is a comedy about elections, in three acts. Rodulfo is a promising young lawyer who is married to a rich girl. In the first act, he decides on two things—to run for Congress and to live apart from his in-lwas for the sake of his self-respect. The wife is torn between a life of luxury and love for her husband. She finally decides on the latter and goes after her spouse. In their new life, love smoothes out the bumps. Cheerfully the wife ad justs to her new home while Rodulfo is busy with his election campaign. Still, they are so deep in debt that they resort to the ruse of evading bill collectors by pretending to be servants of the house. This is the turn of events when Rodulfo's father comes to help him in his campaign and is horrified to see his son appa rently insane because Rodulfo fails to recognize him. Then Rodulfo is ar rested on a false charge filed by his political rival, the two fathers arrive on time and arrange a payment for the bond. The usual flurry of elec tions — free rides, bands, eats and drinks, lies and promises, — are all portrayed. After a thrilling suspense, a recount of the ballots declares Ro dulfo the winner. "A Daughter of Destiny" is a histo rical comedy in three acts depicting the fortunes of a family against the thrilling background of the Philip pine Revolution. The love triangle is represented by two brothers in love with the same girl, the ward of their father. The father proposes to decide the matter by lot, the fortunate one to be given the first chance to court the girl. Luck falls on the elder broth er, and the younger is constrain ed to be silent. The elder's luck still holds out, although the girl is sec retly in love with the other brother. Thus preparations for the wedding are under wav when the revolution breaks out with the "Cry of Balintawak." Everything else is forgotten and the two brothers march to the front. Returning to the house one niaht in disguise, the younaer broth er hrinqs news of his brother's death. Reeling from the shock, the old father puts ud a brave front and is aiven a little happiness vzhen he learns that his remamina son and the airl are in love. All of a sudden, Spanish civil guards enter the house before the son can escape. Pretend ing to be a sick servant, he lies down on the floor, covered by a tablecloth. The trick is discover ed and the three are made pri soners. Just as their captors are drinking to celebrate their good luck, Filipino insurgents enter the town and rescue the family. # Page 4 THE CAROLINIAN ^iterar^ leaturei Filipino Playwrights A V. MANUEL The Plays of Montano Severino montano has done some creditable work in the drama, particularly the arena stage. What the arena stage is, is explained in the "Foreword” to Montano's book Three One-Act Plays: This is a revival of the ancient classic arena theatre in which the players and the audience are one, forming a unity, as the spectators sit in circles around the space left for the performers, while the actors walk on and off the scene through a lane left open in the midst of the audience. Realizing that the arena stage was becoming very popular in the United States and seeing its practical pos sibilities here in the Philippines, Montano initiated and popularized the movement here in the Philippines after his return from the United States towards the end of 1952. It may be mentioned in passing that the arena stage was the stage used in the presentation of early Philip pine dramas in the vernacular and Spanish; however, it gradually lost its appeal with the coming of the more formal stage platform erected for the purpose. It is still in use in many parts of the Orient, most par ticularly in Southeast Asia. While in the United States, Mon tano spent his time studying in the Graduate Department of Drama at Yale where he got his Master of Fine Arts degree and studied later the economic side of theatrical produc tion. A grant from the Rockefeller Foundation gave him the opportu nity to study the different centers of art and drama in most countries of Europe and the countries of India, Indonesia, Thailand, and Malaya in the East. Severino Montano launched his career in playwriting after his return to the Philippines with the publica tion of his book Three One-Act Plays. The three plays are summarized as follows: "The Ladies and the Senator" is an amusing comedy which takes a dig at Filipino officials who junket to America. The ladies in the story, members of a women's club, are preparing a party for a visiting senator. They belong to a “class of artificial, over-sophisticated women who are full of pretentious ostenta tion." As usual, while waiting for the guest-of-honor's arrival, the women gossip. Their favorite topic is the conduct of our officials abroad and of some Filipino women as well. When the senator arrives with his gallantry and flattery, the ladies for get themselves and are all ears to the old gallivanting adventurer. They hang on his every word and are so pleased with his extravagant praises that they forget their party. Instead they rush out with the senator to his hotel for a gay time. The writer of the play slyly takes potshots at our lawmakers who go abroad sup posedly in the interest of the Filipino nation, but who really travel in order to take a fling, intent only on adventure and a good time. There may be some truth to this accusa tion as our newsmen comment with raised eyebrows on the qualifica tions of some of our officials who are sent on missions. "Sabina" represents "a tragedy of simple barrio life." Life deals harsh ly with a simple lass of a barrio who is trusting and naive in her love for a traveling American trader. Hence, she suffers the shame of the betray ed when she finds out that the foreigner is married. Too frail to cope with her cruel fate, she ends her life. When it comes to the affairs of the heart, the barrio maid is still the innocent one. She gives her con fidence so easily that many times she nurses a broken heart and a ruined reputation. More often than not, such a girl exists in many a village. Our foremost national hero, Dr. Jose Rizal, is the principal character in the third play, "Parting at Colom ba." The action takes place a few months before the hero's martyr dom; the scene is the living room of the doctor's family in Calamba, Laguna. Visiting the poor and treat ing the sick. Dr. Jose Rizal is closely watched by the civil guards. His brothers and his father have all been taken away and, except for himself, all the adult members of the family present are women. Laughter is a stranger in the house, for the abuses and cruelty of the Spaniards have left their mark on the family. At the start of the play, a niece is stationed at the window as a lookout for Rizal's book the "Reign of Greed" which has been banned is in the house. The mother pleads with her son to meet the Spaniards halfway but Saturnina, one of the daughters, sides with the hero. Father Dalma cio arrives from Manila to see Jose about the banned book. The priest offers a bribe in return for a re traction of the hero's statements against the Spaniards. When the visitor realizes his remonstrations are in vain, he is enraged. He ‘threatens the family before he leaves. It is then that Jose decides to go away that evening; he feels he can serve his countrymen better if he can work unmolested. JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 5 3n JHemonam A Portrait of F Al G AO . . . ai Alan by Mrs. Esperanza Velez*Manuel Faigao Taking a Degree HP HE LATE Atty. Cornelio Faigao, whom I shall always remember with fond affection, was one man for whom I had a very great respect. I admired his intelligence; I envied him for his literary style; I relished his humor and wit; but above all, I depended on his integrity. He was a kind man who would not willingly hurt people. Though he issued his broadsides of wit and satire at men and institutions, even at himself, always his kindly toler ance smiled benignly on the foibles and caprices of his race. There was a smile that never left his face — a smile that was warm and generous, never cold nor sardonic nor cruel. He was one of his fellow-men and he laughed with them. But never at them. This explained, of course, his generosity. He gave, though he could ill afford it at times. Yet this sharing was embarrassing to him; he did not wish people to dwell on their gratitude. I shall mention here only one of the many incidents of this endearing trait — to the sur prise of a friend a fifty-peso bill dropped out of a bon-voyage card from him.-Wasn't it just like him to find a way? The wonderful spirit of resignation also possessed him, which made him accept the things that came his way, the good and the bad, the bitter and the sweet. Refusing to stoop down and bicker with his colleagues over assignments, he received his measure without a murmur and went his way. Political storms as sailed him, sickness weakened him, the envious maligned him, but his feet were planted firmly on the ground. Disappointments, frustra tions, and adversities stormed his fortress but he faced them all with the same unruffled poise, the same confident gaze. His humor was one of his most outstanding traits. In fact his friends looked to it when they asked him his opinions concerning the political circus or consulted him about their own problems. And they were not disappointed. He was Sir Oracle, who, when he opened his lips for a sparkling witticism or a scholarly thought, had to garnish it with a casual jest or sly banter. It was this inexhaustible fund of comic superiority that made life not mere ly bearable but pleasant to him and his friends. No wonder many came and came again to partake of it, and went away — mulling over a bit of compounded wisdom and wit, to be stored with the other Faigao-isms. I, for one, never ceased to marvel at his output. Often I would ask him how he ever managed to accomplish his newspaper work, and still pro duce poems and essays, aside from his teaching duties. How many times did I gently chide him for his deception: the unhurried pace and the slow, careful speech hiding from view the remarkable source of energy that found expression in the printed word, while the rest of us harassed, frantic mortals who exude vitality and business, have nothing to show for our much ado! Yes, he made us ashamed of ourselves, es pecially for our inadequacy and helplessness. And so this was my friend, on whose shoulders hung lightly the mantle of fame and national respect; who belittled himself and made light of his achievements so that often the mantle was invisible to us; who stood square on principles without any blast from the trumpet. It was my good fortune to visit him the Sunday before he finally left us. One last privilege was given me: to bask in his company. I found him still sharp and witty and cheer ful. The atmosphere was pleasant; the conversation, congenial. Not one of us guessed the last curtain would soon fall. The next time I saw him, peace had settled on his brow, never, to desert it again — as it often does frequently in a lifetime. A little while we would fain have him linger yet. Or was it time for him to receive his award of merit? Now I do not think of him as teach er, journalist, poet, or home-spun philosopher. He is simply man whose presence I once enjoyed, in whose goodness the earth rejoiced. His memory I shall always cherish with prayers. And with hope — for you and me. # Page 6 THE CAROLINIAN 3n jMetnoriam Falgae and Bride Now that Connie is dead I realize that he exerted a stronger influence over my classmates and me than I did realize when he was alive. My mind can telescope back into a spiral of two and a half years, and 1 can remember details of many campus conversations which have played a part on the rocky road of my "growing up" (or "wising up" as he'd call it). One of his fondest hopes was to unite the literary-in clined students into a compact group, which he could guide and set aflame with his enthusiasm and ideas. The short-lived "writers' club" can attest to his efforts. The mem bers, Junior Abao, Marietta Alonzo, Tess Abezamis, Demetrio Maglalang, Amorsolo Manligas, Junne Canizares, Manuel Go, Jess Estanislao, etc., were willing, but after two meetings, the whole thing quietly folded up, because none of them had the same free time to attend the meeting. So he had to meet each one wherever he found them — in the drugstore, in the lobby or those happy chance meetings in the library or in the campus. Intellectually keen, he was never afflicted by intellectual snob bery, the malady of most of our university "brains". It was fun to ex change those memorable barbs that were his specialty. We can't help being interested reciprocally in someone who shows a personal interest in us, our fail ings and little triumphs. Twenty years from now. I'll still remember him saying, "You're young. . I'm old. . Make the most of your youth." And the casual lessons of life tossed over bottles of coke at the drug store ... to work hard at achieving only the best or cheat ourselves forStiver Say (J oodbye by Lourdes V. Jaramillo ever. . . never to be petty about small things or to feel big about great things because everything is big and small at the same time, dimensionless as they say. . . to open our heart and eyes to all the beauty in the world, to wider worlds that will open if we have the sensi tivity to be aware of the smallest movements: the fall of a leaf, the change of colors in the sky, the flicker of an eyelash, the deepen ing of emotion and the slight shift of mood in voice and expression of the eyes. . . the forgotten little mir acles that are the many faces of one whole that we call life-one pat tern of joy and loss, defeat and hope. . . but above all to love life. . . not only to face it but accept it too. Living on borrowed time, he must have loved life desperately, achingly-marvelous existence being mea sured out to him, hour by hour, as the days receded into months. . . marking time before the blue sky and the soft sheen of sunlight would be eclipsed forever in the eternal timelessness of an endless sleep. "All men live forever and die for ever. . . that death is the sweet Faigao In a Filmed Interview asylum of nothingness, is the cruel sick dream of the criminal and the suicide: of those who deny reality. . . of those who are afraid to live. . . ol those who are often fugitives. . . of those who steal from conscious ness. . . of those who are terrified by love..." He, who had to stand on the edge of eternity for months could have been referring to all these escapists. Life is the most pre cious thing on earth. What is death but only a transition from here to the hereafter. The pain of death is one of farewell, one of division but not finality. Not a conclusion. Death is but an interlude; it is only life that is endless. That is why it was so important to him to concentrate on the young which he called the "seeds" and the “promises". He loved the young not only because he was young at heart but also because he realized how important it was to invest them with worthwhile ideals. He pitched in his own brand of "sales-talk", breaking down lonely kingdoms with humorless quips like: "you're bored and fine. . well. I'm bored and not (Continued on pat/e 10) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 7 3n jttemortam FAIG AOnZana Bury me? Bury my body? My body is not I. You will not succeed in burying me! (SOCRATES) I FIRST met Mr. Faigao in 1949; he was one of the half dozen teachers I met all at once, but it was he alone I remembered ol the lot. He was not an easy man to forget, more especially because his disarm ing friendliness and dry humor crop ped up every time I encountered him. How aptly that word "encounter ed'' identifies our every discussion! He had a witty tongue, which was, however, tempered by his deprecat ing smile — somehow, he gave me the feeling that if he cracked the quip with me, I felt complimented to have him think I could take it. Once, for instance, a lady teacher came to school with her long hair cut and waved into a mass of short curls. Wailed Cone with mock sor row, "Oh, her clowning glory!" But he was not always poking fun at others. He also had his serious hours when his ideals would gleam through his facetious comments. Once at the beginning of the semes ter, years ago when teachers could teach any number of classes and increase their income thereby, I knew that one of Mr. Faigao's class es had been literally grabbed by another. He made no move to claim the class back from that teacher, much less to report the matter to the dean, and when 1 asked him why, he was so passive about the "theft," he explained with no his trionics or oratory, "You know, it does something to a man's soul if he fights over money." He did not explain further. I did not ask any more. I felt chided that I should have thought him the kind that fights over money; I felt abashed to have him think that 1 should be that kind. Then when Mr. Faigao was ap pointed Head of the English Depart ment, I went over to congratulate him. Laughing, he replied, "1 feel as though I am more the foot than the head!" I too laughed, never dream ing that I would make the same re mark five years later. As head of the department, he worked without fanfare. Only now do I know that he had prepared a detailed outline of a textbook for fry AVELINA J. GIL English 1 with plans for a joint authorship with two other teachers of English; he helped prepare the descriptions ol the English subjects in the prospectus. He humbly dec lared himself not any better than the other teachers of English; why, there fore, should he hold faculty meet ings? What he would say in a meet ing he simply told the individual teachers, there being only half a dozen of us then. He was humble for the rest of the teachers too. A couple of years ago, I once held forth on the frivolity of the Faculty Club — existing solely to hold dinners, parties, and picnics, each one an informal fashion show for the ladies. Like a passionate re former, 1 was enthusiastic over or ganizing games like charades and vocabulary quizzes with, probably, memory games for relaxation in bet ween. Cone heard me through and then gently dampened my ardor by saying, "Don't overestimate my in telligence. If the Faculty Club parties had those for entertainment, 1 would not appear at all." And 1 held my peace after that. If he knew that I have written this much about him, he would perhaps squirm in embarrassment and say with his eyes glinting with amuse ment, "You are dissecting me to honor me. Please let me rest in one piece!" jt Faigao Taking a Siesta c4necdotei 1 OFTEN wondered, with whimsical curiosity, whether I would ever get a chance to see Mr. Faigao lose his temper. He seemed to me unusually calm and collected even in the face of trying provocations. I was seated at the faculty table with him one day when somebody tactlessly dropped a scathing re mark that made us, faculty mem bers, seem like mercenary, miser able beggars. I felt the blood rise to my face, but I was too stunned to hit back. I shot a glance at Mr. Fai gao expecting him to take up the fight. His lips quivering with sup pressed anger, he stood up abruptly and with that characteristic shuffling gait walked out of the room. A few minutes after the offender had left, he came back visibly paci fied. Before I could tease him about his retreat, he offered an explana tion: "I had to walk out. Inday. I was afraid I could not contain my self." That magnificent self-control! 