Romeo Tan Togonon, 1951-2006

 

Requiem for a journalist 

By Neal Cruz Inquirer 07/31/2006 

“Good night, sweet prince; may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”—Hamlet by William Shakespeare

THEY BURIED BOY TOGONON LAST SATURDAY morning. The heavens, which have been crying since he died, stopped crying to let the sun through, long enough to permit his burial under sunny skies, then burst again into copious tears in the afternoon.

At the necrological rites the night before at the National Press Club, at least one speaker shed his own tears during his spiel. But even in death, Boy Togonon was still doing his good deeds. Veteran journalists, who had stayed away from the NPC because of disappointment with the abuses and irresponsibility of NPC officers, trooped back to the NPC Plaridel Hall for the necrological rites for Boy. Some of his fellow artists went home from foreign shores for his burial. And many of the old Express staffers I have not seen for years showed up at the NPC. But isn’t it ironic that journalists get together at the NPC only when one of their colleagues die? But for one night at least, journalists mourned together and reminisced the good times and the happy moments with Boy Togonon. Boy had been my close friend for almost three-fourths of my life.

I first met Boy Togonon when the Daily Express was being organized back in 1971. I was then the managing editor of The Evening News but Pocholo Romualdez invited me to be the managing editor of the new newspaper. I accepted because I would be working with the best journalists then: Joe Bautista, my journalism professor, Manolo Villareal, Johnny Perez, D.H. Soriano and Pocholo. Not only that, the art department was organized by Malang the painter-cartoonist, and the artists he recruited were young graduates from the University of Sto. Tomas: Boy Togonon, Benjo Laygo, Dante Munsayac and Arnold Adao. Their chief was Danny Franco, a talented painter but now better known as the fashion designer. Their guru was the veteran painter, cartoonist and art director Hugo Yonzon Jr. Cartoonist Larry Alcala came often to visit. I had assigned him to do his “Slice of Life” cartoon series in the Weekend Magazine of the Express. For photographers, we had a talented bunch, too: Jun de Leon (now better known as the celebrity fashion photographer), Ed Santiago, Manny Goloyugo, Noli Yamsuan and others.

I mentioned the artists and photographers to give you an idea of where and how Boy Togonon honed his artistic and humorous skills. By the way, Boy’s real name is Romeo but he didn’t want to be called by that name. It sounds too romantic, he would say, and makes women suspicious. He preferred Boy Togonon or Boy Togs or just Togs. Close friends usually used the second nickname.

The art department of the Express was a cheerful place. Whenever I wasn’t busy at the news desk, I went to the art department and we shared stories and cracked jokes with the artists and photographers. We all watched while Hugo Yonzon painted his pieces. Many of his best paintings were finished while swapping jokes and banter in that room. Amid all that hullabaloo, Boy Togs stayed at his drawing table doodling for ideas, or finishing his editorial cartoon or comic strip “Melody” for the day. The character of Melody, by the way, was a domestic helper Boy Togs created with the late Teddy Berbano, and antedated the era of the DH as OFW.

Since then, Boy Togs had been with me for the most part. Shortly before the Express closed down due to a strike after the 1986 People Power revolt, I organized the Tribune. Boy Togs resigned to go with me. When the Daily Globe was set up, Boy Togs and I helped organize it. And when I moved to The Manila Chronicle, Boy Togs was with me as art director and production manager.

It was only when I joined the Inquirer that Boy and I parted ways, he joining a few other newspapers. But we were never far apart. I saw him court his future wife, Sonia. I was a godfather at their wedding. I saw his children grow up into the good-looking young men they are now. We did projects together; we often had lunch or dinner together, or just horsed around with other mutual friends. We witnessed him build his house in Bacoor, Cavite, and visited often when it was completed. We had lunch regularly at Plaridel’s watering hole every Monday.

The Monday before he died, we had lunch with Plaridel friends. When I arrived, he was sitting on a bench at the lobby. I asked him what he was doing there; the lunch was on the second floor. I can’t go up to the second floor, he answered.

You can, I said. Come on, we’ll go up together. So we went up the stairs slowly. He rested at the first landing. After a while, we again slowly walked to the top of the stairs. I went inside but Boy Togs sat on a chair beside a table to rest. He was joined there by Jun Bautista who, like him, has breathing problems.

We had a very happy time together then, swapping jokes and stories, and we stayed till mid-afternoon. I didn’t realize it was the last time we would be together. Maybe, that was the reason that last lunch together was so happy.

When the news was phoned to me that he had died, it was like I lost a brother. Boy Togonon was a brother, a friend, a colleague, a companion, a confidant, a sharer of secrets, a loyal and trusted pal.

With Boy Togonon’s death, I not only lost a brother and friend, the Philippine media lost a talented journalist.

He was an affectionate husband and a doting parent. He drove his wife to office every morning. When his wife went out of town, he accompanied her—not only to the airport but to her destination. He always had stories to tell about his children. He was already talking about the prospect of having grandchildren when he died.

