Dolphy is a Book
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He walks in, with Ading Fernando and Conde Ubaldo. They spend a quiet moment by the coffin.
Dolphy chats with the bereaved, inconspicuously hands them a folded envelope, before he faces the rest.
He is in white, from the cap he respectfully took off soon as he entered, down to his shoes. The others are in muted earth colors typically worn on such occasions; the inadvertent color scheme helps identify the leader of the pack, although there is no need for the ID.
The lesser gods encircle him, crack jokes in quick succession, one snappy punchline after the other.
Balot throws in a winner. Dolphy chuckles.
The ice is broken. The atmosphere lightens up with funny anecdotes about the deceased, and laughter rings.
It is a macabre ritual of sorts for the court, done only when an esteemed member passes. Comedy is dead; long live comedy.
With Babalu (left) and Don Pepot in "Home Along Da Riles: The Movie" (Source: “Pinoy Television: The Story of ABS-CBN”)
The scene remains clear in my mind and I am never able to think of it as the past. I asked Dolphy about it, last November, in one of our many long afternoons of intense interviews for his autobiography that his son Eric wants as the first project of the Dolphy Aid Para sa Pinoy Foundation. "Talagang gano'n. Nalulungkot kayo, kasi nalagasan na naman kayo. Gusto nyong magpatawa para gumaan ang sitwasyon. Pero sino ang mauunang tumawa? (That's how it usually is. You grieve because one of you has passed on. You want to crack jokes to lighten the situation, but who will be the first to laugh?)
"At the same time, ‘yon ding mauunang tumawa na yon, kailangan, hindi plastic, na tatawa na lang, para masabing o, may natawa na. Dapat, matawa siya sa joke na talagang nakakatawa, e, isipin mo yong puro Aroma boys ang nakapaligid sa iyo, puro trigger-happy magpatawa." (the first to laugh must not fake it; won't laugh just for the sake of laughing. One must laugh because the joke is truly funny. Just think, you're surrounded by the Aroma boys and each one is a trigger-happy jokester.)
Dolphy hasn't forgotten the Aroma Cafe in Avenida Rizal, where aspiring comedians used to hang out while waiting for jobs in those pre-television days. When he became a contract star of Sampaguita Pictures, he had to leave [Aroma] to avoid the awkwardness of being seen as still appearing elsewhere.
Still, he saw to it that he maintained good relations with the Aroma boys. "E, mayro'n do'ng mga lumalabas na, nagta-talent coordinator pa. Nagkaka-pangalan na ako, nare-request sa fiesta, so kukunin nila ako. Makikiusap na isingit ko naman sila sa schedule. Pag kaya, ginagawa ko. Pinagbibigyan ko, pro bono. Mahirap yong hindi ka marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan." (Some of them were already hired performers but would still act as talent coordinators. When I was making a name for myself, they would ask me to appear in fiestas. They would request that I accommodate them in my schedule. If I could do it, I would agree to appear for free. It's not good to forget where you came from.)
And indeed, lumingon sa pinanggalingan is what he does best. For his autobio, he remembers everything in great detail, this major talent who has been part of our lives since Pancho Magalona introduced him to the big bosses of Sampaguita Pictures in 1952, after having been impressed with his comic timing in a live radio show, and his dancing skills, onstage, at the Orient Theater.
“The Big Broadcast”
I have been a Dolphy fan from way, way back, an avid follower of his radio sit-coms in the early '60s, his weekly pre-martial law musical-sitcom hybrid "Buhay Artista" on ABS-CBN Channel 3 (transferred to Channel 2 in 1969), and the special re-showing of his work from the Sampaguita Pictures' cache, such as "Tsang Sulyap Mo Tita," "Jack and Jill," "Dalagang Ilocana" and "Hootsy Kootsy," on ABC Channel 5.
His movies, notably the Agent 1-2-3 James Bond spoofs, I caught in double-feature movie houses that cost only 25 centavos to enter in the '60s, bedbug-infested screening rooms that reeked of cigarette smoke and long since demolished: the Rainbow Theater on N. Domingo, facing the San Juan municipio (municipal hall); Embassy, corner Pureza and Sta. Mesa; Cine Moderno, along Bustillos, and Cine Kamuning.
"Dolfong Scarface" was one such spoof, with a most unlikely theme song in the Dusty Springfield hit, "You Don't Have to Say You Love Me." One of the junior leading ladies was Fil-Am Pamela Ponti, born Alice Smith. With her, Dolphy had four children.
“Fung Ku”
One of the four is Eric, award-winning actor, director and producer. After his two movies and one major telesine (TV movie) with my husband Carlitos and Reynafilms, we became friends, and, among other things, traveled to film festivals together. It was at the Toronto International Film Festival in 1999, that he first made vague mention about a book on his father. We were both tipsy, so I pretty much dismissed the conversation.
But Eric never really dropped the thought. He's persevering, which is my politesse for obstinate, very much the Capricorn goat, battering his horns against doors, to get what he wants. Visiting me in the hospital in November 2004, after my mastectomy, he said, "Hoy, ang libro ng Daddy ko (Hey, don't forget my dad's book)!"
