War and Liberation

During the war years, I did not feel that I was in grave or imminent physical danger, although times were difficult. That was God’s hand at work, keeping us safe and providing for us, even when food became scarce.

Somehow we managed to escape the brutality of those Japanese soldiers who committed atrocities during their occupation of the Philippines. We were told that whenever we went to the Japanese headquarters or met them on the street, we had to bow to them and we complied to save our necks from the swish of their swords. Apparently, that act of subservience appeased them and kept us out of trouble.

Manila, an Open City

As the Japanese forces approached Manila in late December 1941, the United States Armed Forces in the Far East (USAFFE) withdrew to Bataan and declared Manila an open city, which probably saved it from being razed to the ground. Thus, life in Manila went on in an almost normal manner in the early part of the Japanese Occupation. Trying to woo the Filipinos, the Japanese set up a government headed by President Jose P. Laurel, who later stood as my godfather when I got married in 1948.

After the war broke out, we moved from Fortuna Street in Pasay to Alonzo Street in Manila. Those were the premises of Hap Ho Lumber Company, another branch of Vicente Gotamco Lumber Company. We lived inside the property, which was safer for the family.

My Siblings

By that time, my parents had their second son, Anthony, who was born in 1940 when I was already 18 years old. Mary came the following year, followed by Joseph in 1944, and Peter after the war in 1949. Because of our age difference, I was more than an elder brother to them; I was sometimes also like a father to them.

My father had two other families. When my mother was still in China, he had a brief relationship with a staff member of Second Grand Auntie, and they had a child, Rebecca, who is still alive and is now 80 years old. Then he had a relationship with a woman who worked at the Bureau of Customs, with whom he had two children. My mother raised them as her own. My half-brother Edward died at the age of five and my half-sister Loring died in her 60s about 20 years ago.

My Cousin Disappears

The only one our family lost during the war was Co Ching Ho. My adopted cousin had become so patriotic about our new country that he joined the Filipino guerrilla forces that were fighting the Japanese in 1944. He told my mother that he was going with some young men from Tabora Street to buy and sell in Laguna. In reality, this story was just a cover. Ching Ho had joined the Hua Gee Guerrilla Movement, which was a force composed of Chinese youths fighting for the Philippines.

In 1945, five of them were bringing ammunition to Santa Cruz, Laguna, at night. Three of the youths were not afraid, but my cousin and another lad were scared. The two lagged behind and were caught by the Japanese soldiers. The Japanese brought them to Santa Cruz and executed them there. The first three managed to escape unnoticed and one of them told me this story in Tabora. Ching Ho’s body was never found. He and the other Chinese guerrillas who died during the war were honored for their contributions to the resistance movement. Now his name and theirs are inscribed on a monument in the Chinese cemetery in Blumentritt.

Working Student

In 1945, I began taking my Bachelor of Science in Commerce at the Far Eastern University, but I would only finish two years of college because of the exigencies of making a living. By day, I was a student; by night, I was a waiter at Gold Star Café on Avenida Rizal and had a monthly salary of ₱20.

We did not know then that the war was about to end and that the Americans were finally returning to liberate the Philippines from Japanese occupation. When the Americans did return in 1945, what some historians call the “Rape of Manila” ensued as the US forces bombed sections of the city and surrounding municipalities to dislodge the Japanese troops. The Japanese used the Filipino population as a human shield while they retreated.

Looking for a safe place for us, my father moved the family again. This time we lived above Gold Star Café, which was owned by Quieng Sun Hing, the husband of my mother’s younger sister, Lo Sun Ti, who had also migrated to the Philippines. We were certain that, at the very least, we would have food there.

The American soldiers who frequented the café liked me and gave me big tips because I could speak English. I remember making coffee in a large container eight times a day. My father, who also worked in Gold Star then, made a cola that was also popular with the American soldiers.

It was an experience that defied sanity. We could hear the heavy shelling as a far as Grace Park during the day. But, after the fighting, the Americans would come in for a meal and a chance to forget the horrors of war. For many of these soldiers, who were fine young men, the nightlife revolved around cafés, not the girlie bars that mushroomed in another part of town.

Serving them at Gold Star Café, my father and I managed to eke out a living that provided for our family to the end of the war and through Liberation time.

Cusinero & Bodegero

We lived there on Avenida Rizal for almost two years. In 1947, we moved to Balmes Street in Quiapo, Manila. We stayed in an apartment owned by Vicente Gotamco and my father worked in the main office of Gotamco’s lumber company on Tanduay Street. By that time, I was working at Manila Commercial Company, a trading firm that distributed health care and beauty products like Gray Cross Alcohol and various lotions.

Manila Commercial Company, located on Rosario Street (now Quentin Paredes Street), was owned by five people: Yu Cho Im, the manager, who was a former professor in Chuang Chui School, China; Lao Yee Cho and his brother; their nephew Lao Heng Yim; and my uncle, Quieng Sun Hing. My uncle was the treasurer and assistant manager of the company. My father was just a nominee, a trustee, of Uncle Quieng.

I began working in Manila Commercial as a cusinero (cook) for six or seven people. I had learned the techniques of cooking from Sui San, the cook at Gold Star Café, so I could easily whip up dishes for the managers and the secretary. I remember waking up early and walking two or three minutes to the market on Carvajal Street to buy the ingredients for the day—pancit (noodles), vegetables and some fish. Then I walked on to Manila Commercial on Rosario Street to cook their meals.

Because I did the marketing daily, my cooking was very fresh. Miss Gapos, the secretary, liked it so much that, even when I was promoted, she would cajole me, “Gonzalo, cook for us. We don’t like the cooking of the new cook.”

I guess one of the reasons why they liked my cooking was that I didn’t stint on the ingredients because I did not pocket the money. When the money allotted for food was not enough, I dug into my own pocket and bought whatever was needed. After a short time, I became the bodegero (warehouse man) also. My salary as a cook and a bodegero was ₱30 a month.

English Teacher

By day, I was a cusinero and bodegero. By night, I was a teacher at Sin Hing Night School on Juan Luna Street, in front of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary Church in Binondo, Manila. For two years, from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. from Monday to Friday, I gave English lessons to people who had just arrived from China. The owner of the night school was Yap Sui Tek, who worked in China Bank and who was also as an associate editor of Chinese Commercial News. His child, who was five years old at that time, is now a prominent columnist and media personality, Julie Yap Daza.

At night, going home to Tanduay, I would usually ride a calesa, a horse-driven cart. Even if my night job extended the hours of my day, I was amply recompensed for my efforts. Sin Hing paid me P200 a month, an enormous amount of money at that time. I helped my father with expenses and saved the rest for the future. That was the seed money I used to start my own business later on, but for the moment, in 1948, my income allowed me to get married and start a family of my own.