We will all miss Boy Togonon.

himas sa malamig na rehas

Rio Alma's SONETOS POSTUMOS Book

Book Launching ni Virgilio Almario, National Artist for Literature ng kanyang bagong libro Sonetos Postumos, na may kasamang mga paintings ni Ang Kiukok at translations ni Marne Kilates sa Mayo 9, 2006 , Cultural Center of the Philippines Main Lobby, alas kuatro ng hapon.

Manila Bulletin May 20, 2006 

Two National Artists, one book

Rio Alma's poetry and Ang Kiukok's paintings flesh out themes of life, death and resurrection By SUSAN A. DE GUZMAN THE first time Virgilio Almario a.k.a. Rio Alma saw a painting of Ang Kiukok, he felt an instant connection to it. It was the 1960s, and there in the newspaper was an announcement of the young artist’s exhibit showing his works of stark torment. Rio Alma, then a struggling poet, felt that the painting captured his own sentiments. Perhaps swayed by the spirit of the times, he had a rebellious streak that made him a self-described “anti” — anti-establishment, anti-industry, even anti-religion.

"This is my painter; this is my spirit," Almario recalls himself thinking then. Through the years, he never quite forgot the artist who had made such an impact on him. In the meantime, they were both gradually making names for themselves in their respective fields until both attained the ultimate accolade — the National Artist award, Almario for Literature and Ang for Visual Arts. Still, their paths did not cross… until the former decided to make a move.

Last week, it was a dream-come-true for Almario as the book " Sonetos Postumos" was launched at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. The landmark publication from the University of the Philippines Press juxtaposes the works of the two National Artists — Rio Alma’s poetry alongside Ang Kiukok’s paintings, a seemingly perfect fit tackling the themes of life, death and resurrection.

Almario, called to the podium for his remarks, amused the crowd when he merely said, "Maraming salamat, maraming salamat, maraming salamat" (Many thanks, many thanks, many thanks). It was actually a nod to the late Ang Kiukok who had uttered those exact words when he received his National Artist recognition.

The "Sonetos Postumos." launch, which was attended by Ang’s widow, also included a mini exhibit featuring some of Ang’s works featured in the book.

When Almario realized that his latest collection of poems — made up of sonnets in particular — was attuned to the mood and angst of Ang’s works, he lost no time contacting the reclusive artist some two years ago. The poet remembers his visit to the Ang home, awestruck as he was to be surrounded by works he so identified with. It was a congenial meeting wherein Almario was able to explain the book project, and to which Ang subsequently agreed.

From Almario’s personal list of Ang’s works that he favored, book designer and poet Fidel Rillos chose the ones to suit specific sonnets. Another poet, Marne Kilates, who had collaborated with Almario on his last book entitled "Dust Devils," provided the English translations for " Sonetos Postumos."

Apart from getting the opportunity to have a collaboration with his favorite artist, Almario enjoyed the chance to tinker with the sonnet. "Pinaglaruan ko ‘yung form (I toyed around with the form) — from the Petrarchal to the Shakespearean to the English sonnet," he cites. "I used my own deviations. For example, in the number of syllables, usually, there are 12; in my own, there would be seven or eight — and even just four. I also expanded the lines. I have some that seem to be so long, but actually, when you analyze it, it’s still 14 lines. I did lots of experiments; there were so many possibilities."

At 62, Almario remains as prolific a writer as he was in his younger years, producing a seemingly inexhaustible stream of works both new and repackaged. Later this year, UST will release the prose/poem anthology "Tatlong Pasyon Para sa Ating Panahon." By June, he expects to finish the manuscript for a book of essays on Jose Rizal as a novelist. (He insists that Rizal should be taught as a writer, and not just as a hero.) He also expects to complete two other collections of poems within the year — "May Mga Damdaming Higit Kaysa Akin," underscoring antirealism, and the tentatively titled "Salunggati" (Bakit Kailangan Natin ng Himala), comprising commentaries on the social condition.

Ironically, Almario is slowed down by the computer, which he admits to using regularly only since last year. This concession to modernity has, alas, brought him a few instances of woe. Forgetting to save his files, a sudden brownout has made him lose half a day’s work. A wrong punch of the keys has also caused moments of panic, as he rushes off to find a staff to retrieve the disappeared text. What he does now is to jot down his writings on a notebook before transferring them to the computer. But in case things get really desperate, the poet still keeps one of his trusty Olympia typewriters at home.

Almario says that his output has actually been reduced because of his duties as dean of the UP College of Arts and Letters, a post that he finds challenging but enjoyable. As it is, he says, "I have no luxury of time."

His longed-for sabbatical will have to wait yet again. But if it does come, he already knows what he will do. There are two novels "20 years in the making" and epic poetry that he wishes to finally concentrate on and complete.

Asked what his mission is that he seems to be working quite fanatically, Almario answers simply: "To write."

 

joey de leon at obra ni kiukok.