“Markova: Comfort Gay”
Dolphy was much, much kinder when he visited, with a huge box of ensaymada from Hizon's. I complained about his son, and he smiled, with his trademark twinkling eyes, "Baka naman pinalalakas lang ang loob mo (maybe he just wanted to keep your spirits up)."
It started to get real when we finally sat down for dinner around the second quarter of 2007, at the Le Souffle in Rockwell. I got there first, the place was full, and Eric left instructions for a private corner. One of the floor managers introduced herself: "Hi, I'm Trisha Jimenez, the niece of Tita Luds—Inday Badiday—the daughter of her brother Butch. Would you want a quiet table at the mezzanine?"
With an OK signal from no less than the Queen of Intrigues (as the late Inday Badiday was known), we were off to an auspicious start. I outlined my proposal, how the whole thing was to go. Eric explained the entire procedure was to be captured in video for reference, the video to be transcribed and then sent to me, via e-mail. We yapped for some considerable time, until Rodolfo Vera Quizon spoke.
Ayaw ko lang na may masaktan. Willing ako na ibunyag lahat, ayaw ko lang na may makapagsabing pati hindi na dapat inungkat, inungkat ko pa. Kung mayro'n man kasi akong nasaktan sa buhay ko, hindi ko sinadya yon (I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm willing to reveal everything but I don't want anybody saying that I revealed something that should've remained private. If I had hurt someone in my life, it was never intentional). I never meant to hurt anybody."
Work commenced late October of last year and averaged three interview days a week, until February. We stopped only twice, for the Christmas break, and before that, when I got waylaid by the "November 29 incident" at the Manila Peninsula. [Ed's note: This writer was one of those arrested during the military action at the Makati hotel.] Three days after I got out, I was back on the job. Dolphy's opening line: "0, `kosa, laya ka na pala (so, buddy, you've been freed)."
The devout Catholic prayed a good 30 minutes before we'd get into business.
He prays every day, according to his assistant, Presley, whose mother was so enamored with the original, that she had named Presley's twin, uh, Elvis. "E, pag naliligaw raw sila sa mall no'ng maliliit pa sila, at nagsisigaw na'ng nanay nila, tinginan na raw ang lahat (when they were small and would get lost in the mall, their mother would call them and everyone would look)," chortled Dolphy. "Mantakin mo nga naman (just imagine), "Elvis! Presley! Elvis! Presley!"
After each session, he'd ask me out for dinner, taking along whoever offspring was available. The dinners were memorable. He'd inquire about my health, my mother-in-law, my husband, whom he deemed mukhang mabait (looks like a good guy), and my children, especially the boy with whom he shares the same birthday, July 25.
He'd banter with waiters. Once, after having ensured that our leftovers would go into pabalot (doggie bag) for someone, he ordered for two of partner Zsa-Zsa Padilla's favorite dishes to take home. How he made sure things would go right sounded like a set-up lifted from "John en Marsha:" Ayusin n'yo'ng sistema, ha? Siguruhin ninyong dito sa kasama ko mapunta ang pabalot, at sa akin ang pasalubong. Baka pag-uwi ko, mamura ako ng pasasalubungan ko kung magkapalit at tira-tira ang napunta sa kanya (Make sure you get it right. The leftovers go to my companion here, the new orders are for me. I wouldn't want to be yelled at for bringing home leftovers)!"
Dolphy as his famous alter ego "John Puruntong." (Photo by Jun De Leon)
We always got interrupted. Strangers butted in to have pictures taken with him, balikbayans from all over. Dolphy didn't mind. "Taga-saan ho kayo (where are you from)?" he once inquired of a woman smothering him with kisses.
"Taga-Oregon," came the reply.
"'Buti na lang, alam ko na kung saan ang Oregon (good thing I now know where Oregon is)," he quipped, with characteristic humility.
I found out as much from the dinners, as I did from the straight Q & A.
Despite Dolphy's misgivings, the book is an absolute tell-all, supported by family album pictures that are coming out for the first time.
There are revelations about his 18 children and their respective mothers. He discusses his failed romances, including the two most well publicized, with [actresses] Pilar Pilapil and Lotis Key. Except he does not specifically name any of his "flings." And is equally reticent with whom he has helped, is still helping and with how much, from the entablado (stage) days, to now that the sitcom is as good as dead. "Huwag na, atin-atin na king 'yon (never mind, that's just between us)."
He has gentle memories of friends and mentors. He laughs with tearful abandon, recalling Panchito cursing according to the indayog (rhythm) of a Disneyland roller-coaster, or hiding in the men's room of a nightclub while good, old-fashioned suntukan (fistfight) took place on the dance floor. But he is pained, when he goes into how hard he tried to pretend that the comatose FPJ (Fernando Poe Jr.) he saw in the hospital intensive care unit was merely asleep, that December of 2004.
The story of his life is likewise that of the city of his birth.
