The woman behind the man
By Rec Catubig
I did not get to meet Pangasinan’s political luminary, Speaker Eugenio Perez Sr, who authored the charter that made Dagupan into a City, whose birthday, November 13th has been declared a Special Holiday in the province, in recognition of his pivotal role as the First Speaker of the post war Republic.
But if you believe in the saying that behind every man’s success is a woman, then I have an ace up my sleeve.
Growing up in the 1960’s, I was fortunate to have had a personal encounter with the Speaker’s widow: the fascinating Doña Consuelo Salazar Perez.
My father was a loyal ally of the Speaker and the widow carried on the friendly ties even after her husband’s demise. She would drop by our home in Babaliwan whenever she came to Dagupan, and we reserved a room overlooking the river for her brief rests.
An actress and a coloratura soprano, she gained fame for her role in the 1938 film Ang Maya where she starred with Fernando Poe Sr. The movie’s lilting title song was her signature aria.
I remember her humming the song every time she visited. Teasingly, we would ask her to sing it, and at times, she would gladly oblige, filling the corridors with her trilling voice.
And yet she was an intimidating Mother Earth figure–the precursor of all First Ladies, who set a standard difficult to measure up to.
Well-coiffed and dressed in a flowing chiffon colorful muumuu, she would sashay into our living room, leaving a trail of Jean Patou Joy perfume’s breathtaking floral fragrance–her head and chin always tilted high, ready for her close-up.
She hardly spoke in a soft voice—she talked with oratorical flair and dramatic flourish, accentuated by a piercing gaze. Having a firm grasp of politics and familiarity with top politicians of the time, she regaled her listeners with her astute analyses and acerbic comments.
Yet it was her graciousness that impressed me most.
On a college break, some of my buddies came home with me. After touring the city, I took them to San Fabian to show Doña Consuelo’s beautiful beach house. We walked down the fine black sand, then went to the resthouse.
Being teenagers, we thought nothing of unannounced visits, but we were welcomed after I introduced myself as “anak ni mama Lope”. The mayordoma asked us to sit and left, ostensively to inform Madam of our presence.
When the Doña came out and saw us waiting idly in the veranda, she hollered and berated the house help for not serving us refreshments: “Bakit di mo sila binigyan ng kape!”, she barked. Instantaneously, a tray of fine China porcelain set with tea and coffee came out of nowhere. And incredibly, the Lady of the house sat down with us and engaged us in small talk.
We were embarrassed but star-struck! What were the chances, ordinary college kids in Hush Puppies get to hobnob with the legendary diva?
With her gracious gesture, she transformed a casual episode of our youth into a significant event, a dog-eared page in our adolescent journal, a coming-of-age vignette of a serendipitous encounter with iconic greatness.
And it was not the only time I would be witness to a portrait of a proud woman whose prominence belies her humility.
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