1 was reminded of Newman's definition of a gentleman.* ★ * I will always remember Mr. Fai gao's quiet, refreshing humor. Com menting on the strong nationalistic Page 8 3n jfflemoriam Faigao in New York sentiment in his works, I asked him, "Are you really as nationalistic as your works sound?" "Definitely," he answered readily, "You can see that even in my com plexion." Leonor Borromeo I HERE was a short program be fore the traditional dinner given by San Carlos for the Faculty to cele brate THREE KINGS. We had group singing among the faculty and even the Fathers contributed a chorus on the significance of Christmas. Most of the songs were sung in English and the Fathers sang some songs in German. While the Fathers were still singing the late Faigao ambled from one group to another among the Faculty. "What, no Christmas song in the dialect or in the Filipino language? We ought to put up a number in the vernacular." In one of his classes in Philippine literature he showed his dislike of the practice of Filipino parents in giving their children American names. "Why should we name our boys Bobby, or John, or Bill? Why not call them Lapu-Lapu, Bataan, or Sikatuna? They are just as stylish as American names, and shall I say more meaningful?" He really meant what he told the class. In fact two of his children are named Bataan and Mabuhay. d. Floreto 1908. Mar. 31. Born at Jones. Romblon 1922. 1925. 1929. 1930. 1940. 1949. 1951. 1952. 1954. 1959. CHRONOLOGY OF FAIGAO’S LIFE Graduated valedictorian from Banton Elementary School Graduated salutatorlan from Romblon High School Graduated from the University of the Philippines, Bachelor of Science in Education Recognized as a short-story writer with the publication of his "Violins with Broken Strings" Passed the bar ezaminations Appointed Head of the English Department, University of San Carlos Awarded First Prize in the Literary Contests In connection with the Golden Jubilee of the Educational System in the Philippines for his poem "The Brown Child” Mar. 13. Founded the "Daily News" Awarded a Foreign Leadership Grant to observe rural news papering and teaching college English May 8. Died of liver ailment at the Cebu Velez General Hospital Once I Had A Teacher by LOURDES VARELA His NAME was Cornelio F. Fai gao. I first saw him on a July morning some ten years ago. I was one of the forty or so students in his Eng lish 1 class at the old college build ing which now houses the Girls' High School. He came into the room, his felt hat in his hand and a Woolley and Scott English handbook under his arm. He walked without hurrying until he reached the teacher's plat form. Then he gently laid his hat on a corner of the table, opened his book, and quietly began to explain nouns. That was the beginning of a long and rewarding association with a teacher who turned out to be one of the finest I have ever had. He was not exactly a slave-driver, but he unfailingly taught us to do our best. I still remember how he found fault with my first themes. I had thought they were carefully written but to him, they simply were not good enough. And I still remem ber how so determined I was to get a better grade that, the night before another themewriting day (he used to give us the topics to mull over for a day or so), I sat up half of the night thinking about how I would write my theme. No other teacher had made me do that. But if he was relentless in ferret ing out our mistakes, he was most assiduous in praising us for work well done. He would, after correct ing them, set aside the best themes and ask their writers to read them to the class. Very often, the reading would be punctuated by "There! that's what I call a striking adjec tive!" or "I like that very much" or "Don't you think of the writer as a vibrant, fully alive person?" How the writers' faces glowed! He was a real educator. He brought out the best in his students by using a special brand of magic common to all great teachers—he believed in their worth. To the point of almost embarrassing his students, he would sing their praises when ever he had a chance. He saw in his young boys and girls potential short story writers, essayists, and poets. If faith can move mountains, then he certainly did. A classmate, after getting a few dreary 3's for her themes, began to work in earnest (after gentle prodding from Mr. Fai gao) and finally received a 1. An other wrote her first short-short story (an almost flawless one, too) because Mr. Faigao had talked her into believing that she could. There was an essay writing contest he asked me to participate in. Before the contest began, I lost my nerve and wanted to back out. In walked Mr. Faigao, looking stern. "Young lady," he said, "I know you can do it. Now go out there and do your best." Because he refused to believe that his students were mediocre, they gratefully set out to prove him right. If that is not the sound educa tional psychology, I don't know what is. Above all, I shall be always grate ful to Mr. Faigao for opening our (Continued on pope 10) Page 9 3n JWemoriam NEVER SAY GOODBYE (Continued from page 7) fine." He was funny when he wasn't being funny and serious when he meant to be funny. Once, while we were writing a news report on the visit of a director of a mental insti tution, he pointed out the irony of launching a drive to help those un fortunates, when all the "mental cases" were right in the audience. Funny or not, we got the message all right. He was an exponent of the personal touch. He knew that no preaching can penetrate the proud shell of the blase eighteenyear-old who can never be ap proached effectively except from his own leveland by someone near to him. They say "in its innermost depths, youth is lonelier than old age." Perhaps that is why he suc ceeded where the others failed, be cause they have little sympathy for the twisting roads, the searching journey of many a pilgrim youth. Whenever I met any of my class mates who knew him, we still talk about him as though he never really went away. If people really under stand each other, they nevet say "goodbye" but that is hard to ex plain. We remember the things he said, the subtle humor uniquely his ONCE I HAD A TEACHER (Continued from page 9) eyes to beauty. He had special talent for uncovering to us the beauty of nature and the beauty of the printed word. He rhapsodized over the in comparable colors of the sunset, the matchless brilliance of the moon light. We learned that beauty was everywhere but that it was the re ward of the man who painstakingly searched for it. He recounted to us how once he woke up at dawn to steep himself in the beauty of a sleeping city as he walked through the empty streets. The poet in him occasionally had to burst out in ex clamations of undisguised admira tion of some new beauty or some rediscovered old one. He read poems in our literature class without the afflicted pose of the reader aware of the effect he is producing on his own and our writings which he'd estimate for their mediocrity or hy pocrisy. Good writing always stir red him yet stumbling undisciplined writing still interested him like no thing else could, for he was optimis tic about the latent promise and in herent beauty in a piece of writing, in a confusion of seemingly sensible words strung together illogically but poignantly. The world of writing was his great passion, and it was in us, the young, that he hoped to ful fill many of his hopes. We are still young and alive. . . still unsettled in our shaky ideals... with the years stretching out before us, awaiting the harvest of our gleanings, our contributions to life that will stamp us with our truest identity. He is gone, Connie, our friend, our confidante, our teacher. We are left... the promises still left to be seen. .. the seeds groping for life and purpose and their own souls. We are still here, we are not dead and we are the promises, the seeds. He left us a very big order to finish.. . and it staggers our minds knowing how important it must be to him that we must carry on. . . # audience, but with the easy natural ness of a true lover of poetry. He encourage us to commit beautiful lines to memory by quoting them himself. "Ah," he would say, ’* ‘I know not what soft incense hangs upon the boughs'" when some de lightful fragrance filled the air. Such was the teacher Faigao. With his characteristic humility, he told me, two months before he died, "I'm afraid, when I have to go, my hands will be empty." What I would have given just to have seen the look on his face when another Teacher bade him welcome with the words, "For he that humbleth himself shall be exalted." $ VILLA’S FOOTNOTE... (Continued from page 3) as an impersonal force, relentless and powerful to which men are but as pawns? Must one feel extremely sad and sorry for him who wants to be young, who wants to love and to live? Life is ceaseless suffering, Villa wails. Or else a terribly grim joke. In the story The Fence, the notes of the girl's guitar floated in the moonlight.. . too late. And when Aling Biang announced “The Lord is born" on Christmas midnight to her son Iking, Iking died. While Villa glories in the songs of the wind, the songs of the young lush moon, the songs of the tall strong trees, he nevertheless opens his story Malakas with a sigh "Hail". And in the same breath he says: "What is alive, hurts." Kamya, for all its sensuous beauty, Given Woman, Resurrection harp on the same theme of futility. The symbols are empty. The characters are either draped in black or wrap ped in mists — but still one can see right through them. They are all sick with neurosis. Reading the volume is no doubt an experience, though hardly en riching. The experience palls, almost harrows. One seems to live in a vague misty world where reality though as hazy as a dream is never theless as overpowering as the heavy smell of faded or fading flowers, a chill comfortless world pervaded with a withering sense of solitariness where one meets lonely people of only two dimensions, disil lusioned searchers, desolate figures wrapped in uncertain light like faces in some impressionistic paint ing. As one closes the book it is in evitably with a sigh and with re gret. Villa is not what he ought to be or what he might be, so we think. His rebellion is too obvious, his anger too made up, and one imme diately thinks of a poseur. His pride is arrogance. His obsession with im potence and frustration chorused by heavenly mockery and keyed by human loneliness indubitably 'har rows his art. If he could but bend his will. . . now. If he could but grasp the essence of the Christ ian spirit.. . now. And not just the veneer. But he glories in his lone liness. So he writes in Walk at Mid night. "I had no playmates. 1 swam no river. I climbed no trees. I was alone." Where are the playmates of him who is alive only to himself? Deserts have no rivers and trees. Villa is indeed alone. # Page 10 THE CAROLINIAN 3ti jlfflemoriam Entirely Personal • This business oF beating deadlines is trying. It keeps you awfully busy until the whole stuff is mailed to Manila for printing. Lack of sleep, loss of weight, doctor's prescription and a few zeros in recitations — these are some of the things you get while beating a deadline. But despite the inconveniences, student editors still find it a pleasure to work on a pub lication. Editing is no mean assign ment but the satisfaction of having accomplished something more than compensates for much of the un pleasantness encountered during the hectic days of the preparation. • No sight is more interesting to an editor of the Carolinian than a mail box being deluged with contributions. That would save the staff the trouble of hounding people, begging them to share their literary creations with the Carolinian. Editor Go was over joyed one morning to see that the Carolinian mailbox which use to be empty was filled to capacity with envelopes a few days before the deadline. He thought his announce ments has finally paid off. So in his eagerness to discover what the stud ent had prepared for him, he imme diately opened the mailbox, forget ting that students were using his mailbox as a replacement for Mr. Alvear's. Except for five forlorn pray ers beseeching the Carolinian to re cognize for once their "journalistic talents", the rest were not his. • There are three kinds of egoists: those who advertise it, those who admit it and the rest of us. But being Entirely Personal sounds more egois tic. If it does, then the editor should get the blame. He christened it. • Why are there more women than men in San Carlos? This question was posed before the Academic Council in one of their meetings recently. A girl said that they feel safer nere than in other institutions. • The ROTC Unit of San Carlos (Coniini<e<l on pane 34) JIaiiln 11 Wrltran by C. J. RODRIGUEZ by essel a. j. r. "There is something greater than the gift of immortality; to be born and to die, and in between to live as a man." Here we have an attempt to tell the story of a man, the late architect Paulo H. Beltran. He was pointed out to us, a quiet figure against the background of chaos and activity of enrollment days. He was of medium height, his features showing traces of Malayan lineage and about him was that quiet, unobtrusive dignity; dignity that was not stiff; that didn't seem starched. It was in the way he passed through the corridors in that slow gait of his; it was in the way he used to take the corner drafting table during our laboratory periods, spread his work, and become completely oblivious to everything but his pencil lines, rip ping across the white paper, emerging as an ordered pattern of black streaks, bringing to life new forms. Throughout his childhood, and the years to follow, a strong love persisted which decided his career, a love for that "living creative Spirit", a love for architecture. He received his B.S. Architecture degree from the University of Santo Tomas in 1941. Even though he was working as a government employee while he was studying, he finished his course in the regular four-year span and ’fter passing the government board examination for architects in 1948, he went into private practice. Among his latest works is the U.S.C. Archbishop Reyes Building. It is said that a poem mirrors the soul of the poet. Even more so does the building show the architect. It does not just mirror his thought; it is his thoughts come to life; the building becoming one with the architect. At a time when bizarre designs spring up like mushrooms after a storm, his building emerges functional, conservative, and quiet and in its own way beautiful; an eloquent witness of the spirit that brought it into form. He joined the U.S.C. faculty in the year 1947, and when the Department of Architecture was opened, he was appointed its head. To us, he was not just an architect; he was our teacher, fatherly, approachable and understanding. Perhaps it was because he always had a love for children (he has seven of his own, five girls, and two boys) or perhaps he saw in us the continuation of his dreams. Maybe, he wanted to be part of the chisel that would bring forth tomorrow's architects from whatever marble stood to be sculptured. Laboratory periods were often relieved by the sense of humor he had, and just as quickly as the class broke into laugnter, it would again lapse into silence, busy with the Ionic, Corinthian, and Doric orders of architecture. There were three women with whom he was in love; his mother Lucilla, his wife, Ana, whom he married seven years after they had first met, and our Lady to whom he always had a special devotion. It was not seldom that we see him at the Santo Rosario church for our Lady's Wednesday novena. Often times too, we see him snatching a few hours from his full schedule to pay an afternoon visit. Then vacation came and he took his family to Asturias for a few weeks. That was the last time we heard of him until that first May morning when a bus accident took away his mortal life. Unheralded, the inevitable call had come; the answer instant. We do not question the Divine Wisdom that took him away. Still we wonder at that incomprehensible law that rules all life. "We who are his friends can hardly say how much we miss his kindness and his love, his help to us, his gentle way. Perhaps he is needed more where he has gone. The ways of God are strange. God bless his soul, we pray, until we meet him on the golden shores, his memory will live with us forever more." $ JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 11 IN MEMORY OF by JUNNE CANlZARES (Number of world’s poets being unknown, ice say: X minus Cornel io Faigao. is death determinant of man’s mark critic of his fabric' Aye! ice neter fully accept a leaf’s gold, kh/cks- it itself is blown. 