*437. PAULINE C. LIEB: Wartime Philippines’ “Joan of Arc”

LIEB AND LET DIE. Filipino-American freedom fighter, she joined the resistance movement and fought side-by-side with male soldiers. She was captured in the foothills of Montalban in 1944. 

In 1960, a Filipino-American couple moved into a quiet Angeles neighborhood, then still a town. They were seemingly an ordinary couple—Mr. Eugene Lieb, an engineer, had just accepted a job at Clark Air Base while his wife, a Manileña, appeared to be a typical mother hen to their two daughters. 

But little did their neighbors know, that the life of Pauline C. Lieb was anything but typical. For in their midst was a war heroine, whose largely forgotten role as an underground guerrilla fighter needs to be retold, for hers is a story of love, struggle and survival.

Pauline was the daughter of Paz Canovas, of Spanish-Filipino descent, and Edward Costigan, an American. Costigan had arrived in the Philippines in 1898 where he quickly found work as a manager of a cold storage facility in Manila.

Pauline was born on 6 June 1917, and grew up speaking Spanish and English in a multi-cultural household. As a young girl growing up in Manila, the pretty Pauline was squired by handsome swains, that counted the tall and handsome Lubeño, Regidor dela Rosa—who would go on to become the matinee idol, Rogelio dela Rosa. Another admirer was said to be the scion of the La Tondeña Distillery.

The onset of World War II would put on hold the lives of millions of Filipinos—and that of the Costigans would be affected most profoundly. At the height of the war years, Pauline did what she thought was right for her country and joined the underground resistance movement, prodded by Tom Myers, an American shipping magnate who organized the guerrilla group.  She took up arms, and under  Capt. Myers,  became part of the combat forces which attacked and ambushed Japanese enemy soldiers.

The Japanese military began putting the heat on the American and Filipino guerrilla fighters (Huks)  and waged campaigns to purge them out from the mountains. It was in this way that Pauline and Capt. Myers were captured in the hills of Montalban, Rizal sometime in 1944. The American was beheaded, while Pauline was whisked off and imprisoned at the Bilibid Prison in Manila. A fellow prisoner was Claire Phillips, aka Clara Fuentes, a Filipino-American spy who would write about her war experience in the book, “Manila Espionage”.  ( Her life story later was turned into a Hollywood movie entitled, “I Was an American Spy” in 1951.)

Fortunately, Pauline escaped imminent doom and was freed from incarceration with the bloody liberation of the Philippines. She was sent to the United States to recuperate, and after the dust had settled and the rebuilding of the nation went underway, the Costigans started life anew. Eventually,  Pauline found employment as a cashier at the reconstructed Manila Hotel, the country’s premiere hotel. It was here that she would meet a dashing American military personnel from Ohio, Eugene L. Lieb, who was first assigned to the Port of Manila after the war. 

After a short courtship, they got married in Catholic ceremonies in Malate and settled in the new suburb of Makati. Mr. Lieb, a civil engineer, was later tapped to head the Roads and Grounds services division at Clark Air Base in Angeles, Pampanga. This necessitated the Liebs’ move to Angeles in 1960.

Here, in a Balibago neighborhood, the Liebs would raise their two daughters: Pacita (now Vizcarra) and Mary Ann (now del Rosario), now based in the U.S.  Pauline would live a long life, passing away on 24 February 2009, at age 91 in her adopted city of Angeles. A U.S. newspaper got wind of Pauline’s wartime exploits after her death and an account of her life and times saw print on a Los Angeles daily which dubbed her as “Joan of Arc” of World War II, a fitting appellation for a freedom fighter who heeded to the calling of her inner voice-- to  put country first, before herself.

CREDITS: Photo and information provided by Mr. Benjamin Canovas, a relative of Pauline Canovas Costigan Lieb. 

*367. Good Times, Great Eats: SPIC 'N SPAN

SPIC TO ME. A 1950s advertisement of Spic 'n Span, one of Pampanga's premiere and  popular restaurants founded by Pilar Mendez-Gomez, widow of Vicente Gomez of Angeles. 

 “Let’s have ice cream at Spic ‘n Span!” 

Whenever my dad was in the mood for treating us kids, he would holler those words, and we would all respond with squeals of delight at the prospect of having a good time over at Angeles’ most popular haven of refreshment.

