By Rex Catubig

 

HE was the antithesis of a city official during his term as Mayor. He was down to earth, loud and foul-mouthed– way before a later Mayor in the south claimed the patent for crassness and rudeness.

But the redneck and hillbilly pretensions were all shock tactics meant to drive away the weak of heart and stomach, do away with artifice, and come up with bare-bones politics.

I remember that he created a sensation when during a city parade, he marched bare chested boasting to the world the footlong scars of a recent open-heart surgery—his mark of defiance in the face of death, a stubborn survivor.

Yet beneath all these shenanigans was a core of refinement and sensitivity that was easy to ignore–because his firebrand persona was certainly striking and stoked controversy.

It was during his term, that the erstwhile Bonuan Blue Beach was reimagined as Tondaligan Ferdinand Park–a rest and recreation area for the public named after the President.

A small amphitheater was built on a cleared site as you entered the park–where weekly cultural presentations were staged by both the government and civic sectors,  filling the cultural void at the time. And when the presentations grew in size and attendance, a bigger amphitheater was built at the far end of the park to accommodate the crowd and the clamor for bigger attractions–with the Pista’y Dayat festivities becoming the major summer feature.

So the beachfront park became a cultural venue as well, presaging the focus on the beachfront  as a hub for tourism.

But what really assured me that the man was not a scarecrow out to frighten the weakling, was the candid, sincere appreciation he expressed at a theater presentation of our fledgling theater group, the Kankanti Ensemble.

One night, without fanfare, he showed up with his First Lady, Dr Fe Cruz Manaois, to watch our drama production in our intimate theater setting at the Lyceum-Northwestern, Mayombo. They both sat down on wooden classroom chairs, among a mixed crowd of students, teachers and others. All throughout the twin-bill presentation, they sat in rapt attention and became one with the hundred and fifty or so audience.

It was our practice, after the curtain call, to hold a forum—where I would engage the audience in a lively exchange. It was then that Mayor Opring stood up from the audience and addressed everyone in attendance. He said in all candor, that he “had not seen a theater presentation before” and that he was “very much impressed” with what he had just witnessed. Then he dropped the bombshell. He declared: “From here on, I promise to watch stage plays again”.

For a young theater group, that was the best compliment ever. Something that to this day, I treasure and look back to when I’m gripped by the thought that I might have done something wrong, or have not done enough, or have become a slacker. Or when beauty pageants and bikini-open are the staple of local culture. When coffee shop and mall art is the new norm; and dervish street dancing is the closest expression in defining who we are and unfurling our creative soul.

Roll in your grave, Mayor Opring, while you kept your word, we have dilly dallied.

Rebuke us, be a fire-breathing dragon again.

Share your Comments or Reactions

comments

Powered by Facebook Comments