0 when’s a man sainted alire!) Of; for him. The one went up. We hold memories; sing In Te Doinint*. Here's a cup To the lustre of his pen. He left appellations for Vs to remember him by: Was journalist, professor, Poet. These refuse to die. Was lawyer, but carved a pact Of alliance with art, part ing from the codes & suits, act ing kind, faithful to his heart. Nature uncovered her breast To the gaze of his genius. He walked an adoring guest Along life's blest avenues. W hatever loveliness he Saw, he had expressed in words Equally true: painless, free Eike flushed, twittering churchbirds. Sometimes, was absent-minded, Thinking of the beautiful. I at times caught him red-handed, Brewing poems for the soul. Has gone to where is is is Ever: what we exploit: Where Heeling is face to face ‘Poetry Dark by .4. R. M. I want to live. But others more fit to live have died. Worthless-l, so, wait the visit of my Maker. I seek for my function, meantime. What am I here for. Or am 1 here? Am-here should signify work-done. Here I stand in a darkened corner. A Case of Sightlessness by EPI NACO DENSING, JR. Lost in a wild of darkness, The seeming dungeon doom, We grasp for safety, escape; Feverishly cry: Light! Light! Light! And are frightened by the panicky Flying of winged creatures. Let’s be still! And remake the dawn. Have we not been Ransomed? Dream Vision by ISRAEL Q. DORONIO HEAVEN shower. . . . shower.... a million stardusts, in silver, in gold waltzing, dazzling, in open space, till they fall. . . softly fall on beds of lilies, and roses, and lovely flowers. Tempus Fugit by ISAI3EL0 DE LOS SANTOS Night black, brief, be dilatory or extinct, or stay where you are now and forever, for your arrival always means a day’s departure. See what destructions you’ve done: rose fallen, ugly woman, faded picture, ambition reached but lost. Before, they used to be so sweet so pretty so clear, so high Loneliness by A. IL A MORES loneliness is petals floating rotten in a vase proving the sharp reality of parting, the sporadic sorties of silence probing the length and breadth of time and space for answers to the why’s and how’s, it is the gnawing hunger for your return, for the solace in your perfumed hair, for your soft fingers. Students by RENATO M. RANCES They run after knowledge, they are power conscious. They, like ants, file off in the corridors, making cha-chas with their shoes. Where’s it? In the book, in the professor’s heart. Also in the leaf falling, flower blooming, ocean murmuring, etc. Knowledge, know. JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 13 /'inf; clouds across the heaven, oh sweep them with the breath of the night-wind and let them wind-lashed riven in lightning cry the tears of death! fall, rain of tears, fall on the dusky plain and on a lonely hill, cry the tears the bitter tears on a heart that is sad and still! for the brown child is dead! for the soft voice of the brown child is gone, the face of the brown child has vanished with the vanished sun! sing on, sing your fearful song of triumph, fearful monster of death, wave the trophy of his breath to the four winds! fly if with the dread and fearful cry the brown child is dead! while a desolate mound of earth is swirling with the leaves and the wind and the heaving quiet of twilight is shaken in the thunder's din, i clutch a phantom cross i clutch it bleak against the sky sobbing crying within me a lone and tearful cry! yet i stand and ask: why must these terrors be? why bask in abandon these mighty powers, these powers wild and free? i loved him: now he is gone, he loved life: now it is done, is love a curse, a phantom blight in the heart of things? whither, tel! me, powers- of heaven, whither fled its vaunted ■might? what do i remember? ah, drive me, shrieking winds and streaks of fire, drive me on the wings of memory let me fee! the searing embers of the brown child's agony! sweep them across the earth to scorch earth’s frozen den awaken with their living warmth the frozen chilling hearts of men! so his finger wrought in fiery strokes streaking through the breadth and length of the land a masterwork of propletic light mightier than sword or fairy's wand! reached there a heart farther than his embracing all that is far and near it, farther than all the shores of oceans and seas: the shoreless realms of the human spirit! love is all embracing and rules no one alone if goes beyond itself and calls all things its own! the brown child loved this world of god the brown child loved each little bird and cried for each falling tree he cried for each bleeding breast he cried for all humanity! let them live, his heart cried out, let them dauntless trace their lives in timeless patterns for i have seen death's face! go you, young man, cried he pointing to the earth, this be the heritage of your birth! life beckons, live it! fight time and death for what they are worth! he saw in the youth life’s bursting seed to sprout one day and bloom, the youth by noble word and nobler deed shall conquer the darkness and pierce the gloom! ‘Poetry 3T CUE E'ROWT! CJilE© this teas his mighty faith this was his deathless dream with a mightier love he led us taught us Io follow, oh follow the gleam! ah gentle voice, we still are far, what cause have we to rise and rejoice we have not touched as yet a star! give us but a spark of your fire and a string of your fallen lyre and we shall soar, oh soar to the stars on the wings of your desire! yea, let me rise and face the desolate night, i shall chant to the east a vibrant hymn Io tell of the approaching flight of darkness and brooding phantoms dim! the clouds are flung across the sky the lightnings in maddened fury flare i hear the thunder’s echoing cry smite full high the smitten air! but yet i stand — the hymn now ceaseless beating rises from the depths of the sodden earth a hymn of triumph of love and life and a soul’s rebirth! he is dead! he is dead! sing still this mad refrain, fearful monster of death, though hold you now in thrall the brown child’s breath and you shall sing it but in vain! turn his bones to mud and mire, and turn to dust his soundless lyre but touch not, touch not his spirit’s immortal fire! so yet the brown child lives and all is said • Am Zlcgy • but why cry yet a lonely heart the brown child is not dead! but still fall on, fall, rain of tears fall on the dusky hill oh moisten with your cooling drops the grave of him that is dead and still so a seed shall bloom one far-off twilight hour and ’neath the twilight sky shall grow a lonely flower! the fragrant scent shall fill the hills and fields and all the earth, and all the seas and lakes and plains shall sing triumphant love’s rebirth! bursting the petals shall chant a song and all the skies shall hear it, and all the far-flung starry throng: the flower is the brown child’s spirit! the storm is past, the night is come the night-birds circling above the tree-tops fly and swing and sail in gentle motion then, twitter shrill their evening cry! i stand by the lonely cross i keep a vigil by the lonely hill, my passions spent, i natch serene the grave, i watch it calm and still! i whisper with the night-wind, stay yet, child of the earth, oh stay, stay through the dreary watches of the night till the shadows’ flight shall usher in the day! bij © 03 03aglalang it a But can we let love pass or die, by merely calling infatuation or by JUNNE an dream? CANIZARES WHY ARE doctors sometimes secretive? "It’s all right, Ted.” “Wliat’s it, Doc?” ______ “Nothing hig.” But hig is indefinite. “Tell me, Doc. C’mon.” “Let’s call it a very small matter. Take this. Soon you shall rest, and get some sleep.” The treatment was finished. “May I try the stethos cope?” “Sure. Here. What do you hear?” “It’s fun ny.” “No. It’s life, Ted. Big life.” The word big again; how loose it is. “Come again, Doc.” “No. Never say conic again to a doctor.” We laughed. But somehow it is an advantage. Who’s that Spanish-speaking Filipino? Her officemate. They seem to understand each other very well when they talk in Spanish. don’t bother about him. Si. I only want to know his name. you’re always joking, and what’s most funny is that your own jokes hurt you. Stop it! Goodness, let’s not talk any more! - The boy at the middle of the river is now through bathing his carabao, and is dragging the beast towards the tree where I am. What’s that colored spot there? I ask him when they get close enough that I can smell the odor of the carabao. The boy follows my finger’s direction. They’re wiki flowers, he says. Wild flowefs? I say. Yes, he says. I thought they’re some people’s wash in the sun, I say. The boy asks to be excused and goes away. Now I take a walk along the river. The border ing trees are very leafy, and their shades are cool. There is pleasure in walking. It makes one feel his strength, and vow to keep it. life is for the strong and the happy, get it, ted? Siempre. no, don’t say it in Spanish, it makes you sound insincere. The afternoon was like the morning one could see through goggles. There was color. There was light. And freshness. This is extremely beautiful! Now I think that those settings in the fairy tales are possible, she said and turned around. I was born here; I grew up here, I said. I can't abandon this place. Page 16 THE CAROLINIAN glia'it £tonleA Wildflowers abundantly flourish here, she said with discovery. Yes, I said. Remember? Once I compared my love to them. In the city there is no wildflower. That’s why I take you here. Ted! Ted! I stepped on a wildflower. We examined it. It was badly crushed. Never mind it. It will recover. You know, wild flowers never die. So, the wildflowers are now back. Wait a minute, when did I wish they would never come again? Oh, but that was only a wish, and I know that I am forgiven for it. Wishes do not change the course of things. Wishes are mere inventions of idle men. Do they care to wish for a thing at all, if they can reach it? Don’t tell me yes. I go near the beds of wildflowers. what now, ted? Don’t bother me. Please. I only come to look at them. don’t make it long. If I look at them long or not, why, does it matter? What difference does it make? calm down, ted. whatever I say is for your own good. What good? Leave me alone. Of course, I am always alone. The flowers are very lovely to look at; perhaps, APPREHENSION OF THINGS they never have a single care in the world. They only quiver when the wind blows. I say, My love! My dear! Dear Ted. Do you have the nerve to call me that? It’s allowable for me to call these wildflowers dear, because I mean it. Yes. But do you? Dear Ted. The company has transferred me to the main office in Manila. This is permanent. Some people confuse what-is with what-they-believe-to-be. They call a thing this or that when it is not, and what is actually this or that, not. Is one’s job permanent? Never, never. I hope that people who say it would realize the futility of that statement. How could it be? Only love lasts, lingers, yes. ... And so, let’s be brave. This is the only thing we can do wisely. Let’s be practical; let’s not deprive ourselves of the better chances in life. We are never alone, Ted. There are many people; we can easily associate with them. Don’t jumble things before me, and call one wise and another not, because I have my own cogni tion of relation and of fact. Nothing can take your place; no, not even the whole world. It is you that I want. It is you, can’t you see? I walked along the streets with no place in my mind to go to. I just walked and walked with that linen paper crumpled in my side pocket. I walked and walked because I was trying to prove that there was no distance of time or space. That there was only nearness. I was lonely; I was delirious. I pass ed by a show window, and stopped. I thought I saw her, so I came back. She smiled. What’s this letter? I asked her. She did not quit smiling. What’s this (Continued on page 23) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 17 [WlOBODY in the town of San Quintin could lUIforget that once there was an American nun ^^^Jwho came and lived there for ten years, as the brothers Esteban and Miguel could not. Her name was Sister Margaret of the religious order of the Servants of the Holy Ghost and the elder of the two brothers, Miguel, could remember her very well: well-spaced blue eyes, sparse eyebrows, thin lips, and the beautiful nose like the Virgin’s in the town church. Years ago an American nun was here, remember? the towns folk would say in re miniscence, but now she has gone. The American nun was staying by the little chapel, a short distance from the center of the town, a semi-concrete structure painted grey on the sides, and ivory white in front, with some trees and a green front yard, and a flowering garden border ing the short wood fence that enclosed the rectangu lar lot. Nothing disrupted the quiet of the place, save the birds twittering and the leaves rustling in the wind. Most of the people in the town of San Quintin were indifferent about her presence for the first two years. Even the two brothers, Esteban and Miguel, had the same attitude as the town had for the Ame rican nun in the beginning. Esteban had heard of his mouth, giving the young man a grave look through his eye-glasses. “Why, Miguel, you ought to know that two hundred pesos is two hundred pesos. In words, that doesn’t mean anything, but in cash that can buy even your soul! Hombre, no!” Miguel left the villa quietly, not showing to Don Sebastian that he was hurt, but on the way to their hut he felt so alone and miserable that he started to cry. Esteban was the family he had, he was thinking, and without him he could not imagine how lonely life would be. But in the town of San Quintin, who would really care if his brother would die any day? he thought angrily. When he passed by the chapel, Sister Mar garet was there outside, watering the plants with a sprinkler. She stopped, and asked Miguel, “Why do you look so sad, young man?” Then she noticed the tears that glistened in Miguel’s eyes, and all of a sudden she turned serious. “Why, you’re cry ing!” she said with a warm concern and eagerness. Miguel halted abruptly, feeling very awkward inside as he faced the American nun. He brushed his eyes with his sleeve, to make it seem he was not, not hurt at all, but he couldn’t look straight at her, and was rather confused. “No, ma’am,” he said, “I am not crying.” Miguel remembered the old school rule, and he added, “Good afternoon, ma’The AMERICAN about the history of her country, and talks about nuns and nunnery. Miguel was eighteen years old and was a farmhand in the big hacienda of Don Sebastian, and to his young mind only the farm was worth anything nothing else, not even heaven. He would not mind Sister Margaret, no matter how pretty she was, or how different. But one day Esteban, who had been suffering from consumption of the lungs, was very ill, and all their savings had been washed up. Miguel went to the villa of Don Sebastian, and appealed for a loan. Two hundred pesos only, Don Sebastian, the young man said to the fat-bellied mestizo, cold and shaking slightly before the stocky figure of the hacienda owner. “Only!” Don Sebastian growled, coughing from the smoke of the cigar he was holding in the corner am.” He was a high school boy then, but he could by FRANK A. ROBLES hardly understand the language of the American nun, and he stammered every time he wanted to say something. Somehow, Sister Margaret had the young man talking about his great problem. She inquired whether nobody in the town could give him a hand, and to this, the young man’s answer was eloquent silence. Miguel told the American nun what happen ed at the villa of Don Sebastian. Sister Margaret looked baffled. Suddenly, her face brightened up. “You wait here, please,” she said to Miguel. She turned and went into her room, and took a silver box from her wardrobe, where there was an expensive diamond ring, about the size of two grains of corn, and Page 18 THE CAROLINIAN Shoht St&ueA When she first came, the people of San Quintin were indifferent about her presence, but now they could not forget her . . . even when they have turned old and gray . . . NUN. '<7 /Jwhile looking at it she longingly whispered to her self: Mother, Mother. Together the two went back to the villa of Don Sebastian, Miguel leading the way. It was nearly dusk, and the place was lighted by a three-horse power generator. Only Sister Margaret went up stairs, for she figured it would be better if the young man would not be seen by Don Sebastian. “Why, Sister Margaret, how are you?” Don Sebastian said boisterously, laughing and puffing a cigar. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you. Please sit down. Este, Mameng, Sister Margaret is here.” The old man settled himself in one of the rattan chairs in the spacious sala of the huge villa. Mameng was his wife, and in the town of San Quintin she was known as Dona Carmen; it was very dignified and aristocratic to be called “Dona.” After a short while, Sister Margaret left the villa, together with Miguel. With her were the two hundred pesos which the old man had given her, refusing the diamond ring, which she had brought as security, shaking his balding head good humoredly, and saying, “No, no, never mind, it’s nothing, it’s really nothing at all.” Before she and Miguel parted in the evening she gave the money to the young man. “Go to the doctor in the town, and buy whatever medicine he’ll prescribe for your brother. I’ll see Esteban tomorrow, and I’ll pray for him to night.” Miguel remembered that day, and ever since then he had frequently gone to the chapel to talk with the American nun, for which he soon became the laughing stock among the boys in the town, who clucked their tongues and wagged their heads ro guishly. It was a terrific pleasure to be with Sister (Continued on page 21) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 19 “Who cares for that,” he de manded. “Who indeed!” (Me, me you fool, can’t you see.) I was beside my self. “Help me, Liza, you have to help.” He was pleading. “Is there a chance she’ll care for me.” Phooey! It was too much. I left. I avoided him. I avoided every body. For me, Good Friday had came, too soon. It was noticed at home. My sub-teen sister asked if I was in love. I had the symptoms you see, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, wasn’t merry. I’d have died at her tirade if mother hadn’t stopped her. It was all true you know. Did I say died? I was dead. I ran to find comfort in Fr. Delaney’s book. “Love” he says, “is giving, the wanting to make a person happy.” Neat, here I’m in love and have to make Romy happy by giving him to someone else. Thanks, Father, but . . . thanks. “Liza, Liza,” Romy was calling me. “wait. I tried to talk to you again but you disappeared. This sions we were together and in parties we became a barrio. Our assignments and homework we did together. How I suffered thinking that all he did wasn’t for me. He, he was always in the best of spirits, with help from me. He had my unrelenting faith that he was going to win. I was wondering how much pro gress he’d made. I kept constantly asking him about it. He had to follow instructions to the letter if he wanted to succeed. He was us ing much of my time for instruc tions, and my nerves were frayed. He was certainly inexperienced. He didn’t know how to be popular with other people aside from his classmates and my friends. My friends in fact had become his friends. They kept talking about him. Teasing him in front of me saying he’s good, bright and all the things I knew him to be and more. A day didn’t pass when his name was not mentioned within my hearing. This had to happen when I meant to forget him after his “happiness”. "Romy,” I demanded, after just feeling Special BT HAPPENED. I had been thinking, planning and imagin ing it ever since the first year and now it has happened. I’ll never forget it. He told me he is in love. Perfect, except for one thing: He is in love with someone else. “Tell me,” I barely managed to speak, "all about it.” “She doesn’t even know it.” He was getting red around the ears. “Liza, tell me, would I have a chance? She is popular, what with her beauty and brains coupled to gether and dozens of guys trailing her. She...” This was bad. “She can’t be a scholar like you are,” I coldly in terrupted. Or is she? Heck — it’s just the musings of a lovesick boy, I consoled myself. “Books, twenty years, and that’s all I have to show. No basketball, no baseball, no nothing. I lack ex perience. Girls, I didn’t even notice them.” He was beginning to raise his voice. “You’re the intellectual type.” She can’t be so good, I hoped wildly. is important,” he seriously explain ed. “I’ve got to pass in this and you have to help me. You won’t know what it’s like wanting to make somebody want you as I want her.” Well, Fr. Delaney, you are right, he might as well be happy if I can never, never, ever be. “Yes, Romy, I will. With my little experience in teaching Ca by NELLY McFARLAND techism,” I said, "we will win your fight.” Rule 1: Make her think you are interested in someone else. Rule 2: Get into her gang. Get talked about in front of her. Rule 3: Make her feel special. Since then Romy, walked me home from classes and he even carried my books, just like an eager pupil wanting to learn more from an adored teacher. In excurdenying to Mr. Ybanez, the school clerk, that he was my ‘steady’, “how is