 Long before McDonald’s and Jollibee, there was Spic ‘n Span, located along the national road in Balibago, Angeles City, near the Mabalacat town boundary. It was not exactly a fastfood restaurant, but it billed itself as a “cocktail lounge and restaurant”, catering to banquets, wedding receptions and parties at popular prices. But to us, Spic ‘n Span represented everything that was cool, clean and refreshing, a break from our humdrum routine and a special time for family to bond and recharge.

 In fact, it was the latter that became the guiding light of the Spic ‘n Span founder, Mrs. Pilar Gomez, in the successful management of her restaurant business, elevating it as one of Central Luzon’s best.

Pilar Mendez was born in Paco, Manila on 2 October 1899, the daughter of Manuel Mendez, a Tabacalera executive, and Benita Bautista of Victoria, Tarlac. Of Spanish stock, Pilar grew up speaking Spanish, and was educated at Sta. Isabel College and St. Scholastica College.

 Just a few years into college, she met Vicente “Centi” Gomez (b. 24 Nov. 1889), the son of Esteban Gomez and Josefa Pamintuan of Angeles. Esteban was the first-born of Nicolas Gomez (aka Fray Guillermo Masnou, cura of Angeles) with local lass Patricia Mercado.

Their short courtship culminated in their wedding on 19 Mar. 1920. Their children—11 of them-- would come in quick succession, and to help fend for the family, Pilar set up a small restaurant in 1945—“Linda’s Nook and Drive In”, which was to become the forerunner of “Spic ‘n Span”.

 In 1953, her husband, Centi, died leaving the widow alone to run the restaurant business. Her devotion to her family spurred her in steering Spic ‘n Span to greater heights, which eventually became one of Pampanga’s finest and well-known restaurants and caterers. For over two decades, Spic ‘n Span would serve hundreds of thousands of food-loving local and international guests (it was a favorite watering hole of Clark Air Base personnel), cater to countless wedding receptions, graduations and other milestone events. 

To hone her knowledge in the food industry, Pilar enrolled as a member of the Hotel and Restaurant Owners Association of the Philippines, and joined the delegation for observation tours to Japan and Hongkong.

 In all these years, Pilar managed to preserve the unity of her family despite time and distance. All but one (Pilar Ines, who died in infancy) would finish their education and move on to other fields of endeavour: Esteban (Commerce, La Salle), Pacita, Angel (Mechanical Engineering, Mapua), Hermelinda, Floriana (H.E., Sta. Paul) , Vicente Magno Jr. (Commerce, La Salle), Manuel Benito (Mechanical Eng., La Salle) , Pilar Vicenta (Secretarial Science), Benita Paula (Bachelor of Arts) and Salvador Senen (Bachelor of Arts, La Salle).

 Spic ‘n Span’s heyday would continue on till the 70s, and so did our regular after-school hours stop. On the long drive back to Mabalacat from Angeles, we would drop by for a scoop or two of my favorite chocolate ice cream—which was what my dear father could afford in those days.

By then, the area had become crowded, and alternative eating places, like A&W Drive-in (Open 24 hours! Angeles’ newest and most fascinating!), Shanghai Restaurant, Kentucky Fried Chicken and even Didi’s Pizza, had started burgeoning in far more spacious and developed locations. In a few years, Spic ‘n Span was no more.

 Mrs. Pilar Mendez would pass away on 21 October 1983, but her legacy lives on in the happy recollections of satisfied customers like me, who regularly had a dose of wholesome fun at her special place that brought hospitality, excellent taste and warm service together under one roof" Spic 'n Span!!

*295. HORSING AROUND AT STOTSENBURG

A HORSE WITH NO NAME. A favorite annual activity at Camp Stotsenburg is the holding of a Sports Week or Sports Carnival, which featured  equestrian events such as polo, horseback riding and horse dressage, which includes obstacle racing such as the one shown on the photo above. ca. 1915.

Fort Stotsenburg, the precursor of Clark Air Base, started as a military camp with the size of 7,600 acres. By 1908, it had expanded to 158,277 acres, to include parts of Dolores in Mabalacat, Bamban and Zambales Mountains, including the Pinatubo area. The size and breadth of the enlarged military camp was perfect for exploration and adventure, especially on horseback. Soon, Stotsenburg became an ideal equestrian paradise, the site of many horse-based sports competition, field events and exhilarating horse rides on mountain sides and ridges, amidst wild but spectacular surroundings.

