The Vanishing Sites

Naga is vanishing. It is vanishing fast. In the place of those that are quickly disappearing come forth places that I yet have to know. In fact, it can be said that while I mourn the disappearance of the city of my youth, some are finding spaces that fill their lives with meaning.

But for the moment, I search for those things that made this city for me and my remembrance.

The late Leonor Dy-Liacco - May Noning to those who were close to her - used to talk about this Japanese K. Mori, who introduced "mongo con hielo." For 5 centavos, the Japanese concoction was more expensive than Sarsaparilla which sold only for 3 centavos.

In my Naga, there was no more memory of the value of a centavo or "sentimo."

But I still remember a quiet, charming city.

In front of where you find now the Mercury Drugstore along Panganiban once stood a cinema called "Alex Theater." What made the structure stood out was its art-deco façade, the design that mirrored the rise of machine and technology. Curves were outrageously domineering rather than gracious and the whole building seemed to fly out of its foundation. The building is still there but it is no more a cinema than a combination of little stores.

Beside Alex was McRover, a tailoring that was just one of the many tailoring shops in the city. Those were years when people bought first textiles. You soaked them overnight so that they would shrink properly to their correct size. Then you choose a design. Most of the time, the tailors were seen as the ultimate experts in styling. You believed it when they tell you the Beatles cut was in or the Nehru (yes after the first prime minister of India) collar was the latest in fashion.

When the small shops disappeared, the tailoring included, a small building appeared near Alex. It housed Peppermill. It was a real jazz house with a quarter composed of a guitarist, a pianist, a bassist and, sometimes, a saxophonist. This was no place for a karaoke singer; this was a place for singers who sang from their diaphragm and soul. One of these was Romulo Reyna, a massive bulk of a man. He sang Frank Sinatra songs without imitating the singer. His "From Here to Eternity" sounded so eternal he could sing it everyday. There was also Ross Delgado who could do a mean tribute to Bobby Gonzales, plucked eyebrows and, when the bulbs were not dimmed, cupid lips and all. "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To" came alive through a voice that was sweet and dolorous at the same time. He could swing a song anytime.

Who remembers Pasapoga? Not my friends. I kept telling them that there was indeed a club called "Pasapoga" right in the middle of the city. Wasn't it staring down at the Rizal in the Plaza Rizal? Was it the name that denied us to recall the place?

"Pasapoga" in the Bikol language context sounded obscene. The name was really derived from a famous bar in Madrid frequented by celebrities. Transplanted in Naga, "Pasapoga" became simply a bar, with a reputation that preceded whatever was happening there.

There was another nightclub then. Situated in Nordia, in Canaman, the place was given this verdant name, Acacia Club. During the weekend, a radio station, DZEB, covered the night. The show always opened with an instrumental version of "From Russia With Love", the theme song of a James Bond film with the same title. Then and now, I never could understand why that song became the theme song of the club. Perhaps, it sounded exotic.

There were many exotic things in Naga. The city itself was exotic. Naga in the 60s was more of a town than a city, where everyone knew everyone. In a place where people were familiar with each other, prostitution had to be located elsewhere. "Pasapoga" started as a disco but people always thought those who entered that house were looking not just for a place to dance. Soon, it was gone. A few years after, women who were walking around the Rizal Park at night earned the title, "mga makuapo ni Rizal." The term "grandchildren of Rizal" captured well our discomfort of those whose identities we are embarrassed to acknowledge.

In a conference abroad, a Bikolano sociologist studying the urbanization process in Naga declared the absence of prostitution in our city. I guess he missed the identity of Rizal as a grandparent to women out there abused by a system that will always allow them to be commodities that could refuse to vanish.