it coming along? Don’t you know in this phase of your education you’ve cost me a lot of free book carriers.” “Liza,” he was laughing, “don’t worry, I’m beginning to see signs of hope. You are my best friend and if you should want anything, here I am ready, willing and able.” “Thanks a lot,” I countered dry ly"About Rule two,” he continued, “it’s progressing along fine.” He had a knowing smile on his face. For a dream man, he had a poor sense of humor. The pinning ceremony of his fraternity was approaching. I did n’t have an invitation, I was con sidered off-limits among his Page 20 THE CAROLINIAN The American Nun (Continued from page 19) Margaret listen to her smooth American English. His brother Esteban got well in time, and soon the two of them were often there at the chapel in con versation with Sister Margaret, which made her very happy. The following year was a year of hunger for the town of San Quintin. Rain did not come for months, and the sun baked the earth with intense heat, till even the weeds were withering from thirst, the farms became barren and nearly lifeless. Dur ing that time, Don Sebastian was busy playing his usurious trade and expanding his property with greedy shrewdness. The people in the town made frantic appeals to their patron saint, San Isidro, for rain, making processions and rituals each day. But the heat of the sun did not abate, and in des peration and fatigue the men started to grind their bolos and knives quietly, sullenly, as warriors would in anticipation of war. Sister Margaret was terribly alarmed. She knew how serious things would get if hunger didn’t stop. She mailed a letter at once, addressed to the head of their religious order in the city, asking for relief goods in great amounts. She could not figure out how long hunger would stay, and she was quite surprised that the government in the town would not do anything to avert the danger from rebellion out of discontent and frustration among the masses. “Why has the government not taken any step yet?,” she asked Miguel. The young man merely shrugged his shoulder, and spat on the ground contemptuously, muttering under his breath. “The government, damn the government!” The relief goods came quickly. Sister Margaret requested Miguel to go to the town to tell the people that there was food in the chapel, and soon enough the town folks came rushing noisily Some men vo lunteered to assist the American nun distribute the corn flakes, sardines, corned beef, powdered milk, coffee and sugar, which took them the whole morn ing, and nearly every one got a share. Sister Mar garet, then, sent another requisition for clothes and some more food, and the goods that were delivered to her again lasted for a good six weeks. Then rain poured down from the sky one day, and the farmers friends. Romy was without a girl yet. He was walking me home from my evening class. I was in a nasty mood. I saw him for a while back there talking to the “Madame Cu rie” in class, and an intimate con versation it looked like, too. My work all wasted on the four-eyed monster. Was she the girl? “Liza, will you come to the dance with me? We’ll go together with Tita and her escort.” My pulse quickened. “The spe cial girl—”. I had to be sure. “You are the special girl and more if you will wear this brooch for me. It was grandma’s brooch and she was our special girl.” My! I was the girl! J plowed merrily. The once starving town of San Quintin held a big fiesta in honor of the patron saint, and in gratitude to Sister Margaret. To her, the people in the town gave a nice banquet at which the key men in the government and important figures in the civic organizations were present. “Oh, I’m so happy, Miguel,” Sister sighed to the young man after the affair was over. Five years later, the American nun died. A bullet from a tommy gun bored through the left side of her body, and wounds were found on the palms of hei’ hands. She dropped by the roadside in the pitch dark evening when the rebels swooped down upon the town of San Quintin; she had came out of the chapel, having got word that Miguel was in town, under the alias of “Commander Lucifer.” Miguel had disappeared from the place two years before that raid. He had got into trouble with Don Sebastian, and through political influence Don Sebastian had him jailed in the municipio. Miguel thought he was being cheated by the Don in his wages. Bitterly he vowed to his brother Esteban that he would get out of the prison and get even by all means. He did, and that evening he was back hunting for the head of Don Sebastian with a .45 caliber pistol, and with his raiding band he had the policemen slaughtered like pigs. After she got shot, Sister Margaret, however, did not die instantly. Before she died, she felt two strong arms cradle her limp body, and she thought it was Miguel. “Is that you, Miguel?” she asked faintly and panting; She felt droplets touch fer face. She knew that was Miguel holding her. “Where have you been, Miguel?” she said again, her voice thinning out, and slowly her head drooped against the arms. Half-consciously she murmured: “Ring the bell and tell the town that God is here,” as if she had memorized that line when she was in the grades; then her hands slid to her side, and she was dead. Nobody in the town of San Quintin could for get that once there was an American nun who came and lived there, as the brothers Esteban and Mi guel could not even when their hair had turned grey, it JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 21 ^fy^ce/Wanea • by ELSA YAP • Faculty, alumni glut A HANDFUL of music enthusiasts was conceived the idea of the Faculty-Alumni Glee Club. Like most organizations of this sort, it too had an impetuous beginning, before it finally attained its present status of a genuine, active organization. It was two weeks before College Day when Dr. Paras, being the treasurer of the USC Alumni Organi zation, was asked to present a number in the College Day Program. The idea of organizing a chorus struck him, with faculty members as choristers. The faculty grape-vine spread this startling news to all the faculty members. Without much ado, nineteen energetic, teachers ardent lovers of music presented themselves. The rehearsals were held daily, either in the AudioVisual Room or way out in the Music Room, depend ing on which room was empty. The catch tunes of the native lyrics which Dr. Paras himself had composed were eagerly learned by the members who drifted in to rehearse, half a dozen at a time, a different group each day. Came the much-awaited day. The members, dressed up in ternos and barongs, sang with dignity and seriousness. The spontaneous reaction and loud applause of the audience struck a responsive chord in the hearts of the members. . Why not create a faculty glee club with the small group of trail blazers as the nucleus? This idea, form in the head of Mr. Cesar Dakay of the Chemistry De partment, when given voice was enthusiastically sec onded by Mrs. Avelina Gil of the English Depart ment and Mrs. Crispina Tan of the Normal College. Two weeks later, the club was formally organized at the home of Dr. Paras, who had invited the members to a "little" supper. The elections were held in due time. Dr. Paras was unanimously elected president; Mr. Dakay, vicepresident; Miss Villoria, treasurer; Miss Guangco, sec retary, and Mrs. Gil, PRO. A provisional constitution was drawn up, to be worked out later by Mr. Doronio. The club was to be composed of faculty members and alumni of the University of San Carlos; annual and monthly fees are levied to build up a fund that will cover the cost of the snacks served during every re hearsal. Rehearsals are held weekly, although when the club is due to sing in a program, rehearsals may be called for daily. Throughout the summer months the club met de sultorily for weekly rehearsals. Dr. Paras, the con ductor and director, sweated out his weekly vigil of waiting for members to come to rehearse, for the club was to present a musical program in honor of the Rector, Very Rev. Fr. Kondring on his birthday, June 8. The plan was ambitious. With six songs for the chorus, rehearsals had to be held oftener than once a week, and as soon as enrolment started, Dr. Paras called for daily rehearsals. The club members sensed the urgency and appeared more regularly; and parti cipation being painted in most alluring hues, new re cruits who fell for the high pressure sales-talk swelled the membership to thirty. Each rehearsal became a frenzied discussion of crescendo versus fortissimo, of holds and slurs and staccatos, also of the temo versus the balintcrwak, of cottons and silks and tulle. On June 10, the program was held. Dramatically, the curtain opened on a darkened stage, lighted only by the flickering candles held by the choristers, im pressive in their gala attire. The opening notes trembled in the hushed atmosphere; then the members sang the Invocation. The singing was so inspiring that everybody, the members included, was amazed. Before the last notes faded, the audience applauded. Tickled pink by the thunderous applause, the members felt amply rewarded for the sacrifices and frustrations during the gruelling rehearsals. A piano selection, a dance number and some thought-provoking remarks from Father Rector capped the program. The per formance was a tiemendous success, beyond the (Continued on page 34) Page 22 THE CAROLINIAN THE APPREHENSION... (Continued from page 17) letter, et? What is this? I would have broken the glass of the showwindow with my bare hands if the chinaman had not come out and invited me to get inside and see something and buy it. Do you have more of this inside? I asked him, and pointed at her. The chinaman scratched his head and grinned, and told me that they were not selling mannequins. She’s pretty, I said and went away hurriedly, leaving the chinaman astonished. The meanings of love are as sun dry as the inhabitants of this world. People differ in their in terpretations of love, because sameness is hard to attain. If it were otherwise, perhaps there would be no need for reason why, and there would be no tears and parting. There is a foolishness which some people in love usually com mit upon having been rejected. Yes, the jilted called love just an infatuation or a dream. Infatua tions must pass and dreams must die. Correct. But can we let love pass or die, by merely calling it an infatuation or a dream? “For get her, Ted." I shook my head. “Okay, Ted. You love her. But she doesn’t love you. It won’t work.” “Doc, I still have my hope, or else I am now as good as dead. Why, is reciprocity a condition precedent to love? Doc, let me tell you this: My love is a sun; it will shine for both of us Forever.” But, of course, air-castles are called true and substantial only when they do not yet crumble. Now I need not be led to realize that my attempts at golden dreams have all been split upon a rock. I just have to stop acting like an April fool; the curtain has long fallen down, and the audience gone home. I have gone beyond the ver tex of suffering where the pains must bite hard and be no more. What can one, who has deeply loved someone, do when that some one’s heart does not beat for him? To feel nothing or happy is to be come foolish, but to go on crying forever is neither proper nor af fording help, f tinned A NEWCOMER IN USC... by REV. EUGENE VERSTRAELEN, S.V.D. A NEW COURSE is offered in the Graduate School. It is perhaps use ful to introduce this new subject to the Carolinians, because many might have a wrong, or at least an inaccurate, idea about linguistics and linguists. Who is a linguist? In lormer times he who knew many languages was called a lin guist. In this sense the national hero Rizal was a linguist. But in recent years the word "lin guist" has acquired a slightly dif ferent meaning. Especially since the marvellous development of the socalled structural linguistics, it is no longer necessary for a linguist to know many languages; a few lan guages will do, the attention being directed more to the essence of language and to its general prin ciples and problems. For this study, knowledge of only a few languages is sufficient. Oftentimes somebody with the knowledge of only two or three languages may be more of a linguist than another who knows many. But why study linguistics, and es pecially Philippine linguistics? The reasons are many. When you study the modern struc tural linguistics, you will discover many fascinating and often revolu tionary ideas. After such a study you will have a more thorough knowledge about the intricate mechanism of language, and about the general laws of its development and growth. It is very regrettable that here in the Philippines we have hardly any structural linguist. Prof. Cecilio Lopez of UP, himself a struc tural linguist, also complained about this fact. And there is indeed much reason for complaint. Many of our scholars work hard at writing articles about languages and dialects, but since they do not approach their subject systematically and scientifi cally, the results are poor and in many aspects even wrong. And, to quote Prof. Cecilio Lopez, "We, structural linguists, do not even re act, simply because we would not be understood; in silence we regret their blunders." This is then the first reason: structural linguistics will give us quite new, fascinating and often revolutionary concepts about language. Further, very little is done scienti fically about the Philippine lang uages. This makes the study of Phi lippine linguistics doubly interest ing, even thrilling and exciting. We are still in a virginal field. With not too many difficulties we can do re markable work, set up original theses, discover the dark history of languages. Once you master the general principles, it will not be too difficult to write a thesis that tells us something really new. In other fields of study much has already been explored, not much is left for original work. But in the field of Phillippine linguistics almost every thing is new, each step we make leads to the discovery of something yet unknown. To study Philippine linguistics means to study only that which can further our knowledge about Philip pine languages. From this viewpoint it would be practically useless to learn Russian. Useful are such lang uages as Old Javanese, Sanskrit, etc. Old Javanese is a language (this term is scientifically not correct, but it would take too long to explain here exactly what Old Javanese is) very closely related to Tagalog and Bisaya. It can give us better knowl edge about the history of the Philip pine languages. Besides, its study introduces us to a very interesting civilization of the Malay people in former times, and to the accultura tion-problems of Indian and Indo nesian cultures. We shall meet several great men of the Malayan race. To mention only one: Dharmakirti of Sumatra, the most learned man of his time (about 1150 AD). Even Atisa, the great professor of the Nalanda University in India, was for a long time his pupil. Also learn ed Chinese came to Indonesia to study there, v.g. Itsing in the seventh century. In many Old Javanese texts men tion is made of customs and habits (Continued on page 36) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 23 '(lanea MISSION YEAR (The year 1959 has been declared Mission Year by the Catholic Hierarchy of the Philippines. Pub lished hereunder are excerpts of the declaration. —Ed.) This Catholic Philippines, of which we are so justly proud, was once mission territory. Mis sionaries from Spain converted our forefathers to the true faith, and for many years, at the cost of incessant labor and heroic sacrifice, schooled them in that faith. Then missionaries from other lands came to help us organize and maintain all the varied works — the seminaries, schools, hospitals, orphanages, centers of Catholic Action — which go to make up a mature and self-per petuating Christian community. Today, in the greater part of our national territory, the Church can truly be said to be securely established. We are therefore ready ... to perform for others that same service that we ourselves have received in such generous measure from the Universal Church. It is to call attention to this fact that we dedicate 1959 as Mission Year......... If we are to look about us, we will see that there are parts of our own country which are still mission territory. It is in these missions that most of the priests and religious from other lands who have made the Philippines their adopted country are laboring. . . These missions are generally quite poor. The missionaries directing them often have to forego the conveniences and even the necessities of life. They have been for many years dependent on the generosity of European and American Catholics. We Filipino Catholics ought to make it a point of honor to take a greater share, an ever increasing share, in their financial support. . . Beyond our shores lie the new nations of Southeast Asia, with their teeming populations ready for the word and grace of God, if someone will only bring it to them in a spirit of humility and peace. We can come to them not as strangers but as brothers. . . And if we cannot send as many priests and religious as we would like, because of our own needs, nevertheless we should help all we can, both financially and by our prayers. From those whom God has blessed with a sufficiency or an abundance of this world's goods, we ask financial assistance for the missions. . . From you, fathers and mothers, we ask generosity in placing no obstacles in the way of your beloved children if God should deign to give them that noblest of vocations, a vocation to the missions. . . From our beloved brothers and the priesthood, and our sons and daughters in the religious life, we ask a lively interest in every phase of mission work, and a readiness at all times to answer the mission call themselves if this would be given them. Let the observance of this Mission Year make us all mission-minded and let it be said of the Filipino nation in after years that they gave freely what they freely received, and that they took their full share in the work of bringing the joy and peace, the justice and mercy of Christ to the peoples of Asia. For the Philippine Hierarchy: (Sgd.) JUAN C. SISON, D.D. Coadjutor-Archbishop of Nueva Segovia President, CWO Administrative Council Page 24 THE CAROLINIAN I 4 CREATION.......... joey returns back again jerry......... i had no other alternative but to come back, there was no other place to go. the air got so hot in bohol. they threw me out even before my feet got a good feel of bohol soil. now, don't get excited, the story goes this way: right after gra duation last march, i started for the land of dagohoy. wait a minute! there was a hitch here, when i arrived at the pier, the boat had already pulled away, so, i did the best to meet the situation — i swam all the way across, esther williams couldn't have done it, you bet. but i did it! oh, boy, was i smart! well, when i got there, all wet of course as i am not waterproof, i immediately proceeded to carry out what i want there for. i had decided to engage in the mining business, an ubi boom, like the California gold boom way back in 1849, i was