 A certain Capt. H. A. Myers was lavish in his recommendation of the camp environs, noting that “the Stotsenburg Reservation and nearby country in general, offers much that is worthwhile for persons interested in mounted activities. Not only is there much pleasure to be derived from riding over the country, but there is much beautiful scenery and many interesting landmarks to be seen”. Horse trails led to the lush and luxuriant Fern Canyon, whose main attractions are its variety of giant ferns that dot its landscape. There was also a Lost Canyon that abounded with colored birds and orchids.

Trails were fancifully named according to the natural characteristics of the terrain—Three Crater Trail, Top o’ the World Hill, Banyan Trail, Dead Horse Pass Trail and Dry River Bed Trail, among others. Soldiers and their families took to riding these trails during their off-duty hours every Wednesday, with pit stops along the way. There were waterfalls and swimming holes where people could take refreshing dips as well as good viewing spots from where one could survey the camp and the surrounding areas. But it was easy to get lost too, and there have been reported cases of missing people. In 1919 for example, 4 army men were trapped by rising waters in a narrow canyon along the Bamban River, necessitating their rescue by the daring army pilot, Lt. Ira Eaker. 

Meanwhile, equestrian field events were being introduced as early as 1909 in Stotsenburg. The most popular were the polo games, and at one point, the polo teams of the camp claimed to be the best in the Far East. During the term of post commander, Brig. Gen. Hagood Johnson, the army polo team played against the visiting Prince of Wales (the future Edward VIII) in 1922. Polo fields were laid out in the base parade grounds and regular polo tournaments were soon being held every April, during the Sports Week. Though skilled and experienced, the American team were no match against the “Los Tamaraos” (the team of Elizalde brothers), which had more superior horses that the Filipino-Spanish millionaires could very well afford.

 In the mid 20s, Stotsenburg held Sports Carnivals that included golf, ball games and riding events. The equestrian competition included dressage, horse-jumping events and bareback riding, with silver cups awarded to champion teams and individual winners. Much of the riding trails have all but been changed with the continuous alteration and modification of the camp grounds. The eruption of Mount Pinatubo obliterated not just the trails but also permanently changed the landscape of the military base. Beginning in 2009, the picnic grounds of Clark Field became alive again with the sounds of trotting horses and ponies.

Today, the spacious grounds near the Mabalacat exit gate have been transformed into a riding range, with a pseudo-main street complex that sports a wild, wild west theme complete with a salon named “El Kabayo”. Here, one can rent horses and ponies by the hour, for a leisurely ride around the picturesque grassy trail canopied by giant mimosa trees. The sight of smiling kids on ponies led by guides and more experienced riders galloping at full speed certainly brings back memories of old Clark in the 1920s and 30s, when it held repute among sports and leisure lovers as an equestrian paradise.

*292. BROTHERS AND BUDDIES

THE CASTRO BROTHERS RIDE AGAIN. Manuel Morales Castro (age 5) and elder brother Gerardo (age 7) proudly show off their pet horse.  Since childhood, my father and uncle were bosom buddies in Mabalacat-- the town where they were born and raised, settled their families until the end of their lives. Dated 1931.

This is perhaps the earliest picture of my father Gerardo and his younger brother, Manuel, together. My dad, born in 1924, was about 7 years old here, while Tatang Titong--that’s how we called our uncle--was 5.They had two other siblings--the eldest, Imang Elsie and the youngest, Tatang Matt. But it was my father and uncle who gravitated towards each other, and,  in youth and in old age, they would become an inseparable pair. More than brothers by birth, they were also tight, bosom buddies, growing up and going to school together, sharing the same dreams and eventually raising their own families while living as neighbors in Mabalacat.

My Dad was a junior—and the eldest boy in the family, so by virtue of his rank, he pretty much had his own way and got away with most of his shenanigans. He took under his wing his younger brother, who would become a sort of a disciple and sidekick. During the War years, both went to the local elementary school that was Japanese-controlled. My Dad once recounted how his brother, unable to recite properly, was slapped by his impatient Japanese teacher , sending his spectacles flying. My father was enraged, of course, but could do nothing to save his poor brother from his teacher’s torment, the one rare time he could not defend him.

