Punchline
A man for others
By Ermin Garcia Jr.
HOW does one mourn the passing of someone whom one considers a relative but is not, someone who’s a friend but is more than that?
I just lost my “elder brother”, a true friend.
Clemente Nava passed away last Thursday after he succumbed to a lingering illness at age 74. He was the “elder brother” I never had, my first “reality” tutor who believed in me.
Before I could even finish my college education in 1968, my mind was already set on having a life in Pangasinan, to pick up the trail where my father left off when 3 bullets snuffed the life out of him in 1966. I was not sure I’d measure up to the task of being a community journalist since I didn’t earn any unit in any journalism subject. All I knew was I wanted to be in Pangasinan to continue my father’s advocacy, the mission I felt I was fated to do.
The first day I set my foot inside The PUNCH office, a day after graduation, I almost turned back to take the next bus trip back to Quezon City, and to forget about running the paper. I was told the office was literally bleeding to death. It owed the printing press some P200,000 before I could even get started! (By today’s standard, I estimate that would be about at least P1 million!) My father was obviously not a businessman, and so was I. Like him, I certainly didn’t understand a thing about financial management except to keep a savings bankbook.
But Mente Nava kept me in check. He told me how he, too, had to learn the insurance business himself the hard way, being an engineering graduate, when he took over the family’s business after his father, Eutiquiano, died. He assured me I could do the same.
On day 2, he patiently laid out a training module for me – Reality Business 101. Constant after-office hours tutoring finally made me understand what debit-credit meant to a business and how to keep track of income and payables, etc. To make a long story short, the paper was finally in the black after two years of hand-to-mouth existence.
Yes, I give Mente a lot of credit for the paper’s continued financial viability to this day. Much as I would like to reciprocate by teaching his own sons, Marcel and Mitz, the rudiments of business as he taught me, I know that is not going to happen. He taught his sons well and they are now very successful in their own endeavors. It is Mitz who now holds the key to his illustrious father’s enterprises.
That’s one memory of Mente I shall cherish forever.
* * * * *
Yet there were more about this man that helped mold me into what I am today.
Even as I was earning my spurs as a publisher in the community, Mente Nava, of all people, showed me where to find the heart of community newspapering — civic involvement. I just turned 22 when he decided it was time for me to join the Rotary Club of Dagupan and have the chance to meet and collaborate with distinguished men of different discipline. At that time, nobody below 30 years old was asked to join Rotary. The reaction from the club’s members was predictable: I belonged to the Jaycees, not the Rotary. In the end, he and others prevailed citing the sentimental reason – my father was the incumbent president of the club when he was killed. Mente dared to break the club’s age-old tradition if only to give me the opportunity he thought I deserved. So I became the youngest Rotarian in the world at the time…and Rotary’s gates have been opened since to 20ish men (and now women).
With him taking the lead, I found myself performing tasks in the club and in the district originally reserved for senior Rotarians. I was even inspired to write the club’s “Welcome Song” out of sheer enjoyment from the fellowship he generated as club president. From there, he introduced me to other organizations, from local censors’ body to police advisory group to YMCA, etc.
However, I knew I disappointed him when I decided not to pursue my application to join him in masonry after failing to get the nod of the brotherhood a second time. I could only assure him I didn’t have to be a mason to imbibe the ideals and virtues he embraced as a mason. Being with him was infectious. So we moved on as brother masons would without being one.
I knew he was proud of me as his protégé, and I was even prouder of him as my teacher.
Mente Nava filled a large part of my professional life. I feel the void today. But I am consoled and even happier for him and his family knowing that he was prepared to meet his Maker after having lived his life to its fullest, and above all, having had the opportunity to make amends to those he had loved and hurt.
What a way to live…and leave. Such was the fate of Mente Nava, truly a man for others.
* * * * *
On a happier note, it’s time to let your hair down, wear the brightest colors, get real and have a good chilling time at the Bangus Festival. But let’s not forget to cooperate with the organizers.
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