Manila was where Hermie’s heart was

By Al S. Mendoza

 

THE last time I was with Hermie Rivera in our beloved Dagupan was in 2012.

“We need to see your buloy, Al,” he said to me then, in his usual sound of utmost urgency.

Everything in Hermie was urgent.

And if Hermie would say that to me, it was his way of mouthing a refrain in wanting to renew ties with friends.

And Buloy Al (Fernandez) has been friend to the both of us for the longest time.

Hermie has been US-based for decades, calling Newark, San Francisco, CA, home since the Eighties.

But each time he came home, which was very often for he has never left his heart in San Francisco, he made it a point to link up with everybody close to him.

Manila was where his heart was.  Forever.

It was December of 2012 when Hermie, Buloy Al and I had our last swig of the crazy water together.

Oh, yes, include Jake P. Ayson.

Jake and I were on our way to Baguio that time to do our yearly chore of being rules men in the Fil-Am Golf Championship at Baguio Country Club and John Hay.

A stopover in Dagupan would make Hermie the happiest; Buloy Al, too.

But that night was marred somewhat by an incident when, at almost midnight, Buloy Al collapsed.  Thank God, it was just over-fatigue.

The swigging session abruptly ending, Hermie, Jake and I went to the hospital and, after having been happily told by the doctor that Buloy Al was all right, Jake and I said our goodbyes to Hermie and motored to Baguio.

The last lunch—late lunch, I must say—I had with Hermie was middle of 2015.

It was at Max’s Commonwealth Avenue, Q.C.

“Max’s chicken has always been my favorite,” he said.

As usual, he had a pasalubong for me; he did that all the time—bringing me something every time he came visiting.

This time, it was a Burberry T-shirt and, yes, a necktie (his favorite pasalubong).

Oh, yes, there was a bottle of wine, too: the vintage Pinot Noir appellation.

For Jake, who he dearly loved, a T-shirt, too.

Hermie loved to call “Jake my soul mate as we were both born on the same day, April 17.”

Their wives are from Dagupan:  Hermie’s Atche Tina Pasaoa and Jake’s Atche Pat (Manaois).

That afternoon at Max’s, beer unusually flowed in wild abandon.

“I cannot drink that much anymore but how can I refuse you, my dear fellers,” he would always say each time he ordered another round.

On January 16, our beloved Hermie, who cut his teeth in broadcasting in Dagupan en route to an imminent career spanning almost half a century, had passed on.  Heart failure. He was 77.

His dearest son, Noel, had e-mailed me this:

“Tito Al,

Ang bilin ni Papa:

‘Let us make sure he gets this book. Autographed by the author you guys talked about. Baka hindi ko madala.’

The book is a collection of stories by NVM Gonzalez (my California State University, Hayward) English professor.

‘Al prefers Cognac (because it goes down smoother than scotch). Pinot Noir or stainless, too.’

I spoke to him December 18 about how the Karpov-Korchnoi 1978 World Chess Match went down.

Christmas day, he was vibrant. We discussed how he got into the shot with Karpov.

The story of Baguio I never forgot, how I met Mikhail Tal (Tal ran out of cigarettes, asked around, bantered with my dad, smoke billowing).

For a few hours, I watched the 8th World chess champion analyze (my dad, his friends and I watching).

I wanted to say “Thank You, Tito Al” for being the one who most understood me and Papa. Also, I wanted to tell you he passed away with no suffering. Inantay niya si Andy (my brother) before he left.

Wednesday, January 20 (burial) he would be throwing his last punch.

Regards to Tita Sol and the gang.

Noel”

As Hermie loved to say to end a drinking session, “It’s been a lovely evening, fellers.”

Indeed, it was lovely all the way having you, Hermie.  Say hi, to Pareng Jess.

(For your comments and reactions, please email to: punch.sunday@gmail.com)

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