It was only after class that he managed to comfort my uncle, whom he endearingly called Tits, and that incident cemented their brotherly bond even more. High school found my father enrolling at the Ateneo only to be kicked out in his second year for smoking on campus. Tatang Titong, however, would go on to pursue and finish his Fine Arts studies at the University of Sto. Tomas. I remember seeing some of the artworks my uncle created as a student: oil paintings of the Last Supper, the Virgen de Antipolo, and an escayola bust of his mother, Apung Tiri.

My uncle would retain this creative streak in later years, and I would often find him tinkering in his tool room and transforming found objects into decorative items. One time, he even created candle stands for All Saints’ Day using upturned tin saucers as bases, metal tubings as candle holders and ordinary nails as candle pricks. He became a handyman, to whom we would run to repair broken toys, med household items.

When my Dad and Tatang Titong got married, both had quite a rough start in establishing this new chapter in their lives. My Dad had it easier, as he lived in my Ingkung’s place, although at one point he drove jeepneys for a living. Tatang Titong vetoed a suggestion from his parents to go on a buy-and-sell-clothing business, preferring to be a jeepney driver instead, obviously influenced by his elder brother.

For some reason, Tatang Titong ended up running a Shell Gas Station in front of Clark Field, which proved to be a viable business. He and my aunt, Imang Toring moved to Balibago where they kept house just behind the gas station they managed. I remember my many visits to their house, getting to know my first cousins up close and personal, often playing games together, spinning records and trading comic books.

INSEPARABLE AT BIRTH. Brothers Titong and Dong, sharing a drink and having a blast in  Baguio City. Early 1970s.

The oil crisis in the 70s took a toll on the revenues of my uncle’s gas station. Instead of giving it up, my father ended up buying his business, which he operated for just under a year, before he too called it quits. Tatang Titong sold their Balibago house and relocated back to Mabalacat, to the unoccupied ancestral house of his uncle, Ingkung Pepe Morales that was just next-door to our residence. Now neighbors again, happy days were back for my dad and his favorite brother. They would do so many things together—from running their realty estate business from their office in Mabiga to going out for drinks, PX shopping and painting the town red riding their scooters.

For us, it was also a chance to get even closer with my cousins and there was not a day that we did not drop by each other’s place just to make ‘komusta’. We even attached a line of wire that ran across our two houses which, through a series of pulleys, could be used to exchange written communications with my cousins, when rains made it impossible for us to visit. I remember these years as a happy time for both our families, filled with the animated laughter of Castro kids and relatives.

Unexpectedly, all these came to a sad end when Tatang Titong suffered a stroke while riding his scooter on his way back to the office. He lapsed into a coma and passed away on 17 March 1989, just a few days before his son Ferdie’s wedding. Though my father was not a demonstrative man, I knew he felt the loss of his brother deeply, and I knew his days without him will never be the same again. After all, they were mag-“kapatad”, or ‘kaputul’—cut from the same cloth, born and grown from the same root. More than a “kadaya” (of the same blood), he was a “koyang Dong” to his “waling Tits”, a sibling relationship that had far-reaching influence in the way their lives were lived, creating a strong familial alliance that we, as an over-extended family, continue to uphold today, long after they have left this mortal world.

*247. BARS, BOOZE AND BABES: Off-Duty Pleasures of Stotsenburg

"ONE WHO CAN ALWAYS TELL WHEN PAYDAY IS COMING..". A Filipina stands ready to sell her charms to American military servicemen near Stotsenburg. Angeles. Ca. 1915.

For decades, especially in the 60s and 70s, Angeles was Pampanga’s “sin city”, a reputation bolstered by its honky-tonk atmosphere, its avenues lined with girlie bars and booze houses that catered to American servicemen stationed at Clark. En route to school from Mabalacat to Angeles, I would often pass through Balibago, lit with bright neon signs that spell come-on names like Cock and Bull, Pussy Galore, Thigh Hi alongside Las Vegas-inspired establishments like Copa Cabana, Stardust and Nina’s Papagayo.