set to create! but alas! when i tried to obtain a mining concession, i was flatly refused by the director of the bureau of mines, reason: i was an alien! something in their constitution provides that the exploitation, develop ment and utilization of their natural resources shall be limited to citizens of bohol, or to associations or corporations at least sixty per centum of the capital of which is owned by such citizens, there is no parity rights amendment, jerry, no matter how i tried to insert one. we, filipinos, are not given the privileges that americans enjoy under our constitution, too bad. the fees too, jerry, are very much higher than what we charge here in the Philippines, there is a discrepancy of 50 %. this stands for 40 % marginal tax on dollars, and 10% commission for the bureau director for granting you what you ask. just imagine what that amounts to! and all i had at that particular moment was ten bucks representing every thing i possessed in this whole danged world. i hated the whole set-up. so, i tried to raise cain. i delivered speeches left and right, wrote articles here and there, filed petitions in court, all assailing the constitutionality of their constitution and the legality of their laws, i became a national figure overnight, congress began to buzz with activity like a disturbed beehive, investigations followed, they found out that i had entered the republic illegally, i had no visa, no passport, no nothing, the immigration commissioner kicked me out that ended my mining venture. and now, here i am, jerry, more joey than ever, somebody took pity on me and designated me assistant to the assistant to the assistant of the assistant to the assistant moderator of this mag, whatever that is. at any rate the editor treats me more than just fairly well, he's taken me a lot of times already to jenny's, you know, there's a standing policy of his which in effect amounts to this: whenever he eats, every body eats; when he pays, well, you know what — he's a very generous guy — everybody pays! he's such a nice fellow to associate with. really, jerry, times have become a bit harder now. there's an economic crisis, although there's a lot of money, the poor who consti tute the majority of our country's populace, have practically nothing, while a few rich people have more than plenty, in fact they are wallowing in wealth like pigs, prices are going up. there's political crisis too. talks of war over berlin and war in the Philippines, it is rumored that the boholanos are planning an invasion of cebu. the worst thing is they've got lapu-lapu on their side! verily, the future of the Philippines is as dark as. . well, midnight, it can surely use a lot of whitewashing. you can do that jerry, can't you? i may also lend a hand, your pal, joey ■ -ASIDE by ALFREDO AMORES • This column, as the title suggests, will deal with persons, events and other things of interest pertaining to the Col lege of Engineering. To start with, we have here a brief dossier on the college. • The college, with an enrolment of about 950, is offering chemical, mecha nical and electrical engineering, archi tecture and a two-year surveying course. • A familiar scene of the Engineering building is the group of Engineering boys that gathers every afternoon from 5:00 to 5:30 in front of the main en trance to the building. Actually, they're just there to get a breath of fresh air and "to watch the world roll by". • The college is known (aside from its scholastic achievements) for the close and informal relationship between the students and the faculty. This closeness and informality should not, however, be equated with laxity. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The college is now adopting a rigorous policy designed to weed out the unfit. * * * • The teaching staff has been re-enforced with ten new instructors. Promi nent among them are Mrs. Guadalupe Mansueto, Mr. Calixto Castro and Mr. Rudolfo Ferrer. Mrs. Mansueto is an experienced mathematics teacher. She is a registered civil and sanitary engineer and a holder of the education degree, with a major in mathematics. Mr. Castro holds degrees in chemical, mechanical and electrical engineering. Last year, he took up graduate studies on plastics in West Germany. This year, he hopes to add a bachelor's degree in chemistry to his name. Mr. Rudolfo Ferrer, a licensed elec trical engineer, finished his course magna cum laude in the University of the Phi lippines. Until last year, he was teach ing electronics and electrical transients in UP. At present, he is teaching elec tronics and doing research work on television here. The other new instructors are Miss Louella Lacson and Messrs. Anacleto Caballero, Camilo Comiling, Victor Le(Continnetl on page 35) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 25 NEWS Rev. Fr. W'alslatcik, S.V.D. ENROLMENT STATISTICS Reports released from the Re gistrar’s Office last June 13th re vealed an aggregate of 5,700 stud ents enrolled in the various depart ments of the University (college level) for this semester. The College of Commerce and Secretarial leads the roll with total of 1,822, beating the College of Li beral Arts by a wide margin of 422 students. The Teachers’ College landed in the third berth with an enrolment of 1000 flat, while the College of Engineering and Archi tecture placed a close fourth with 950 on its rosters. The College of Pharmacy and the College of Law barely made the race as each re gistered 258 and 251 respectively. The Graduate School hugged the tail with 59 enrollees. THE ADMINISTRATION Fr. John Fr. John Vogelgesang left re cently for his new assignment in Manila where he will handle the publication of a mission magazine, the SVD to be put out by the Fathers. We never realized how busy a man Fr. John was until he went away leaving a lot of vacancies. The administration had a hard time looking for somebody to as sume the moderatorship of the Carolinian which he had so ably handled for the last three years. Nobody, it seemed, was willing to shoulder the responsibility. Fr. Joseph Baumgartner had to be convinced that he would only be acting moderator. Fr. Baum, as he is fondly called by those close to him, is concurrently Chief Li brarian. The Headship of the English De partment was temporarily adjudi cated to Mrs. Avelina J. Gil. The Editorship of the University Bulletin, the weekly publication of the University, was dumped on the lap of Fr. Lawrence Bunzel, the new Dean of Student Affairs. Fr. Bunzel has recently returned from the Catholic University of America Rev. Fr. Pedro Kranewitter, S.V.D. where he specialized in Guidance and Counselling. Fr. Pedro Kranewitter, a new addition to the USC force, was ap pointed acting Dean of Religion. Fr. Pedro, an Argentine, has taken higher studies in Spanish Litera ture at the Catholic University in Washington, D.C. He is presently the Head of the Spanish Depart ment and Adviser to the Student Catholic Action. New Philosophy Head Fr. Joseph Watzlawik, a recent arrival from Manila, has been ap pointed Head of the Department of Philosophy and Regent of the College of Law. PEOPLE One Plus One Equals One . . . June 28th, Sunday, was a redletter day for Miss Miguela Es trella Martin. It marked the termi nation of her blessed bachelorhood and the commencement of a more blessed married life. The fortunate groom is Mr. Jose Amorado Descallar. The couple went on their honey moon to Lanao, the home province of the bride and later to Baguio. They have decided to establish their home in the City of Cebu. SEATO SCHOLARS Two Carolinians, Miss Nela Delima of the College of Education and Mr. Filemon Fernandez of the College of Law, were each recently the recipients of one-year SEATO scholarships. The scholarship is a sort of aid to financially handicapped stud ents who are leading in their aca demic classes and who possess qualities of leadership. ACHIEVEMENT The University of San Carlos boasts of: A hundred per cent passing re cord in the Board of Examinations for Pharmacists. A hundred per cent passing re cord in the Board Examinations for Architects. San Carlos’ candi dates were Messrs. Melecio Ajero and Ignacio Salgado. J/r. Renedicto Alcantara Page 26 THE CAROLINIAN NEWS A twenty-five per cent passing record in the CPA Board Exami nations, with Mr. Benedicto Al cantara copping 8th place. The other successful examinees are: Jesus Canon, Luz Yee, Pedrito Ru bio, Maximo Veloso, Aristedes Me rida, Bartolome Pozon, Tomas Cala, Leonito Garciano, Pablita Palangan, Resurreccion Veloso, Lucionito Alino, Alito Despi, Carlos Talisaysay, Jesusa Maskarino, Emeterio Cagara, Pacianito Paraguya and Francisco Mendoza. Also: An air-conditioned audio visual room. DONATION The West German government through the cultural attache of its embassy in the Philippines, Count Detlevu Rantzau, donated sixteen pup-tents to the University of San Carlos last June 30, 1959 for the use of the USC boy scouts. Reverend Richard Arens, High School Director, accepted the donation on behalf of the Univer sity. The pup-tents feature inner and outer tents: the outer, to keep the inner tents cool; and the inner, to protect the occupants from getting wet when it rains. The inner tents have rubber bottoms and built-in mosquito nets. Attending the turn-over ceremo nies were prominent officials of the Bureau of Private Schools in this city. They were: Mr. Julian Yballe, Superintendent In Charge of the Nel a Delima Count Rantzau with a VSC Roy Seoul Central Visayas District, and Mr. Damaso Morales. Others present were Atty. Pedro Son, Atty. San tos Migallos, Judge Dominador Ve loso, Don Gil Garcia, Mr. Nicanor Santos, Mr. Sevilla, Mr. Streegan and Mr. Edmundo Velasco, all be longing to the Cebu Boy Scouts Council. ORGANIZATIONS USC Legal Aid Bureau Reorganized On June 19, 1959, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the USC Legal Aid Bureau started its second year of existence with the following new set of officers: Mr. Adelino Sitoy Chief Legal Consultant Mr. Froilan Quijano Asst. Chief Legal Consultant Miss Carnielita Luna Record Custodian Mr. Filemon Fernandez Chief, Criminal Law Division and Liaison Officer Mr. D. Barcenas Asst., Criminal Law Division Miss Lourdes Ceniza Chief, Civil Law Division Mr. Manuel Valenzuela Asst., Civil Law Division Mr. Valerio Salazar Chief, Gene’-al Research Division Atty. Cesar Kintanar Adviser A brainchild of Dean Fulvio C. Pelaez, the Legal Aid Bureau is designed to offer legal advice to Carolinians on legal problems that confront them, render aid and as sistance to them on legal matters, encourage scholarship and uphold the honor and reputation of the University. The Bureau is composed of third and fourth year students with at least one-semester residence, having a general average of not less than 2.0 and of good moral character. Membership is limited to not less than twelve nor more than eighteen. Debating, Speech and Drama Clubs to be Formed Realizing the importance of the ability to express oneself clearly, Atty. Fulvio C. Pelaez and Miss Leonor Borromeo are planning to form a debating club, and a speech and drama club respectively. The move is apparently moti vated by the desire of the two crusading professors to develop hidden talents among the student population of the University. # JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 27 ON • THIS SIDE « Of “3 ’m Z)akinff IT Step by Step ” by GEORGE BARCENILLA The Author HERE was the scuffle of feet rush ing forward to greet the victors and then there was a silent measured one-two drum of soft-heeled shoes, FR. LAWRENCE BUNZEL. S.V.D. Athletic Moderator JUAN AQUINO. JR. dignified, striding unobtrusively but in a different direction. With hands extended forward, I heard him say: "Congratulations for a job well done". I saw the man take the offered hand. It was a composed face that looked straight at the well-wisher and said: "Thank you. Father Rector, I'm taking it step by step." It was the more remarkable that Father Kondring offered his hands to Coach Juan Aquino, Jr. because USC on that night lost to UE at the UV Coliseum the National Inter-Col legiate crown. It was a bold promise. No man could say more at that time when we were looking at a team so tena cious with a lot of grit, cheated by Fate in its campaign for college basketball's most coveted prize. Power was there. Offensive thrusts were superb. Combinations and set plays were executed with ease to near perfection. What they lacked in height was made up for by their outside shooting power. This was the team that lost. Losing only thru a strange quirk of Fate, (that maybe some forces combined to destroy.) It was easy to believe the Coach at that time. Barring possible loss of men, we would have trodden an easy way to the crown this year. Considerations were not taken then of possible decline on the Warrior's manpower through graduation, com mercial offers to outstanding players and physical injuries. In winning the inter-collegiate crown, the CCAA is the first obs tacle the USC Golden Warriors have to pass. And although the other schools in Cebu have what we con sider less than average teams, it always has been my observation that a David can still slay a Goliath. Quite a few Manila college teams revitalized, super-enforced, in a sense that their past years' showing caused many heartburns to USC fans are further barriers the Golden Warriors have overcame before capturing for themselves the pennant. Danny Deen's graduation caused a vacuum hard to fill in the court stra tegy of Juan Aquino. His services as a ball-handler, will be sorely missed. Without his tricky foul-bait vita! points needed for marginal victories will be sadly missing. And his greatest asset, his superb com mand over his men around the hardcourt, is a force hard to replace. Being the skipper for three years, his leadership had been tested, his calibre known and no one question ed his authority around the hardcourt. Another warrior stalwart whose services are needed but who now is out is Agapito Rogado. A prized for ward whose production usually ex ceeded two digits. Sometimes con verted to guard or center, Rogado is a versatile player, equally able in all his positions. I remember Roga do, he always tried to give his best. He was a bystander hero. A sort of self-made player, giving vent to all his ball-handling ability. He ruled the backboard as though it were the palms of his hands. Quick on his feet, light on body, Rogado will be a name until another one like him comes up. The spirit that made the USC team a fighting force has been of men willing to make sacrifices for her honor. The tragedy of Reynaldo dela Cruz is a measure of that honor. He was great in his own way. As' a stabilizing force of the team, he had no equal. But now, sidelined due to physical injury, dela Cruz' twohanded push-shot will be a spectacle remembered only by those who saw him in his heyday. It will take some real effort before a team can be whipped up as strong and as determined as that of last year. Talents and materials as those are rare indeed. The gap left by those who went on (Continued on page 35) Page 28 THE CAROLINIAN RODOLFO JUSTINIANI & GEORGE BARCENILLA Gke CCAA by RODOLFO JUSTINIANI Galdo THE "god Hoophet'' after lying low in this part of the cage world is again reawakened to witness once more hostilities among local cage greats in this number-one sports in the Philippines. USC, UV, CIT, USP, CSJ, and SWC will be out there to lampoon each other, not forgetting of course to cry hosanna to the highest god on "Mount Hoopdom". Who will be given the nod by the gods is still the big riddle. Whoever want to sit on the throne will have to do a lot of muscle flexing. USC, the defending champs, will have a lot to say about who will again sit on the throne. Un easy may be the head that wears a crown but the Warriors are not showing that they are weary and uneasy of the crown on their heads. The USC Warriors, still under the same bench mentor, "Coach of the Year'' Juan Aquino, Jr. after last year's fruitful har vest aim to do it again this year. The Warriors with their shields mended and polished and their double-edged swords sharpened for the big fight are ready to meet the best of whatever the Lancers, Wildcats, Panthers can throw at them. Whether the Lancers are as sharp and pointed as their namesake in India, not so long ago who made the "untouch ables" fear even the mention of their name, is still harassing UV followers. The CIT Wildcats are not quite as wild as they used to be. Staying long in the CCAA "jungle" has made them quite Monceda Palmares Reyes The Author tame. The USP Panthers' claws were dull las! year. This year, what do you say, Panthers'? The CSJ Jaguars may bite hard and growl louder this year but they rather prefer to do so where the fight is the thickest. The SWC Typhoons have not hit the baro meter mark right yet, and as usual are still as cool as a sea breeze. Better blow harder this year. Some of these teams may really have some surprises up their sleeves and meanwhile, ye gods will just have to wait. THE WARRIORS The USC Warriors aiming again to wrap up this year's CCAA crown will miss the stewardship of skipper Danny Deen and the services of gangling Agapito Ro gado. Ertswhile skipper Deen is now sweating it out not on the hard court this year but on the word "court". He's taking the bar exams. Peping Rogado, the terror of the rebound in last year's inter collegiate tourney, is not playing anymore for the Warriors this year. Coach Dodong Aquino's charg ers, despite the loss of their two old reliable mainstays, are not showing any cold feet to their rivals. With three six-footers on the team, Isidoro Canizares who's the tallest at 6'3", Dionisio Jakosalem 6'2" and Honore Rama just right at 6', the USC Warriors have quite a high ceiling among local teams. (Continued on page 36) COT LT COL ANGELITO BROAOLA CDT LT COL GUIDO ESCOBER Once again, we find ourselves immersed neck-deep in the tasks of piecing together little hits of in formation we squeezed out of the DMST to present a more or less recognizable picture of the actual military aspect of student life. We find the task not too gratifying, what with all the red tape — cen sorship, approvals, military secrets and all that — we have to go through. We have the presentiment that if this set-up is to continue, this page will inevitably metamor phose into a personality column. CHANGES: The school year opens with at least two notable changes in the ROTC set-up. The first is the ces sation of the practice of hazing in coming officers of the Corps. Time was when the USC quadrangle was an arena wherein monkeys were made out of applicants for officer ship by avenging senior officers every first week of classes and the lobby always jampacked with eager spectators especially members of our skirted populace who consider themselves available any time for sponsorship. The second is the holding of drills on Saturday afternoons instead of on Sunday mornings. This was ob viously the outcome of Council Pres ident Osmena's efforts to limit the drills to the rock-bottom minimum of three hours and give Sundays to the cadets free. REORGANIZATION Strength: The USC ROTC Corps for the school year 1959-60 took its shape formally