E·N·Q·U·I·R·Y
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
Remembering a friend
Sunday, 12 29, 2002
It was on this day 11 years ago when we stood on the grounds of his cottage on top of a hill overlooking a place that had been ravaged by fire and earthquake. He asked me, pointing to where only stumps of burnt pine trees and debris were: “Do you see that white V-shaped hotel over there?” I said no. He said: “Look again!” I still said there is none. He insisted that I take another look by closing my eyes. That’s when I got the message: This old man was going to build what could be his monument. Three years later, that boast became a reality: Potenciano “Nanoy” T. Ilusorio had built on the ruins of the old pine clubhouse the Baguio Country Club Hotel.
At this corner of the veranda of the Club where I am writing this piece, Nanoy used to talk about the telecommunications empire he had built from scratch, until the vultures in government yanked it away from him. He started Philcomsat, once upon a time the biggest player in its field. Then he had a run-in with a powerful lady – and his telecoms and other businesses started crumbling after that. When the regime that forcibly took away his fortunes no longer held sway, Nanoy was already very old, yet determined to recover what had been taken away from him. His legal battles were many. Several months before he died, Nanoy got his vindication.
He played a mean round of golf, long before golf became the craze that bonded the powerful and the favor seekers. On that par 61 layout of the Club, Nanoy would tell me where a hook or slice would do better than a straight flight of the ball. He knew the course like the bald pate of his head. Christmas to him was the best time to hit the fairways, because it brought back memories of his youth in San Miguel, Bulacan, where the expanse of furrowed ricefields served as his playground. The course of greens, traps and pines was now his playground.
Nanoy was funny, and had a zest for life. The afternoon snacks at the Halfway House, where his favorite waitress Shirley served, were witnesses to a carefree and relaxed Nanoy. His signature song was “Pretend,” but he disliked Nat King Cole, preferring Frank Sinatra, his friend at the Caesar’s Palace. Our age gap, unfortunately, never gave us the opportunity to go on the same trips together, although I marveled at all the stories he told about his exploits over glasses of his favorite Jack Daniels. He would also reveal tales about the spouses Jane Ryan and William Saunders, with whom Nanoy had a love-hate relationship. The Maharlika was his first crack at movie production. He got into trouble with this, but still could narrate details of his botched production with a big laugh and incessant squints of his merry eyes.
Compassion? Nanoy’s pocket was never empty of anything that could bring a smile to anyone. He bought all the sampaguitas offered on his car window; he had stacks of multi-colored franela bought along Quirino Boulevard; he bought what were passed off as works of art, although he had a collection of the truly good ones, just so he could encourage young artists in the Ermita-Malate area and along Session Road to make a name. His tip to waiters was many times more than the price of the coffee he took; and the cab driver could afford to go on carbarn after Nanoy had alighted. Nanoy went out of his way to help everyone. How many families were given by Nanoy a decent roof over their head? How many finished college because of him? How many national athletes were supported by Nanoy? How many blind people were able to see again because of him? How many churches had been built with Nanoy’s help?
The life of this compassionate, intellectual, visionary and humor-filled old man is captured in that big composite oil portrait of his done by the young artist Joey Imao, that now adorns the President’s Room of the Club.
I saw Nanoy for the last time a few days after he had died, near the fireplace at the lobby of the hotel, beckoning me to disclose the thing that hurt him most, which I purposely did not share during our reminiscences of him in a gathering of his friends. We knew what hurt him most, but I would not deign harp on it. In a landmark case on the extent of marital rights, Nanoy had been declared to be of sound mind, possessed with the capacity to make choices. He took comfort in this victory; although he was saddened that the violation of his right to privacy had become the subject the public had reveled in. What made him most happy still was that his children Lin, Sylvia and Maxie had stood by him to prove to all and sundry that at 89 he was still competent to make rational decisions.
His broken heart had already mended when he died in June 2001. In the waning years of his life, Nanoy discovered who his real friends were and those who loved him regardless; all who promised to carry on his philanthropic works and his many concerns in business, sports, education, health and in the church.
As I take my daily walk this Christmas along the same hill going up to the cottage, with my sons Kenneth and Kevin, overlooking the once desolate place that Nanoy wanted to transform years ago, I tell my sons that an old man had a vision, pursued it, and made it a reality. The Club, everybody’s home away from home, is Nanoy’s monument, and every addition that we see every time we come here make us live Nanoy again, and truly believe that goodness and a life well-lived bear good fruit through time. Every Christmas the Club presents a new face for everyone to rest in, enjoy and make merry, an assurance that the coming year would be a happy one. And over at the fireplace of the hotel on New Year’s Eve, everyone will be expecting Nanoy, in his trademark swagger, appropriate the entire fireplace to himself with his height and big frame, and yell – Happy New Year!
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