Fields Avenue reflected a brasher, Wild, Wild West mood with its dizzying array of swanky bars, ‘dens of iniquities’, go-go-girls and ladies offering pleasures of the flesh to lonely American soldiers. Drunken brawls, crimes both violent and petty, conflicts between the military and civilians--not to mention the spread of venereal disease--were the inevitable consequences that are bound to happen in such volatile settings.

But scenarios like these already existed in the early days of Clark Field. American soldiers’ abuse of alcohol was already a constant problem then, and liquor-related deaths were regularly reported as in the case of Pvt. Henry T. Horton, who, in drunken stupor, fell asleep on the railroad track between Dau and the camp and was promptly ran over by a train. Alcohol also led to the violent end of Pvt. Arthur Breault who was beaten to death by 4 co-soldiers in 1911. Perhaps the worse tragedy was the deaths of four officers who met a vehicular accident on 23 January 1938, after their off-base drunken revelry. Only the driver survived.

It did not help that Filipinos also engaged in illegal liquor trade, causing strain between the base and the local government. In 1920, Lt. W.B. Ganther stormed into the office of acting governor Jose Narciso to demand the suspension of the Angeles police chief, who, he believed was involved in the illegal sale of wine. Narciso refused, and the next day, armed soldiers from Stotsenburg confronted him again. Only then did Narciso issue a suspension order, but he had the sense to report the matter all the way to Gov. Gen. Francis B. Harrison.

Another major problem that Stotsenburg officials had to contend with was the rise of sexually-transmitted diseases at the camp which became the leading cause of military inefficiency. An 1898 medical report took note that as American soldiers became “ habituated to the repulsiveness of native women, sexual immorality (became) more common”. By 1901, the report was more serious, with venereal disease spreading in other provinces “where the native women have been hitherto free from disease”.

Red-light districts were to be seen in Sapang Bato, known as “Sloppy Bottom” to soldiers, a place “full of sin and iniquity". Here, Filipino ‘baylarinas’ plied their services, although some Japanese women also worked the area. Barrio Margot, a recently-established barrio in the mid 1920s, provided an alterNAtive, what with its 300 residents, “composed mostly of women with questionable character”. Eventually, other areas of pleasure would sprout outside of Margot and all over Angeles—and pick-up places like “Bull Pen” were patronized by soldiers before the War, with girls to be had for 2 pesos per hour and 10 pesos for an all-night stand.

Much like Sodom and Gomorrha, the heady, decadent days of Angeles as a sin city came to a sudden end with the eruption of Mount Pinatubo, which caused the closure of Clark, and subsequently, the places of lusty pleasure along Jake Gonzales Blvd., Friendship Highway, Fields Avenue and Balibago. But such setback was only temporary. A quick survey of those places today reveal that only the habitués have changed—instead of Americans, a more international crowd animate the strip: German retirees, Aussies, Britons, Japanese and the ubiquitous Koreans.

Even business has expanded to include spas, massage parlors, gay bars, comedy and videoke clubs featuring strippers, masseuses, macho dancers, transvestite performers, hostos and GROs, sing-along masters and even oil wrestlers. Angeles may never be able to shake off its ‘sin city’ image, but for as long as cash registers are ringing, it does not really matter: happy days are here again.

*178. SMITTEN BY THE SMITHS

THE SMITHS GO TO ANGELES. Mr. & Mrs. Buford and Billie Smith, of Texas, with son, Eugene, on assignment at Clark Air Base. Longtime friends and tenants of our duplex apartment in Malabanias, Balibago in the 60s.

From the mid 1960s to the early 70s, Angeles, particularly Balibago, enjoyed a boom period as American servicemen poured into Clark Field by the hundreds. The Vietnam War was in full rage at that time, and the base housing facilities simply could not accommodate the overflow of incoming Americans and their families. To cash in on this growing market, many entrepreneurs went on a construction spree, developing whole subdivisions (like Severina Subdivision, Marisol Manor, Marlim Mansions, etc.), apartment complexes and houses for rent to Americans who opted to live off-base.

By chance, my father had a 650 sq. meter lot in Balibago, strategically located in Plaridel, very close to Clark. My mother, on the other hand, had another lot in Abacan, close to her brother’s large property, which had been successfully converted into a compound of apartments rented out to Americans on assignment in Clark. So, my parents joined the bandwagon of builders and had a duplex house made to American specifications on their prime properties.