last June 13th, Sat urday, with a record strength of one thousand and one hundred and fifteen men, forming three batallions of three companies each. There was a marked increase of over three hundred over last year's Corps strength. Office Personnel: The DMST boost ed its own strength too, with the addition of four tactical officers to the original Aquino-Modequillo-Papellero combine, namely, Lt. Ramon Bataclan, Regimental TO, Lt. Louie Batongmalaque, 1st batallion TO, Lt. Page 30 R O T C Rodolfo Gustilo, 2nd battalion TO, and Lt. Geronimo Creer, 3rd batal lion TO. These tactical officers are in charge of the instruction and dis cipline of cadets. Corps Officers: The selection of the major officers of the Corps follow ed closely the time-honored principle of lhe survival of the fittest The designation for instance, of Cdt. Col. Eulalio Bendanillo as Corps Commander was premised mainly on his having topped the theoretical examination for advanc ed cadets in the whole third military area comprising twelve provinces. Cdt. Lt. Col. Angelito Bronola en throned himself at the top of the 1st batallion by placing second to Ben danillo in the same examination with Cdt. Maj. Agustin Escano who got for himself the Commandership of F Infantry. Cdt. Lt. Col. Cesar Salera's de signation to 2nd Batallion command ership was a recognition of his love for and devotion to duty. For a splendid showing in com pany drill during the last tactical inspection, Cdt. Lt. Col. Guido Escober was awarded the Command ership of the 3rd batallion. On the same basis, the following were commissioned adjutants and S3 of their respective staffs: Cdt. Maj. Edilberto Ludovica, Corps; Cdt. Maj. Jesus Mercado, Jr., 1st batallion; Cdt. Maj. Rolando Eborlas, 2nd ba tallion; and Cdt. Maj. Carlos Tonelete, 3rd batallion. "All other members of the differ ent staffs are second year basic of ficers", says Sgt. Papellero. "This is in consonance with the pentomic concept of organization." It would seem therefore, that this pentomic set-up is nothing but a mixing of good and rotten eggs in one basket. Sometimes the set-up comes out good, sometimes it doesn't. It all de pends on the proportion of the mix ture. Incidentally, the USC ROTC Corps, (already "pentomicked") through the last tactical inspection, took a THE CAROLINIAN TNSTDE - DH1ST "big jump" from its star-studded sky to the purgatory of thirteenth. PEOPLE OF THE PHIUPPINES VS. ANDRES ORAIS. An incident which took place last June 20th, injected a little sensation into the drudgery of drilling under the heat of the sun. An officer and a cadet tried to convert the drill grounds at the BHSD at Mango Avenue into a boxing arena. This incident would have been passed as ordinary and trivial had not one of the adversaries brought his case to the attention of no less than the people of the Philippines. A Case of Insubordination: Cdt. Capt. Andres Orais, platoon leader of the first platoon of Hotel Co., calls it a clear case of insubordination. He was drilling his platoon when he noticed that Cdt. Palana was out of step. Desiring to imprint into the minds of his men the idea of unifor mity and precision in every phase of military life, he called the attention of Palana. It so happened that at that particular moment, Palana was in no mood for appreciating cor rections. (His appendicitis was giving him trouble, if he is to be be lieved.) He hurled epithets at Orais, who of course, resented the action. But his patience and leadership took the better part of him and the episode ended with a friendly hand shake with Palana after a more or less spirited verbal tussle. But Palana, according to Orais, probably misunderstood his gesture of friendship as a m.ark of cowardice. And lost no time in telling the other cadets about it. One Cdt. Rosaroso reported to Orais, and together, they confronted Palana, who, according to Orais, exhibited overt acts of fighting. His patience, already on edge, altogether evaporated. He for got himself and the next thing he knew, he was raining blows on Pa lana, who ultimately landed at the Southern Islands hospital with several injuries despite the interven tion of cooler heads. While there, he filled out a complaint for physi cal injuries. Victim oi Malicious Fabrication: Palana vehemently denied having told anybody anything to the effect that Orais was a coward. That was a purely malicious fabrication, he said. Neither did he display overt acts of fighting when confronted by Orais and Rosaroso. On the con trary, he was completely amazed at the charge Rosaroso made. But be fore he could make any explanation to Orais, the latter rained blows on him. After effects: The controversy, there fore, hinges on two important ques tions of fact, namely, whether or not Palana did actually say what Rosaroso claimed he said, and whether or not Palana did what Orais claimed he did when con fronted by him and Rosaroso. When this matter was brought to the attention of the DMST, Capt. Jose M. Aquino immediately ordered Lt. Gustilo and later, Lt. Creer, to con duct a full-dress investigation of the case and submit their findings to him. But before the investigators could act, the parties to the contro versy were summoned by the police for preliminary investigation. At the time of this writing, Orais and Palana were already on friend ly terms. Palana withdrew his com plaint, and the controversy, having been settled amicably between them, was relegated to oblivion be fore anybody could render a deci sion on the merits. July 4th: With peace restored, the Corps was in high spirits when came the time for the celebration of the glorious fourth. The ever-ready third batallion of Cdt. Lt. Col. Guido Escober, with the band and the Corps staff, repre sented San Carlos in the grand mili tary parade at two o'clock in the afternoon of Saturday. The USC guns too, manned by our artillery boys with Capt. Aquino acting as Convoy Commander, add ed glamour to the unit. The parade started from the Fuen te Osmena-Capitol road and ended up at Ploza Independencia, where a literary-musical program with in termissions of political speeches, culminated the day's affair. # Commandant Jose M. Aquino has shown greater initiative this year in trying to turn out better trained ROTC cadets by implementing, through his cadet officers, a new set of rules de signed to revolutionize military training in San Carlos. Hitherto, ROTC cadets knew only gunnery and the nomencla ture of weapons upon gradua tion. Through field lectures given under the commandant’s directive, San Carlos hopes to turn out more intelligent and well-rounded army officers. It is not uncommon to find, even among officers, physicallypresent-but-mentally-absent ele ments during briefings. The idea of checking on how much an individual officer has absorbed from the lecture after every session, will undoubtedly sepa rate the dreamers and glamour boys from the earnest ones. The appointment of Lt. Ra mon Bataclan as Regimental Tactical Officer will immensely benefit the Corps. Lt. Bataclan was, prior to his attachment to San Carlos, instructor of the 4.2 mortar section of the Heavy Artillery Unit of the Philippine Army for six months. Capt. Aquino, recognizing the fact that his men are responsi ble enough to know their obli gations and human enough to feel the sense of shame and hu miliation that goes with every offense committed against the military rules, has done away with the practice of punishing erring cadets in front of their units, and instead has made full use of the demerit system under which any cadet who has reach ed his full quota of 50 demerits or 3 absences is automatically dropped from the roster and has relied mainly on the honor sys tem for the maintenance of dis cipline. # JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 31 Science E HAD tried several provinces in our collecting and exploring ex peditions and found each of them interesting in different ways. Last summer, however, we finally had the long-awaited chance to try that most interesting strip of land called Palawan. Because of its isolation, scientists consider its fauna well worth studying. It has been honored with many scientific expeditions from foreign countries, ever since the days of Spanish occupation. Strange forms of animals and in sects not found elsewhere in this country exist in Palawan, especially on the small island of Balabac to the south. Aside from its interesting fauna, Palawan is inhabited by three ethnic groups which add to the wealth of scientific subjects upon which interested researchers may draw their beads. There are the Bataks of northern Palawan, the Tagbanuas and the Palawans, whom Across the bridge toward Aboabo for new PRIZE CATCHES! and back again, with 2 kilos of wild pigs meat instead! (Last siuniner vacation, three faculty members of the USC biology department — Messrs. Julian Jumalon, Samuel Ochotorena, and Cristobal Plateros — teamed up with Mr. Saul Ochotorena, a USC zoology graduate who is now teaching at the San Isidro High in Malaybalay, explored the wilds of Palawan, and came back with pretty interesting scientific gains. Mr. Jumalon here makes some observa tions on their trip. The reader will pardon his partiality for butter flies: he is a lepidopterist. — Ed.) LISTEN , PALAWAN IS C we encountered in central Palawan, and whose territory extends to the far south in Coral Bay. The last two groups seem rather identical. Our ethnologist, Dr. M. Maceda, may, in the near future, shed more light on the main differences between these groups. The presence of these Non-Christians makes a scientific as signment to Palawan doubly inte resting. In the fields ol Palawan, one is likely to cross the paths of other scientific parties which are simul taneously working at various points. There are a number of such places on earth that are the favorite rendezous' of scientists and explorers. One of the rarer joys of field-work ers, aside from bagging rare speci mens, is meeting fellow-scientists on the trail, at which time one involun tarily lifts his hat and greets, "Dr. Livingstone I presume" Strange enough, in some places you'll come across traces of recent occupation of clearings or inland sitios by ex plorers or naturalists, as there are always fresh "Kilroy-was-here" sorts of evidence left behind. Our party was stationed most of the time at Irawan, a barrio only fourteen kilometers from Puerto Princesa along the south road, and only about a mile from the foothills of the Stavely Mountain. Incidentally, Ira wan is the gateway to the Iwahig Penal Colony, which stretches over forty kilometers. We were therefore making our daily forays in the danger zone infested by escaped convicts. This we later verified; it was not unusual to encounter pat rols composed of trusted prisoners sent out to get the escapees, dead bt/ Nubian ^umaton or alive. Eventually we got used to the situation, which, at first, filled us with considerable trepidation and discomfort, and went about our busi ness with less ado. People were simply puzzled why we stuck to that place to which cautious residents gave a wide berth. What made us stick in the fact that it is rich in lepidoptera; we were reluctant to leave it in favor of untried areas because of limited time. Our daily activities were mostly along the fourteen-kilometer stretch of the gradually ascending mountain road leading to the chromite mine. This is a well vegetated winding road, crossing streams a dozen times. Most of our butterfly treasures from Palawan were taken in this Page 32 THE CAROLINIAN Science A Papilla palawanicus soars overhead, while the Lady Veil waterfall cascades down the rochs at Kalatlgas, to meander shoreward and mix with the Sulu Sea. To Professor Julian Juma lon and to Messrs. Samuel Ochotorena, Cristobal Plateros, and Saul Ochotore na, indefatigable explorers of life in the tvilds of our country, go our admiration and gratitude. Herman Kondring, S.V.D. Rector rich area. Even in mid-summer this region is rich in species belonging to the Papilionidae, Pieridae, Danaidae and Nymphalidae families. To deal with each interesting species' taken here would demand a lengthy discourse. Most of the forms occur ring in Palawan are quite different from corresponding species found ALLING in other parts of the Islands. One is indeed tempted to claim that most of these insects have their origin in Borneo and other parts of the In donesian islands. The isolation of Palawan no doubt, has developed these geographical forms through long adaptation to a different type of environment and climate. Another peculiarity of Palawan butterflies is the presence of a good number of mimetic forms. Many of these are Papilionids (swallowtails) which are supposed to mimic the members of the Danaid family (re latives of the Monarch), in order to enjoy immunity from the attacks by birds, reptiles and other known enemies of butterflies. In this case, the similarity of external structures and habits is striking. In this parti cular phase of lepidopterology alone, a never-ending fascination and interest is in store for the stud ent of nature. Yale University, thru its vast array of materials in its comparative collection of insects, is extending its investigation in this field of study. In its ceaseless quest for more evidence from nature to substantiate the theory of MIMICRY, Yale University will find Palawan a rich area for abundant examples of this strange behavior of certain butterflies. Working in central Palawan for about five weeks is hardly enough to enable a researcher to establish all the pertinent facts on its butterfly fauna. However, even from this short space of time, it is feasible to With two weeks crop of beard and mustache, they thought they could terrorize and corner the Kalatlgas Daedalus ... advance some pertinent statements regarding some external features of lepidopterology. This will be dealt with in several articles, as a report on our expedition, intended for pub lication in the Journal of the Lepidopterists' Society, a scientific quar terly published in the United States. This will help give foreign scientists a glance at our butterfly fauna and help promote the much desired ex change of ideas and techniques. Our country is well known for its rich insect fauna, but only a trickle of information and even materials has (Continued on page 34) JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 33 Science Listen, Palawan is Calling (Coni'<1 from page 33) so far reached the outside world because of the rarity of researchers or lepidopterists in the Islands. Palawan is so rich in butterflies that even the moistureless summer days failed to affect their abundance in the lowland jungles and the mountainous areas. Our party en countered them along watercourses and in the woods bordering streams and creeks. The daily hunt by the four members of the expedition re sulted in a rich haul of exotic spe cies, adding about one hundred new species to the steadily expand ing USC collection. In past expedi tions to other islands, the field team invariably found themselves in a mood for celebration whenever they could return with even twenty new species. One can then imagine the significance of this venture into Pa lawan, considering the wealth of knowledge and information it will add to the present record of local lepidopterists. The party left Pala wan just when the May rains began, and fresh and lovely, newly emerged butterflies were just commencing to stir. You can imagine with what re luctance our party packed up for the return journey, unwilling to leave behind them flower buds ready to burst under the blessed showers and mild sunshine of early June, which will, naturally, send forth legions of multicolored wings to dance and romance in the atmos phere while food lor the imaginal and immature stages are in abundance. Hence the title of this article. Faculty-Alumni • • • (Cont’d from page 22) fondest dreams of Dr. Paras, whose happiness, in cidentally, spilled over to the HE kitchen where a sumptious dinner was served. News of that success must have reached the ears of some city officials, for the club was invited to take part in the Independence Day Celebration. Once again, the choristers buckled down to rehearse the songs. At present the club is again busy rehearsing for the Rector-Faculty Day in September. Now that the club has proved its worth, it has justified its reason for being and offers, among others, a channel for promoting brotherly understanding and closer friend ly ties among faculty members and alumni of the uni versity. With the wholehearted cooperation ol its members and with the vigorous moral support of the university administration, the organization looks for ward to success in carrying out its multifarious plans, which are kept in cold storage in the mind of Dr. Paras, the Brains of the Club, ft Indeed Palawan is calling. . . call ing those who have the means and time to continue the hunt, the obser vation and study of the seasonal forms of all the stirring life in its jungles and mountains. It is calling for virile young men and women to swerve from popular but overcrowd ed vocations and turn to the fertile fields of science where much pio neering work awaits them. Bright young minds are needed to fill the many gaps left by earlier researchers whose missions did not warrant their staying in the Islands long enough to complete what they had began. What little inconvenience one suffers in the field is amply com pensated by the endless fascination of the work, meeting friendly and charming people, the contact with variform customs of different ethnic groups, the constant reunion with one's true self without the artificial mask is often won in the city, and the realization how generous in lavishly filling this little world with so many beautiful and interesting creatures. Not having tried it, no one can justifiably say that a life de dicated to science is not for him or her. A genius may lurk in an unsus pected crevice in your cranium, which the song of a bird, the sight of misty mountains or the aroma of sighing forests may jerk suddenly from its lethargy and perhaps give us a Filipino naturalist of the bril liance and enthusiasm of a Henri Fabre or a Karl von Linne. ft Entirely Personal (Continued from page 11) made a big jump from three stars to 13th place, as tne results of the last tactical inspection showed. The gla mour that was the USC ROTC died an instantaneous death with that ex traordinary "feat." No explanation is needed, but something snould be done about the instruction the cadets are now getting. • The Registration Procedure, as conceived by the "brains" of the Office of the Secretary-General, worked out quite successfully during the last enrollment season. Only a few troubles cropped up, although the system can stand some improve ment. A suggestion was made that those in charge of the enrolment, es pecially those assigned in the issuance of classcards, should be properly briefed on their duties so that they will know how to advise the students. Another, a sort of liaison section should be created. New students found it very difficult to enroll with out the help of one familiar with the registration procedure. No major complaints were heard, except that many students said