When Dagupan was 8, going on 13
By Rex Catubig
I grew up in Calmay which was cut off from the población by the river. Our barrio had everything a village needed, but we would cross the river aboard a banca to partake of life on the other side.
On Sundays, my mother and I would hear mass at the St John. We would catch the 9 o’clock mass, which I dreaded if it was a High Mass with all the Latin abracadabra, because the long liturgy was aggravated by the furnace heat inside the airless church. And even compounded by the redolent scent of Maja perfume on exhumed veils from musty aparador, that adorned the coiffed hair of matronly ladies reciting the rosary while Fr Soriano delivered his lengthy sermon on the pulpit.
To cool off after mass, my mother would buy me a glass of the ruby-red gulaman iced drink, then we would walk past the Sirena fountain in front of the presidencia, sometimes had picture taken by the litratista who hung around, then dine in in La Suerte or De Luxe, farther, for segunda almuerzo. At other times, we would have a merienda at La Pampangueña when we had to try footwear at Rump Shoes on weekdays.
The downtown was a ghost town on Sundays because of the Blue Sunday Law that restricted commerce on this day. Merchandise stores were not allowed to open and conduct business on the day of the Sabbath.
So Saturdays was when my mother shopped for clothing material at Ang Ka Tong, visited Ursula’s dress shop and had her cold wave at Tru Art Beauty Parlor.
When there were no classes, my father would take me with him to Dagupan Lumber, where together with Siwasiw Sawmill, he was the manager. At times, we would watch a movie in Flor Theater. I liked the Lone Ranger. But my elementary classmates and I loved Steve Reeves as Hercules and would flock to Dagupan theater. Of course, my mother preferred Tagalog movies showing in the Ligaya theater.
My father regularly drove me to West Central where I studied, on his Oldsmobile that’s covered with rust scabs. I was forever embarrassed to be seen alighting from it, so I would prefer to ride in the calesa of Mama Godoy. The fare was ten centavos. It was the only means of transportation around the city. And though there were only a few, Torres Bugallon resounded with the clopping of horses’ hooves, and on a bad day the air was heavy with the aroma of horses’ dropping.
I kept an alcancia, made with a hallowed coconut shell but my father, to make me feel grown up, opened me my own bank account at Security Bank along the row where the Methodist church is. He put in P50 which was a fortune for a grade schooler like me.
He also set up a signing privilege for me at De Luxe owned by the couple Jose and Nene, to the delight of my Grade 6 classmates whom I treated to hamburger and ice cream. We would drop five centavos in the jukebox to listen to our favorite song.
The siren blared the end of the working day at 4 o’clock. And by 6 o’clock the city was dark and deserted.
Dagupan was asleep at 7 o’clock, to rise early at dawn.
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