Below is a feature story and was written by my mentor and maternal uncle.
The school year 1969-70 drew to a close with me filled with confidence I would exit through the gates of USC with a diploma of bachelor of science in commerce, accounting major. This, despite days spent at Fuente Osmeña sympathizing with land reform beneficiaries who staged a demonstration for weeks. Never mind if I neither had a class ring made by Suarez nor wore a toga at the graduation ceremonies, for my parents with my aunties and grandparents who managed to send me through college didn’t have money for these non-essentials. Above all, I was engrossed in finding a job, any job. For this reason, I informed my parents in Leyte not to expect me for vacation.
One summer afternoon I learned an employer was at the dean’s office to give an exam and interview fresh graduates. I was surprised there were few applicants but took the exams anyway and was interviewed. But what job was it? The exam heading said it was that of the Philippine Broadcasting Service (PBS) under the Office of the President. The interviewer in his baritone voice told us, examinees, it was for a broadcasting job. Now, what would an ordinary sounding guy like me do in a world of the likes of newscasters Jess Vestil and SD Tecson or commentator Paeng Yabut and Talyux Bacalso or drama talent Inday Nita and Iyo Karpo? These thoughts undermined my confidence.
But who can argue with destiny? I was told to report to the head of station DYMR occupying an obscure building within the compound of the Bureau of Telecommunications at Wireless, Mandawe City as soon as I can. I was to undergo an apprenticeship under the head of the station, Magno Cadungog. I was told I would be paid an allowance of Php 3.00 a day. I was only allowed to give the time four times an hour, read some public service announcements and spin records chosen in advance by my boss. The first time I sat before the mic that would bring my voice to tens, hundreds, or thousands of invisible listeners was a harrowing experience. Making a “buckle or backle” on-air was almost a mortal sin then. Understanding my predicament Magno asked me to practice the station ID on “monitor” meaning off-air until he was satisfied. Then finally on air, “this is PBS, the Philippine Broadcasting service, station DYMR 1410 kilohertz on your radio, broadcasting from Wireless, Mandaue City.” I felt Miss Tan our speech teacher, squeezing the voice out of me and forming my mouth to pronounce the words right. I love that humble lady.
Then three months passed without any paycheck coming or news about a promised formal training before full employment. Meantime I was asked by Philippine Airlines to report for work. But no, I insisted on staying on with great hopes of being hired. Providence again intervened.
Another apprentice at the PBS head office quit unexpectedly. I was requested to take the first plane available to Manila to take his place in a six months training at the studios of PBS. That sealed my fate for a 12-year career as a broadcaster. In my second year of employment, Martial Law silenced all radio and TV stations and shuttered all newspapers throughout the country. Being a government radio station, it was the only station in the region that was on air disseminating important announcements like presidential decrees and letters of instruction and airing network feeds from Manila.
My job as a broadcaster included news gathering, writing, and newscasting. As a cub reporter, I learned from the more experienced newsmen like Maning Satorre and the people of Godo Roperos of the defunct department of public information.
My sign-on assignment was a great challenge for a 21-year-old sleepy head. Neophytes are given the time slots more experienced staff avoid—the sign-on and sign-off slots. Twice my technician partner woke me up at my sleeping quarters when the Pambansang Awit that preceded the sign on spiel was already spinning. I was horrified and barely got to the booth in time to deliver the half-page script. So, I installed a string that went to my room and tied it to my foot. But the tech got wind of the alarm system. He used the back door instead. But this time I woke up on time.
While still working in Cebu, I attempted to join the US Navy upon the wishes of my mother but failed the physical exam. This must-have disappointed her much. This disappointment, however, was more than made up for later by two of my sisters who worked as nurses in Texas.
It was in these first few years at DYMR that I met Fe. She lived farther down the road from my work. Her father who worked as a transmitter technician at Telecom had the privilege to house his family within the Telecom compound. Just six months before I was sent to Davao to head the station there, Fe and I tied the knot at the Archbishop’s Palace chapel.
-Paciente “Boy” Cubillas Jr.