our public rela tions were questionable. How some people managed their offices led some student to think they were facing a lion. A number wanted to enroll here but for one reason or another found it safer not to. • Of the total enrollment this semester, 62 per cent are women. A bystander said that it is no wonder there is so much noise in the campus ever since the classes have started in full swing. But that is entirely per sonal. • The organization of debating, dramatic and speech clubs is a healthy sign of an intellectual awak ening on the campus. For years, this aspect of university training has been neglected either because there was no interest on the part of the stud dents or there was no encourage ment from the faculty. It is about time to give the organization a shot in the arm by way of joining it or giving it the facilities that it needs. • One of the most convincing proofs of our partiality for basketball is the fact that eagers get more applause, more privileges than writers do ... ft Page 34 THE CAROLINIAN Science I’M TAKING IT . . . (Continued from page 28) their separate ways will indeed be hard to fill. Sure there are replace ments, eager ones trying to fill up the void. But determination or eager ness is not enough. There is some thing indefinable needed on a fight ing team to carry on a tradition of boldness, "go-get" and power. How the USC team will fare on the regular tourney is still an open question. For sure, it has its weak points but there are its strong points too. Its real production has only been seen by few of hoophet's socalled intellectuals and few could judge them as of now. But one thing I know; Wherever they go, where USC's banner is flying, there always will be excitement together with the boys. Queried on his drive of bagging the National Inter-Collegiate crown, Dodong 'Cardinal' Aquino said: "I'm taking it step by step. I finished fourth in 1956, third in 1957, and runner-up in 1958. I aim to top them in 1959". If I know Dodong Aquino, I have to say this, his job of making a cohesive force out of the team will be a monumental one. And although time is his greatest ally it also is working fcr the other teams. He has the men, true. His coaching talent is tops. But how his chargers will receive and take them into their heart is a big question. I know the boys are loyal and are willing to give all they have. So it's an open question. Boys receiving instructions, ’Cardinal' Aquino giving them. Somewhere along the way, problems are bound to crop up with no im mediate solution. This precisely is what the coach will have to watch for. So until the day, I am not say ing anything. But it would be nice indeed if again within our halls will rest another National Inter-Col legiate crown. — gpb. J Sliderules Aside • • • (Continued from page 25) yes Jr., Hilarion Lim Jr., Gerardo Lipardo. Jr., and Arturo Russiana. Comiling was the Most Exalted Bro ther of the Builders' Fraternity of the CE and ARCH departments last year. Lipardo of the ME department gra duated magna cum lauae last March. From the upper echelon we have news of the recent appointment of Mr. Santos Alfon as head of the Architecture department and of Mr. Benito Bunagan as head of the Surveying department. $ The Science Library Two years ago, the various libra ries in the science department were not coalesced. Although most books and periodicals were kept in the main library, still there were many essential ones which were found in the respective bookrooms of the dif ferent branches of the science de partment. One had to shuttle back and forth from one room or floor to another, if he was in search of some important scientific items. Research work, always a tough job, was made more difficult through the existing dispersion of the materials. But only a year ago, there has been a marked progress in the USC library. According to plans worked out by Fr. J. Baumgartner, SVD, Fr. John Vogelgesang, SVD, then Act ing Librarian, had the science li brary installed. It was Fr. John who made a round-up of the different libraries in the science department, and put up what is now the favorite haunt of men and women with com mon scientific interest. Today, re search work is no longer as arduous as it used to be. ITS CONTENTS The science library has been pro vided with its own card catalog, stacks, tables, chairs, bookstands and everything needed in a library. Furthermore, it boasts of extensive collections of such well-known periodicals as the Chemical Abs tracts, Journal of the American Chemical Society of America, and numerous other scientific publica tions of world renown. Latest issues of the periodicals are found on the magazine stand, while books, hand books, encyclopedias, manuals, bound journals and other printed matter indispensable to science students and instructors are neatly arranged on the shelves in the read ing room. Whatever cannot be ac commodated in the reading room, finds its place in the two-story stack room. HOW IT OPERATES Like the main library, the science library also employs the Dewey De cimal System in the classification of its books. Most books with numbers ranging from 500-700, inclusive, have their place in this segment of "the library with the biggest col lection outside Manila." IMPROVEMENTS FORESEEN One complaint, however, that most students have as regards the science library, is its poor ventila tion. Perhaps one can stand the traffic noise, at times the jukebox, and oftentimes the people outside, but the heat one will find unbearable. From Mrs. Victor Asubar, Librarian in-Charge of this library, this writer learned that plans are now being undertaken to improve the ventila tion of the place. Fresh air is a sti mulating factor to a library user, and most likely, Fr. Joseph Baum gartner, SVD, the University Libra rian, must have contemplated on this matter. Perhaps, sooner or later, there will be some additions to the science library. What they are, how ever, this writer is not in a position to disclose. But the truth is that improvements are in the offing. A GREAT HELP If there is anything that Caroli nian science students and instruc tors of today should thank the Ad ministration for, it is this one-yearold special concession that they have just acquired — the science library service. Today, if one wishes to refer to certain scientific books and periodicals, he only goes to the science library, consults the card catalog if necessary, and gets the reference he needs. The science li brary offers him the service and privacy that is his to enjoy. J JULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page 35 Jitter ary featured The Plays Possibly, Dr. Carlos P. Romulo is the most widely known Filipino abroad. He has carried with distinc tion the name oi our country in the halls ol international councils and conferences. He is an international diplomat. Not only many articles of national and international import have come from his pen, but novels and plays also have caught his in terest. Romulo wrote a few plays when he was a faculty member of the State University. These plays were not intended for publication but were written for the UP drama tic club. Since he abandoned play writing before he perfected or mastered the technique, his plays are not ideal, as he himself has admitted. Romulo is represented by two dra mas in this study — "The Hidden Symbol" and “Daughters for Sale." The first is a plcry in two acts with patriotism as the theme. A veteran of the Philippine Revolution and hacendero, Don Emilio is harassed by an unscrupulous but influential leader of the town who has come from nowhere. The stranger is aided by his son, a lawyer and labor leader, who is courting Don Emilio's daughter. As head of a society he has organized, "The Fighters of '96" this man derides Don Emilio for his apparent lack of patriotism. Fur thermore, his son stirs up the mill laborers of Don Emilio's farm. As a consequence, the mill is burned down and the old man and his farm manager are accused of arson and consequently imprisoned. When he is bailed out, the manager gathers enough evidence to convict the real culprits, Don Felipe and his son. All's well that ends well. The manager also wins Don Emilio's A Newcomer in USC (Continued from, page 21) on Java. This may give us a better understanding about Philippine life in pre-Spanish times. We know from linguistic data that there was rather much contact between Indonesia and the Philippines. All this is mate(Continued from page 5) of Romulo daughter. In "Daughters for Sale," an old widower, Don Pelayo, is a “sabungero," meaning a cockpit addict, who would like to marry off his three daughters to rich husbands and thus have enough money to indulge in his vice. Amparo, his youngest daughter, entertains the same thought for her sisters. She manages to convince Don Juan, a wealthy landowner, that Maria, her man-hating sister, is in love with him. Flattered, the rich man comes to call on Maria, who insults him. The second sister, Rosario, is an noyed over her sweetheart's failure to answer her letters and in reta liation puts a husband-wanted ad vertisement in a newspaper. Mean while Amparo breaks off her en gagement to an ambitious young man to "give him a shock that will awaken all his talent potentialities," in her own words. Two men answer Rosario's advertisement — the town barber and a Chinaman, both of whom are dismissed in no time. Don Juan again pays a visit and makes known his intentions of marriage to the father. Overcome by his sin cerity, Maria at last gives in. On the other hand, Miguel, Rosario's lover, arrives and angrily confronts the woman with the advertisement. When reminded about the letters he did not answer, he explains they were all received in a batch just a few days before because there is no mail in the hacienda where he is working. And now he has come to take her with him, after they are properly married. Fortune does not forget to smile on Amparo too. Her lover also comes back to claim her after having landed a lucrative posi tion as assistant manager. # rial which can throw much light not only on many dark spots of Philip pine linguistics, but also on the vague and dim areas of Philippine history and civilization in pre Spanish times. Sanskrit is not an Indonesian language. Nevertheless its study is very useful in many respects. For The CCA A (Continued from page 29) Right on the heels of the three tall men are old reliables Maxi mo "Republican" Pizarras, Julian "Killer" Macoy, Edgar Galdo, who made Chile veteran 'Emong' Bas look cheap in an exhibition game, Bobby "the befuddling feint" Reynes, Reynaldo dela Cruz the two-handed set shooter, Esmer Abejo, the fireball and ball hawk of the Warriors and the "little coach" of the team, Manuel Bas. To add able support there are jumpshot artist Ben Reyes, sentinel Gerard del Rosario and new acquisitions Patricio Palma res, a former Panther who's a whiz at jumpshots, Narciso Monceda, a Baby Jaguar in his prep days, and newcomer Tomas Aguirre. SPORTS SHORTS Fr. Lawrence Bunzel, SVD, is the newly-appointed Athletic Moderator. Being an "old hand" in San Carlos, Carolinian sports fans expect smooth sailing ahead. The CCAA prep circuit opened last Sunday, July 12 and the Senior Circuit followed suit, Sun day, July 19, 1959 with a loud bang.. . USC Sluggers, runner-up in last year's CBL, are still in the process of building up. Will be up next issue. . . On the soccer football front, it's so quiet that you can hear a pin drop. Wake up, fellows! J one thing, we have many loanwords from Sanskrit. This is the case with even the most common words. DALA in Bisaya and Tagalog, a very com mon word, is a Sanskrit loanword. The same is true of the Tagalog SALITA, etc. These loanwords can teach us very much about the devel opment of Philippine languages. The study of Sanskrit also affords us the advantages mentioned before in connection with Old Javanese: we meet again another highly in teresting civilization. And we can study the rather strong Indian in fluences here in the Philippines. The study of Old Javanese and Sanskrit, while interesting and use ful, is, however, by no means neces sary for research work in Philippine linguistics. With a thorough knowl edge ol only structural linguistics we shall be able to make remarkable progress. A wide, virginal field lies open for exploration and new, fas cinating discoveries. # Page 36 THE CAROLINIAN Deedon (LasteQJana El Rev. Fr. PEDRO KRANEWITTER, S.V. D. El Departamento de Espanol de U.S.C. esta de enhorabuena por la llegada del Rv. Fr. Pedro Kranewitter, S.V.D. argentino, y por lo tanto de habla espanola y espiritu verdaderamente hispano. El citado padre, lleva muchos anos en Filipinos. Habiendo sido enviado a estas islas por sus superiores en el ano 1931; llego a la ciudad de Manila el 22 de Junio del citado ano, y de alii fue a su destino, Seminario de Vigan, en donde permanecio hasta 1939, en que fue transladado al Seminario de Binmaley, residiendo alii hasta el ano 1945, en cuyo ano recibio ordenes de sus superiores de trasladarse al Seminario de Tanauan, en Leyte, donde estuvo siete anos. En ano 1952 le fue anunciado su traslado al Seminario de "Christ the King" en Manila y al ano siguiente le concedieron vacaciones de un ano para visitor a su familia en la Argentina. Regresd Fr. Kranewitter a Manila al Seminario de "Christ the King" el ano 1954 y alii celebro en el ano 1955 las Bodas de Plata de su ordenacion sacerdotal. En 1958 fue a Estados Unidos en viaje de estudios, regresando a Filipinos asignado a esta Universidad en Junio de este ano. El Rv. Fr. Pedro Kranewitter, S.V.D. esta actuando como Decano de Religion y es el Director de la S.C.A. de esta Universidad. Estamos seguros de que la presencia de este nuevo Padre en U.S.C. dara mayor impulso al espiritu hispano de nuestro departamento. Bienvenido sea el Rv. Fr. Kranewitter, S.V.D. en quien la facultad del Departamento de Espanol, tiene grandes esperanzas para mayores exitos. J Despues De La Lluvia por Rene Estella Amper j£L ORGULLOSO Arco Iris; las aberturas de las nubes cual alegres sonrisas; la susurrante brisa, los suspirantes arboles; las mojadas florecillas dando vueltas a sus coloreadas faldas de sutiles petalos en el perfumado y humedo ambiente; el cesped ondulante y bailarin al impulso del vagamundo vientecillo... Todo ello..., todo; refleja la alegria de la naturaleza despues del benefico influjo de la lluvia primaveral. Y hay mas, hay... un co razon enamorado que suefia... y Hora... II Pamela!... Pamela! jDonde vas? jPorque has dejado pesares en mi cora zon inocente? jPorque te has marchado? Tu ausencia entristece mi animo como la fronda oscura de un arbol. Entre esa fronda y como solitario pajarillo arrullo mi anoranza en lastimero canto. |Cantar!... jllorar!... jQue puedo hacer mas? Canto para aliviar mi soledad en espera de que vuelvas a mi; canto porque el recuerdo de tu carino pulsa las cuerdas de mi corazon arrancandole magicos sones nostalgicos. Y cada vez que mi pensamiento vuela hacia ti, recuerdo la fragante primavera de nuestras mutuas alegrias; tu sonrisa dulce iluminaba las colinas besadas por el fringe de las nubes jRecuerdas aquellas colinas?: bien delineadas, de color azulado en la lejania, querian rivalizar sin conseguirlo con los radiantes encantos de tu hermosura cuando paseabamos por los verdeantes campos despues de la lluvia. jTe acuerdas cuando sentados a reposar bajo un arbol contemplabamos el magnifico espectaculo del Arco Iris bordado en las alturas con brillantes aunque pasajeros colores? “jSera tu amor como los pasajeros co lores del Arco Iris?" me preguntaste. Alee los ojos y la vista de un frondoso y vetusto arbol, un corpulento roble, me inspiro la respuesta: Pamela, te dije senalando el roble; mientras aquel arbol viva, mientras sus ramas frondosas se extiendan para enmarcar el grandioso es cenario del ocaso, mi amor sera tuyo. Tuyo ahora... y siempre. jTe amo Pa mela! y a nuestros corazones pongo por testigos de ello. Te amo y te amare siempre! Me regalaste con una sonrisa, una de esas sonrisas tuyas, tan tuyas, y dijiste: "Yo tambien te amo y deseo que el arbol de nuestro amor no conozca el otono... que en nuestros corazones nunca hayas hojas secas del otono de nuestras ilusiones." Callamos, la felicidad que sent! en aquellos momentos hizo que me imaginase a la naturaleza en derredor nues tro danzando de alegria. Los latidos de mi corazon enchido de gozo sonaban mas fuerles que el murmullo de los serpeantes arroyos que cruzaban la campina. Eramos jovenes en aquel tiempo, y como jovenes jque mejor placer que amar y ser amado? ese singular placer que hace reir y llorar al mismo tiempo sin saber por que. III Han pasado los anos y ahora jQue queda de aquellas quimeras y promesas? Tu me abandonaste sin una palabra de despedida, sin dejarme mi una esperanza... nada. jPorque lo hiciste asi? jPorque dejaste al otono secar las ho jas del arbol frondoso de nuestro amor de aquellos tiempos? jPorque...? Pamela! Pamela!... Mira las bellas florecillas que solias festejar acercandolas a tus labios. Escucha el susurro de la dulce brisa que rozaba tus sonrosadas mejillas como un casto beso. Mira los claros arroyos que envidiaban el brillo de tus ojos cuando en ellos te contemplabas. Las flores, la brisa y los arro yos, han conocido y sentido el perfume de tu amor como yo lo he sentido y co nocido, y estan esperando tu vuelta, y su esperanza vive en ellos como tam bien vive en mi. Yo espero... espero que vuelvas a mi. IV Es por eso que al contemplar des pues de la lluvia el orgulloso Afco Iris; las sonrientes nubes; alescuchar la brisa susurrante, los suspiros de los arboles; alcontemplar las coloreadas faldas de sutiles petalos de las mojadas florecillas, girando en el humedo y perfumado am biente; alsentir el vagamundo vientecillo que hace bailor al ondulante cesped... Todo ello... todo hace revivir en mi tu recuerdo. Y has mas,... hay un cora zon enamorado que suena, Hora y... espera. J Un Pdnico En La Noche por Redencion H. Alcantara £ CERCABASE ya la medianoche. Paz y sosiego reinaba por doquier. La palida luna se paseaba sonriente y majestuosa en el alto firmamento tachonado de titilantes estrellas. Subitamente la pro funda tranquilidad de la noche fue inteJULY-AUGUST, 1959 Page.37 'Se.cciin dastcMana rrumpida por un cuadro tragico y aterrador. En la casa de huespedes donde me alojo muchas de mis companeras ya se habian acostado, pero unas cuantas estabamos todavia ocupadas en preparar las lecciones para el dio siguiente. De repente sonaban a la puerta de nuestra habitacion unos golpes muy recios que nos llenaban de pavor. Temblorosas nos acercamos a la puerta para averiguar quienes se atrevian a turbar nuestro reposo a bora tan intempestiva de la noche. Pronto supimos que eran unos cuantos estudiantes universitarios que habian venido a librarnos de un gran peligro, a saber: de una conflagracion que comenzaba a devorar la manzana vecina. Despertamos en seguida a nuestras companeras que todavion descansaban en brazos de Morfeo y comenzamos precipitadamente a liar los bartulos. Con la ayuda de aquellos jovenes bajamos presurosas a la calle en busca de vehiculos para conducirnos sanas y salvas a otro distrito de la ciudad. Pronto todas las chicas