Bienvenido N. Santos, You Were a Friend of Mine
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Some covers of books by Bienvenido N. Santos (Photo courtesy of Cecilia Brainard)
To put things in context, in 1985 the number of Filipinos in the US was under a million. In 2022, we are over 4.2 million. In 1985 I had heard of few Filipino American literary writers. I could count them with my fingers: Carlos Bulosan; Jose Garcia Villa; Ben Santos; NVM Gonzalez. Back in 1985, published Filipino literary writers were rare in America.
Born in Tondo in 1911, Ben Santos was a government pensionado (government-sponsored scholar) to the United States in 1941. He attended the University of Illinois, Columbia University, and Harvard University. During World War II, he served the Philippine government in exile in Washington, D.C. In 1946, he returned to the Philippines where he taught and became a university administrator. In 1958, he was a Rockefeller Foundation fellow at the University of Iowa where he later taught as a Fulbright exchange professor. From 1973 to 1982, he was a Distinguished Writer in Residence at Wichita State University. From the late 1986 to 1987, he was a Visiting Writer and Artist at De La Salle University.
Ben Santos signing (Photo courtesy of Cecilia Brainard)
In 1985, Ben was at the peak of his writing career. He had numerous published books including The Volcano, Villa Magdalena, The Man Who (Though He) Looked Like Robert Taylor, What the Hell for You Left Your Heart in San Francisco, and many more. He even had the distinction of having his novel The Praying Man (about political corruption) banned by the Marcos government, an event that prompted Ben to go into voluntary exile in the US.
l-r: Linda Nietes, P.C. Morantte, Cecilia Brainard, Ben Santos, circa 1986 photo (Photo courtesy of Cecilia Brainard)
Ben had received awards like the American Book Award, the Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship, the Republic Cultural Heritage Award in Literature, several Palanca Awards, and more. He was a noted Filipino American writer, and I was dazzled when I met him.
Ben was in his seventies but he was brisk and quick of mind. He was soft-spoken and gentlemanly, but he had a way of paying attention to what you said. I know for instance that he paid attention to my few publications. He had somehow read some of my stories that appeared in the Philippine Graphic, Focus Philippines, and Mr & Ms Magazine, periodicals that published my early works. Ben took the time to praise my work. Because he seemed genuinely interested in my development as a writer, I used to send him my published stories.
“I felt I had an ally in Ben, and as a woman writer, housewife, and mother in America, I needed all the allies and support I could get.”
When he learned I was looking for a publisher for my first short story collection, he suggested I send it to Mrs. Gloria Rodriguez at New Day, his own publisher. This was a very generous act, something that many writers do not easily do. Trusting Ben’s recommendation, Gloria went on to publish my first book, Woman with Horns and Other Stories. Gloria went on to publish two more books of mine before she resigned and started her own publishing house.
Back then, before emailing and texting existed, we wrote letters. Ben and I used to exchange letters and postcards. If Ben was in Los Angeles for a talk, I would later mail him copies of pictures taken at the event. He would write back to thank me for them. Interspersed in these notes would be comments about people or about life. I’d like to share some excerpts of Ben’s letters to give an insight into what kind of man he was. Actually, even his neat handwriting signals his personal tidiness.
This one is dated May 5, 1989. A couple of weeks earlier, I had seen him at a literary event in LA, and he had made the faux pas of saying I had gained weight. At the time I kidded with him and said I would never eat again:
Dear Cecilia,
Going from the 100 degree heat wave of LA to the freezing temperature in Greeley quite undid me and am not completely out of it. But I will. I always DO.
Thanks for the photos. Looking at them (you!) closely, I believe I mis-spoke. I hope you have resumed eating. You look much better now than ever. Truly.”
That letter makes me laugh and reminds me of what the Cebuana writer Lina Espina Moore once said about Ben. Lina was eight years younger than Ben; she was also an award-winning fictionist who mentored me as a writer. I used to visit her in Manila, and I’ll admit we used to indulge in “literary gossip.” During one such get-together with Lina, I told her about a woman writer in the East Coast who was devoted to Ben. Lina rolled her eyes and said, “Ben always had women around him,” a statement that still makes me smile when I recall it. Apparently, Ben had a way of attracting “groupies” around him.