The picture-perfect duplex in Plaridel was a small neat package with 2 wood floor rooms, a living room, a compact kitchen and a small front yard with flower boxes, ideal for a young family. As soon as the “For Rent” sign was put up, my father was besieged with inquiries from American servicemen—and that’s how we came to have the Smiths and their children, as tenants and eventually, as close family friends.

At home, my Kapampangan father always referred to them at home as “Ismits”, and that’s how we also knew them. From the Christmas cards they regularly sent, I learned that Mr. Smith was named “Buford”, or simply “Chuck” . Mr. Smith and wife Billie, were a tall, strapping pair, quick to smile and blessed with happy dispositions. My mother told me that Mrs. Smith had American Indian blood which accounted for her darker complexion. They were from a place in Texas called Burkburnett, which I always had trouble pronouncing. The Smiths were always invited by my parents to our family parties, and in one particular visit, I met their son, Eugene "Gene" Smith, who was about my age .

I remember that particular visit—I was about 10 or 11—because my father had asked me to keep him company and play with him while he and Ima entertained their friends. Gene was such a hyperactive child; he struck up a chat with me in rapid-fire English which I could hardly comprehend. I took out my second-hand bike and led him to my uncle’s house next door, which had a big cemented yard perfect for biking. As soon as Eugene sat on the bike, he started pedaling away like crazy, making dangerous loops and showing off some stunts. We soon attracted the attention of neighborhood kids who gawked at this boisterous American boy and his chaperone. Of course, Eugene became a sort of a trophy I could show off, and I made sure the local kids knew that, by conversing with him in my best Kapampangan English, within their hearing range. Eugene’s rowdy play came to a stop when he took the bike up a cemented incline and started to careen down at great speed, causing him to fall. Mr. Smith heard our commotion and called his scratched-up son home.

The Smiths lived in that duplex apartment for over 2 years, and every year, after Christmas, my father would help in their annual ‘spring cleaning’. All their usable discards were put in a big cardboard box and taken home. It was always exciting to open that box that held unimaginable second-hand surprises inside and us, siblings, would fight over the contents like mad. I didn’t care much for the American size clothing (my mother went agog over the knitted sweaters), but I went wild over the half-used coloring books, the slightly used toys (I remember a pair of tin wind-up motor cars), the Disney comics and the Mickey Mouse storybook that my elder brother coveted.

On special occasions like Christmas, we would get gifts—everything from American milk brands that came in waxed cartons to gift stockings stuffed with Brach’s candies, caramels plastic toys and licorice sticks. When my father had an extra dollar or two, he would ask his friend to buy a couple of items from the Clark commissary, if at all possible. Of course, he was never refused. We would get chocolates like M&Ms and Kisses, barbecue sauces, Revlon shampoo, cereals and shoestring potatos, never before seen in local stores. In one year, I got a giant box of 64 crayons that came with a built-in sharpener. Wow! I never even imagined that crayon colors such as periwinkle, sea green and gold existed, thinking at that time that this could only be possible in the U.S. of A. For while, I was smitten by the American dream.

So for a couple of years, while the Smiths stayed for their tour of duty, we had a peek of the American life, transplanted in a little duplex apartment along an unpaved road in Balibago. The Smiths even had a second son, Steven, born while on vacation in the States, but brought to the Philippines as an infant. I think Steven’s birth hastened the Smiths’ decision not to extend their stay in Clark. They flew back to the U.S. and shortly, we found another American family as tenants, the Kentalas and their six daughters.

The Smiths, resettled back in Texas, but they kept in touch every Christmas with cards, chatty letters filled with the latest family updates and pictures of the growing family, including the boys, Eugene and Steven. They kept this up without fail every year, until Mr. Smith’s retirement. One of the last letters we received was in the mid 80s, to tell us of Eugene’s forthcoming marriage to a local girl, complete with a newspaper clipping. The letters stopped coming altogether until we completely lost track of them.

But for a few short years in the turbulent ‘60s, we, the Castros and the Smiths, bridged the gaps of race, culture and creed to become true friends—Filipinos and Americans together-- with a genuine sincerity that knew no bounds.