nos hallamos acomodadas en unos cuantos taxis mientras que los tres jovenes nos seguian en un A Lo Memorio Del Llorado Poeta National D. CORNELIO FAIGAO por Vicente R. Pilapil (Traducciin del articulo escrito y publicado en inglis, bajo diferente epigrafc, en el “REPUBLIC DAILY" por el mismo autor.) QUE este humilde tributo escrito por uno de sus muchos y agradecidos estu diantes sea una lagrima derramada a su memoria, una flor ante su tumba, y una plegaria para su reposo eterno en Dios. Veiase a menudo la silueta de un hom bre arrodillado en el centro de la capilla en la oscuridad de la noche. Alli procuraba desahogar su corazon en comunicacion intima con su Dios, porque no creia que la pluma y el papel fuesen instrumentos eficaces para ello. Estos iban a ser sus ultimos dias. Su intuicion poetica se lo habia predicho. Aquel hombre era Cornelio Faigao, el conocido poeta nacional, escritor, abogado y profesor. Como la mayoria de los grandes hombres, su vida fue corta pero fecunda. Siendo un genio tenia una sed insaciable de saber, como lo prueban sus tres diplomas. Primero obtuvo el titulo de B.S.E. en la Universidad de Filipinos; luego, en 1935, se recibio de abogado (LL.B.) en la Universidad de Visayas; fi automovil separado. Desde el coche conlemplamos el enorme gentio que llenaba las calles; unos se escapaban del voraz incendio con sus enseres, otros se dirigian al lugar del siniestro. La algarabia era tremenda, el ruido de las bocinas y campanulas ensordecedor; todo era un cuadro de tragedia y panico causado por las lenguas infernales del in cendio que eclipsaba la nitida luz de la luna y las estrellas. Finalmente llegamos a la casa de unos parientes mios donde hallamos albergue y solaz. Los conductores de los taxis en que viajabamos querian aprovecharse de la oportunidad y cobrarnos diez pesos por cada vehiculo. Pero no salieron con la suya, porque los jovenes universitarios que nos acompaiiaban salieron en nues tra defensa. El valor y la figura atletica de nuestros jovenes protectores los infundia tanto respeto y miedo que optaron por contentarse con el pago reglamentario. Acomodadas ya en la espaciosa casa de mis parientes echamos una ultima mirada en direccion del siniestro y divisamos en el cielo'la roja y densa humareda de la conflagracion. ft nalmente, en 1950, se graduo en la Uni versidad de San Carlos con el titulo de M.A. Como buen patriota que era, quiso de dicate a la ensenanza de la juventud para ilustrar las inteligencias de los jove nes depositando en sus corazones las semillas del genuino nacionalismo en los tiempos de luchas verdaderas. Su amor a la ensenanza era tan grande que hasta en sus ultimos anos de vida, y a pesar de su debilidad fisica, se dedicaba a ella con gran ahinco y carino. Debido a su espiritu indomable tuvimos la gran oportunidad de estudiar dos semestres bajo su direccion. Varias veces tuvo que dejar sus closes para ser hospitalizado, pero siempre con la firme esperanza de volver de nuevo a las aulas. Versado como pocos en nuestra literatura, la explicaba con tai maestria que nos dejaba muy impresionados, sobre todo cuando como profesor y patriota se lamentaba de que muchos filipinos conocen a ‘Wordsworth" o a "Shakespeare” pero no saben nada de Villa o Joaquin. Por sus vastos conocimientos, sus va ries publicaciones y su gran devocion a la ensenanza obtuvo en 1956 el rango de profesor en la Universidad de San Carlos, distincion que hasta ahora fue otorgada solamente a tres de los miembros de la facultad seglar. Su vida como periodista empezd cuan do edito "THE COURIER", el primer periodico de la postguerra en Cebu; des pues colaboro en el "CEBU BLADE", otro periodico cebuano. Su columna, "Canto Voice" en el "PIONEER PRESS" obtuvo muchos admiradores por sus vigorosas, sorprendentes y chistosas lineas. Fue tambien el editor del "DAILY NEWS" y del "STAR", y contribuyo por algun tiempo con sus articulos en el "REPUBLIC DAILY." Ademas de estas publicaciones locales publico articulos en revistas y periodicos de circulacion nacional. Todos aquellos que consideran a Faigao como periodista, aprecian su talento de escritor; su ardiente nacionalismo, por cuyo exito tanto se sacrifico. Al fin el reconocimiento de sus dotes periodisticas llego en la forma de una subvencion "Smith Mundt" para viajar por los Estodos Unidos con el fin de observer y es tudiar las tendencies mas recientes del periodismo. Gracias a la subvencion mencionada, obtuvo el raro privilegio de visitor y hablar a los conocidos poeta Carl Sandburg y nuestro Jose Garcia Vi lla, siendo la obra poetica de este el tema de la Tesis presenlada por Faigao para su Licenciatura en Artes Liberales en la Universidad de San Carlos. Mas tarde fue elegido presidente del "Cebu Press Club." En el campo literario sobresalio como poeta. Compuso y escribio muchos y buenos poemas, y en 1951 se confirmo su fama como Vote Filipino al serie adjudicado el primer premio en el certamen literario celebrado con motivo del Quincuagesimo Aniversario del Sistema Educacional de Filipinos, por su poema "The Brown Child" que le elevo a la altura de poeta nacional. Faigao, el poeta, pertenecia a la escuela clasica: trato de escribir versos modernos, pero no hallando en ello satisfaccion lo dejo. Hasta en los oscuros y lobregos ,dias de la prision, cuando su patriotismo le exigio un gran sacrificio, no perdia la esperanza en sus compatriotas. Creyendo siempre en la grandeza de sus paisanos, escribio asi en su premiado poe ma: "jEI hombre moreno no morira sino persistiral" La silueta del vate nacional, D. Cor nelio Faigao, se ha desvanecido. Su alma ha vuelto a Dios. Su memoria, empero, permanecera con nosotros para siempre. ft Page 38 THE CAROLINIAN f Ang Tunay na Layon Pag-aaral ng Naglahong Liwanag W I K A N G P I L I P I N 0 Maikling kuwento ni DOROTHEO MAR ABAPEO IZUNG kayo'y nag-iisa at pinagbubulaybulayan ang iba't ibang bagay na sumasagi sa inyong isipan, ay subukin ninyong tanungin ang inyong sariling budhi: "Bakit ako nag-aaral? Ano ang tunay na layunin ng pag-aaral?" Bawa't isa sa atin ay may kanya-kanyang layunin sa buhay, kaya't ang katanungang ito ay tatanggap ng iba't ibang katugunan. Sa aking palagay ang layon ng lahat o kung hindi man ng lahat ay ng karamihan ang magtamo ng isang maaliwalas na kinabukasan. Isang kinabukasang pinamumuhunanan ng pagod at pagtitiyaga upang luma sap ng tamis ng bunga. Maaliwalas na kinabukasan... Anu-ano ang katangian ng isang maaliwalas na kinabukasan? Kayamanan? Karangalan? Katalinuhan? Kung ka yo'y yumaman at ang buhay ninyo'y lipos ng kaginhawahan, masabi kaya ninyong ang kaginhawahang iyan ang kinabukasang tunay na layon ng inyong pag-aaral? Kung kayo'y . umani ng sambuhay na karangalan, bantog at pinagpipitaganan kayo sa lipunan at walang sino mang nag-iisip ng masama laban sa inyo, masabi kaya ninyong iyan na ang kinabukasang layon ng inyong pag-aaral? Kung kayo nama'y tanghaling pinakamatalino o isa sa pinakamatalinong tao sa inyong nayon, lalawigan, a bansa, masabi rin kaya j ninyong ang katallnuhang iyan ang layon ng I inyong pag-aaral sapagka't sa pamamagitan . ng katalinuhang ay matibay ang Inyong paninindigan sa buhay? Sa ganang akin, kung magtamo tayo ng kayamanan, karangalan, o katalinuhan ay hindi pa rin natin natatamo ang kinabukasang layon ng pag-aaral sa pagka't hindi pa tapos ang ating paglalakbay. May bukas pang darating. Ang kina(Kariigtong sa pahina 40) | NAGDUDUMAL1 si Ilonesto sa kanyang paglakad. Sa kanyang mukha’y mababakas ang ligaya at pananabik na nag-uumapaw sa kanyang katauhan. May pagmamalaking kimkim ang kanyang clibclib. Tagumpay ang naging bunga ng kan yang paglisan. May limang taon nang nakalilipas mula nang lisanin niya ang kanyang nayong tinubuan. Lumisan siya upang makipagsapalaran, sa kabila ng pagtutol ng kanyang salantang ina. Inamuki siya ng kanyang ina na sakahin na lamang ang kapirasong lupang naiwan ng kanyang yumaong ama. Nguni’t naging matibay ang kanyang pasiya, kaya walang sino mang nakapigil sa kanya. Dahilan sa kan yang likas na katalinuhan ay madali siyang nakakita ng gawain at tuloy nakapag-aral. Nang matanghal siyang isang bantog na inhenyero’y saka lamang niya natantong ulila siya sa daigdig. Nakaligtaan niya ang kanyang matanda nang ina. Ni isang sulat ay hindi niya ito pinadalhan, sapagka’t, matindi ang kanyang hinanakit. Ngayong nagtagumpay siya’y saka lamang nagbago ang kanyang pagkatao. Napagpasiyahan niyang magbalik sa kanyang ina upang dito ihandog ang kanyang tagumpay. “Inay,” ang bulong niya sa sarili, “nagbabalik ako upang kita’y di na muling lisanin pa, upang pagbayaian ko ng pagmamahal at paglingap ang aking nagawang pagkukulang, at handugan ka ng aking natamong tagumpay, Inay, nalalaman kong sa lahat nang san dal i’y bukas ang iyong puso sa aking pagbabalik-loob. Inay, kaipala’y mapait ang mangulila”. Hindi pa nababadha sa mukha ni Ilonesto ang gaanong pagkapagod nang bumungad sa kanyang paningin ang malawak na kapatagang kinatatayuan ng kanyang munting nayon. Kumikinang ang bubungan ng ilang magagarang tahanan sa gitna ng kapatagan. “May ipinagbago na pala” ang sambit niya sa sarili. Lalong nagdumali siya sa kan yang paglakad. Ilang sandali pa’y sumapit siya ng maluwalhati sa pinanabikang nayon. Tumutugtug noon ang batingaw sa lumang simbahan. Bahagya siyang natiWikang Filipino PAN AMBITAN Tula ni T’Verlo Isang paraluman ang aking nilangit Na inalayan ko wagas na pag-ibig Nguni’t damdamin n’ya nang aking mabatid Gandang pambihira’y nilimot kong pilit. Ako ay lumayong tila isang baliw Luha’y di mapigil sa sawing paggiliw Ang aking pag-asa ay di na darating Ang pananariwa ng luksang panimdim. Nguni’t isang araw ng masilayan ka Damdaming lugami ay dagling sumigla Puso kong nalibing sa hapis al dnsa Ay muling nagbango’t ikaw ay sinamba. Langit na maulap muling naging bughaw Nagluluksang puso’y nahango sa lumbay At ang aking sumpang di na magmamahal Ay muling binawi’t initvaksing tunay. Puso’y binihisan ng gintong pagliyag Ulirang pag-ibig ay pinapag-alab; Dalisay na layon at nasang busilak Sa dibdib mo mutya sana ay ilimbag. O dinggin mo Neneng yaring panambitan Nilong pusong tapat sa pagmamahalan O maniwala kang sadyang ikaw lamang Ang tangi sa dibdib hanggang sa libingan; Datapwa’t kung ikaw ay muling papanaw Muling maghahari ang lagim ng buhay. lihan at nagbuntong-hininga. Ba kit kaya? Mula sa kanyang kinatatayuan ay nakita niya ang maraming taong lumalabas sa simbahan. Isang puting ataol ang di kawasa’y inilabas sa simbahan. “Isa palang nilalang ang pumanaw,” ang katagang dumaloy sa kanyang mga labi. “Sumalangit nawa ang kanyang kaluluwa”. Patuloy ang pagtugtog ng basag na batingaw, habang papalayo ang pulutong ng mga taong naghahatid sa namatay sa kanyang huling hantungan. Napag-isip niya: “May hantungan ang lahat nang bagay sa daigdig. May wakas ang ligaya at gayon din ang kalungkutan.” Hindi nagtagal at sinapit niya ang harapan ng simbahan. Pumasok siya, nagkurus, nanalanging sumandali at pagkatapos ay luminga-linga sa loob. Iyon pa rin ang lumang simbahang tanglaw ng kanyang nayon sa habang panahon. Pagkatapos manalangin ay tinalunton niya ang daang patungo sa kanilang tahanan. Napatatda siya ng matanaw ang malungkot na katatayuan ng kanilang dati’y may kagaraan ding tahanan. Ang bakod ay giray-giray na at malalago ang damo sa paligid. Maging ang dinding at bubong ay butas-butas Page 40 na at waring nakaligtaan sa loob ng mahabang panahon. Nagbutong-hininga siya at bahagyang nawalan ng pag-asa. Malamang na wala roon ang kanyang ina. Sa gitna ng pagbabaka-sakali ay tumawag siya. “Inay, inay... naririto na ako... inay... ” Makailan siyang tumawag nguni’t ni kaputol na tinig ay wala siyang narinig. Kaginsa-ginsa’y isang matandang lalaki ang tumapik sa kan yang balikat. “Anak, ikaw si Honesto hindi ba?’’ “Ako nga po, at kayo po si Mang Pepe, hindi ko kayo nalilimutan.” “Anak, bakit wala ka rito nang mamatay ang iyong...................” “S-sino po, ang aking ina?” “Hindi ka nagkakamali anak. Aug Tunay... (Karuytony ny paliina 39) bukasang iyon ang dapat maging sadyang maaliwalas, ang kinabukasang hantungan ng panahon, sapagka't pagsapit niyo'y wala nang bukas sa dako pa roon. Ang tinutukoy ko'y ang kinabukasan sa piling ng Diyos, na siyang tunay na layon ng atlng pag-aaral. Hindi baga tayo nag-aaral upang malaman at isagawa ang kabutihan, katarungan, at katotohanan ng lahat nang bagay na ating pinag-aaralan? Tandaan nlnyo na ang Diyos ay Kabutihan, Katarungan, at Katotohanan, samakatuwld, ay Siya ang tunay na layon ng atlng pag-aaral. $ Pumanaw na ang iyong ina nang may dalawang taon nang nakalilipas.” “Diyos ko kay lupit po ng in yong parusa,” ang malungkot na wikang nabigkas ng kanyang namumutlang mga labi. Napahagulgol siya ng iyak. Kailan ma’y di na magbabalik ang kanyang ina. Ang kanyang inang nilisan niya sa kabila ng pagtutol nito, inang tanglaw ng kanyang kamusmusan, inang yumao sa gitna ng pighati, inang sa kabila ng kanyang kalapastangana’y lalong nag-ibayo ang pagmamahal sa kanya. Liban na sa sariwang luha at taimtim na dalangin ay wala na siyang maihahandog sa kanya. Kinuha na ng Maykapal ang kanyang ina upang paglipas ng tiisi’y gantimpalaan ng ligayang walang hanggan. At pagkatapos ng malungkot na tagpong yaon ay naparoon si Honesto sa libingan. Luhaan at mistulang baliw siyang nakipag-usap sa puntod ng kanyang ina. Sa mga labi niyang ipininid ng pighati’y nasambit ang mga kata gang lipos ng pagsamo, nguni’t mga pagsamong walang mahihitang bunga. “Inay, naririto na ako”, ang malungkot niyang daing. “Inay, nagbalik ako upang ikaw’y di 11a muling lisanin pa, upang ipadama sa iyong minamahal kita. Inay... mangusap ka... i...n... a...y.... ” Ang kahabag-habag 11a daing ni Honesto’y pumailanglang sa katahimikan. Bawa’t nilalang 11a noo’y dumaraan at nangakarinig niyo’y natilihan, at sa pagbubuntonghininga’y nasambit sa kanilang puso: “Kawawang kaluluwa.” Maraming puso ang nangahabag kay Honesto. Marami ang napaluha at naghandog ng dalangin. Sa mga sandaling yaon ay napaglimi ni Honesto ang kahalagahan ng isang ina. Hindi nga pala mapapantayan ng salapi at tagumpay ang la bi ng isang inang sa daigdig ay mahirap matagpuan. Isang batis ng pagsintang minsan lamang matatamasa at kung mawala na’y di 11a muling magbabalik. Unti-unti na noong lumalamig ang mga silahis ng araw. Nagpapahiwatig ng kanyang paglisan sa araw na yaon. Papanaw ang kan yang liwanag, lalamunin ng karimlan, subali’t darating ang umagang siya’y muling sisikat upang ang kanyang silahis ay muling maghari sa santinakpan. Tulad ng araw, ang ina niya’y isang tanglaw', naglaho ang kanyang li wanag, datapwa’t naglaho upang di na muling sumikat pa magpakailan man. $ THE MODERATOR To have the last word, has of late become the privilege of the moderator. This may be meant to assuage the craving he must presumably experience when going over the many excellent contributions to the Carolinian to show that he is not an entire stranger to the trade himself. However, that may be, I must confess that my craving along these lines has up to now been remarkably tame and altogether so well behaved that it went almost unnoticed. However, now that it has drawn first blood, who knows whether it will not crave for more of the same. Still, the moderator’s duties are mainly of another and not so conspicuous sort. This first 1959-’6O issue of the Carolinian is specially dedicated to the memory of a man whom many of us had the pleasure to associate with for many years, the late Cornelio Faigao—attorney, newspaperman, professor and poet. He was all of these, but, leaving the practice of law to others, he devoted his exceptional gifts to newspaper work — times and men permitting — and the teaching and practice of English. I was chagrined when reading the obituaries in the Manila dailies to find no mention of the school at which he had taught. Cornelio Faigao was very much an integral part of the USC campus, and, we are equally sure, his work at our university was a major and important part of his world. The pages of this issue are eloquent witness of his share in making San Carlos what it was yesterday and what it will be tomorrow. We are all in his debt. Let our prayers for the eternal repose of his soul be a lasting recognition of it. A bibliography of Cornelio Faigao’s writings had been planned for this issue. Since only an incomplete listing would have been possible at this time, it seemed preferable to postpone its publication for a later date. You may have noticed that most of the pieces in memory of our late professor have been contributed by faculty members. The staff believed that because of their longer and more intimate acquaintance with Faigao they were best qualified to make him come alive again on these pages. I think they succeeded in doing that. I mention this to allay any fears you may feel that the faculty is about to take over the Carolinian. If there were any intention of this sort, it would be carried out only “over the dead body” of the staff (including my own). So, rest at peace! No, I take this back and say instead: Get going! Send in worthwhile products of your pen. It can’t be that amongst so many thousands of students there aren’t a few dozen who want to write and know how to write. The Carolinian is your opportunity to produce your brain-children be fore the public, and . . . it’s all yours. * Baumgartner, Brown Child • by C. FAIGAO He was a watcher of the forest fires; The hunger for the sea was in his eyes; He heard far voices calling in the night; He felt a hunger gnawing in the mind. He crossed the oceans through the mist and rains To where the beaches checked the flight Of vintas folding multi-colored sails. His lore was of the jungles and the plains; He learned the language of the purling waves; For him there rose no suns beyond the gates; He was strengthened by his native faith, The brown child friendly to the tropic sun. There blew breezes from the mains To make strange mixture of the loam and sod. He burned rare incense for his native gods Until a nnc world opened, and the drums Of Empire broke the silence, droves of doves Perched on crossed silhouettes against the suns, And new worlds burst within him, lit his life, Leavening unredeemed dust W ith inner giowings spiritually bright Slowly the days datvned-died with certain flight,— A new star shone upon the sunburned child— Bared him new mansions where the soul may hide, Pointed theA^ay where new horizons rise, Adorned the arbour where may hide the dream, .Made the blade bloom to life, Made this the basis of the apothegm. Made mankind the inspirer and the theme Of his brave dreams, to warble to the breeze, Making the need of others his own need, Making their hopes his hope, their dread his dread. The brown child has become a mature man, Heir to the composite deed. In him the blood which in his forebears ran. The world grows smaller in his mental span, A world of rebelling atomies that dance. How keep his balance in a world grown mad, when the taut string snaps? challenges, he will hold his throne. He> will be faithful to his past. The Brown Man will not die—will hold his own! Awarded First Prize in the Literary Contests in connection with the Golden Jubilee of the Educational System in the Philip pines, 1951. Printed by (olholic Trode School, 19U Oroquielo, Monilo