In his May 5 letter, Ben muses about how a fictionist never really leaves home. He references a published writing of mine, “The Crucifixion,” which was an excerpt from my first novel, When the Rainbow Goddess Wept, a World War II coming of age story of a young girl.
He writes:
I enjoyed reading “The Crucifixion.” The humor is very Filipino. I love it.
When did you leave the Philippines to settle down here? I ask because you remember so much of a time long past.
Do you know that I’ve never seen a Japanese soldier? I was here shortly before the war and returned in 1946. Missed the Japanese Occupation entirely. But I’ve written about it. Because I am a fictionist. Our imagination separates us from the others who don’t have it. So perhaps I shouldn’t even have asked when you left the Islands. There are those like who us who never leave really.
In a May 22, 1988 postcard, he points out his age and the importance of writing as “a way of survival.”
Dear Cecilia,
Thank you for the autographed copy of your book. Now I can read the complete collection.
As a regular commuter between the RP and the US every six months each year since 1981, promoting my books and teaching, I know what you mean when you say, “I am tired.” Consider too, that I’m a 77-year-old man.
But I keep busy, which to me, is a way of survival. Manila is an exciting town to visit. I was born there, but the place has changed, the people too.
I missed you at the poetry reading in which I participated in LA, April 19. I asked Linda where you were and she told me: Sorry our paths didn’t cross.
I’m leaving at the end of the month for the Wash/DC area to speak and resume my work in progress. Wish me well as I do you. Thank you again. Regards, to Lauren.
(Photo courtesy of Cecilia Brainard)
I don’t remember Ben giving specific critiques of my work. What I recall was his curiosity about my writings, and -- I will say this because it’s true -- while some other men writers had an air of condescension towards me and my writings, Ben was always respectful, admiring even, of my writing.
I felt I had an ally in Ben, and as a woman writer, housewife, and mother in America, I needed all the allies and support I could get. It was truly difficult to get published and acknowledged as a writer at the time. I believe the mainstream publishing world thought there was no market (i.e, no money to be made) for books by “minority” writers. A “minority” writer like myself needed a great deal of courage and tenacity to keep on writing. To have a writer of Ben’s stature believe in me validated my own sense of being a writer.
At some point, Ben started spending more time in the Philippines, and I did not see him in Los Angeles. I also heard he was getting sickly.
The last time I saw him was in 1995, when my book, Acapulco at Sunset and Other Stories, was launched in Makati. Karina Bolasco at Anvil had arranged a big book launch in Makati with many of Manila’s literati present. My mother and I sat in the front row, listening to the opening talks, when suddenly the speaker -- it was Isagani Cruz -- stopped. People suddenly became very quiet. I turned and saw an elderly gentleman walking slowly towards us. It was Ben, and people rushed over to lead him to the front where he sat between my mother and me.
Last photo with Ben, 1995 photo, Ben Santos & Cecilia Brainard (Photo courtesy of Cecilia Brainard)
Later, Ben told me he was not well, that he was losing his eyesight, but that he had to attend my book launch. I could see that it had been difficult for him be to be there, but he had done so as a gift to me. I was very grateful to him.
Less than a year later, he passed away, in 1996 in Albay.
One of the sad things about living in America is that when writers like Ben Santos or, more recently, Frankie Jose pass away, I am alone to mourn the loss. I do not have fellow writers to grieve with. There is no opportunity to gather with others and weep or laugh over memories of writer-friends who have passed on.
I only have their friendship to relish, to hang on to.
This article is based on a talk given at the “You Lovely People: An Online Conference” on March 22, 2022. The conference was sponsored by the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center (BNSWC) and the Department of Literature at De La Salle University, Manila to celebrate the 111th birthday celebration of the writer. The event also celebrated BNSWC’s 30th anniversary.
Cecilia Manguerra Brainard is the author and editor of over 20 books, including Selected Short Stories by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, The Newspaper Widow, Magdalena, and When the Rainbow Goddess Wept, all published by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. Her official website is ceciliabrainard.com.
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