He loves his old Manila. He rues values long gone. Freedom from fear. The innocence of youth. Trust in fellow Filipinos. Freedom from want.
`Ang Pilipino noon, taas.-noo. Ang taxes niya, alam niyang napupunta sa dapat puntahan. Ang boto niya, talagang binibilang. Ang mga pangarap niya, nakakamtan. Kailan siya ulit maglalakad sa mga kalye ng Manila (A Filipino then could hold his head high. He knew his taxes went to where they were supposed to. His vote was actually counted. His dreams could come true. I wonder when [a Filipino] can walk the streets of Manila that proudly again)?"
He admits he did not journey alone.
"Sinasabing magaling daw sa drama ang mga comedian. Hindi ko alam kung bakit. Wala akong teorya diyan. Basta from my end, naranasan ko na kasi ang lahat—hirap, gutom, ang mga anak na per-huwisyo't may bisyo, ang ma-in love, at ang mahiwalay. Napagdaanan ko na'ng lahat, kaya nasa-sakyan ko kapag ginagampanan ko na (It is said that comedians are good in drama. I don't know about that. I have no theories to explain that. As for me, I have experienced everything—hardship, hunger, problem children, falling in love and separations. I've been through all that so I know how to portray them all)."
It took us close to five months to wrap up. By then, I had begun to appropriate Zsa-Zsa's pet name for him, "Lovey." We separated with our customary bussing of cheeks, but we punctuated our embrace with a high five. Soon as our palms touched, I knew I was going to miss him. When Eric the goat told me he wanted a title, I could only come up with his old man's name. Dolphy. Call him King, and he doesn't like it. Plus, seriously, all else would be pretension. Dolphy.
(Ed's note: After intense discussions between the writer and the son/producer, the book's final title is Dolphy: Hindi Ko Narating Ito Mag-isa.)
[SIDEBAR]
In His Own Words
Ang baon ko sa iskwela, two centavos noong elementary; ten centavos noong high school. Pre-war, sa tindahan ng Intsik, nakak-abili ka ng isang kusing na kape, isang kusing na tinapay na may laman. Mamimili ka ng palaman—gusto mo ng salmon, karne norte, matamis na bao, sardinas lahat ng pala-man, n'andodo'n na. Kaya sa isang pera mo, mayro'n ka nang breakfast. Ang pandesal noon, ang laki. Ngayon, `singlaki ng hostia. (When I was in elementary school, my allowance was two centavos; ten centavos in high school. Before the war, from the Chinese store, you can buy coffee for one centavo, bread with filling was also one centavo. You can even choose the filling you want—salmon, corned beef, coconut jam, sardines—whichever filling you wanted, it was available. So with just one centavo, you can have a full breakfast. Bread buns were huge then. Now, it's as small as a host.)
I was 13, first time akong nag-sex.
1950 o 1951 ... Sa Hong Kong ... ang bayad sa amin (we got paid), P1,050 a week.
Ang binibigay ni Bayani sa akin (Bayani Casimiro would give me)... P800 a month... Sa exchange rate na P1 to HK$2.80, kumpor-table ang lamang ng pera natin... Ang isang ready-made suit nga, P15.00, English wool na iyon. Ang mura ng mga damit. E, sa Hong Kong, European goods ang n'ando'n, puro de-kalibre. (Our money went a long way. P15.00 would buy you an English wool suit. Clothes were inexpensive. In Hong Kong, European goods were all of good quality.)
Pero sabihin pang may paborito ako sa mga anak ko, sabihin pang mas ipinagma-malaki ko ang iba na mayrong gustong gawin sa buhay nila, pare-pareho ko silang mahal. Ilan sa kanila ang nadisgrasya, nagmuntik-muntikang mamatay, na-comatose—dinalaw ko sa ospital, halos araw-arawin, kung di man araw-araw nga. (People can say I have favorites among my children, that I'm more proud of those who are trying to make something of their lives, but I love all of them equally. Some of them have been in accidents, some were on the brink of death, in a coma — I would visit them everyday in the hospital.)
Hindi ko pine-presume na magugustuhan ako palagi. Iniisip ko nga kung ano'ng mayro'n ako at malapit sa akin ang babae. (I never presume that a woman will like me. I've always wondered why women feel close to me.)
Sa maniwala kayo o hindi, nagsimula akong ang hanap ko sa relasyon, tulad sana ng sa Papang at Mamang. Ang waging steady Lang sa isang asawa. Pero... para akong nagkaro'n ng hatred sa babae, lahat na gusto kong pakialaman. Dumating ako sa para makalimot. Nambabae ako ng nam-babae. Kumalma din naman ako. (Believe it or not, I started out seeking a relationship just like what my father and mother had. Just sticking to one spouse. But I seemed to have developed a hatred for women, I wanted to bed all of them. I got to that situation so I can forget. I went with many women. I have calmed down.) With age.
First published in Filipinas Magazine, June 2008
Bibeth Orteza: I’m still me and I’m still at it. Happily married, happily a mom.
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