A Stranger's Tribute to Regalado Jose

STRANGER: 

 –noun

1.	a person with whom one has had no personal acquaintance  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

   

   The first thing that was said to me by the people in the CMu office when I reported for work last week Tuesday was, "Alam mo na ba yung nangyari kay Regalado Jose?"

   In truth, I was mentally preoccupied, running through my lesson plan for the Diction class that afternoon... so I didn't hear the sentence properly, and I thought they were asking me if I had seen him. It took about five seconds for it to hit me... Professor Emeritus Regalado Jose was gone.

   (Later, I thought: no wonder the people in the office seemed so gloomy and depressed! It was reminiscent of the atmosphere after Ondoy.)

    The sense of sadness that overwhelmed me was inexplicable, especially since he was a stranger to me. Don't get me wrong, OF COURSE I knew who he was, he was a living legend in the Piano Department, and even as an undergrad I heard of the mythic tales told of him, summarized in this CMu web page. He was a stranger to me, in the sense that I had never gotten the chance to be personally acquainted with him, or to talk to him.

    But I knew of him only as a famous musician. I did not get to know him as a man... not until last Friday evening when, after work,  I made the trek from Paranaque to Mount Carmel, New Manila, where his wake was held.

   I entered the room a bit timidly, as I was alone and knew no one. I was greeted by a weary but wonderfully warm and welcoming woman who introduced herself as the youngest daughter of the Maestro. I introduced myself as well, and shyly confessed that I had never been a student of her father's, that I had never gotten the chance to be acquainted with him and that he never knew of me, but that I wanted to pay my respects.

   She was so kind! She led me to a chair, and made me feel so welcome that before long, I found myself talking easily with her.

   For some reason, her eyes filled up and she shed tears after I told her my simple story. She said she was touched that I had come, and told me stories about her dad. I think she sensed my regret at not ever having known him, and regaled me with stories of the maestro... of how he was the best Father a daughter could have... of how he would always go home at noon to have lunch with his family, regardless of how busy he was... of how he would drive her and her five siblings to school and pick them up everyday... of how he was THERE for them, for every important event in their lives... of his being the most approachable teacher and how he started teaching in UP at 19 years old... and didn't stop teaching up until his death.

   And as she talked, my respect for her father grew more and more. 

   Here was a man who "had it all"... a successful career, a great family... but between the two, undoubtedly, it was clear to me which triumph was greater.

   Here was a man who raised his children well, so well that his daughter would be angelically caring and warm to a perfect stranger who came at her father's wake.

   As it turns out, I wasn't the only stranger who came.

   Before me was an old gentleman, who had likewise never been personally acquainted with the Maestro, but faithfully attended his concerts for over forty years.

   And a few minutes after I came, two gentlemen filled in the guest book and paid their respects to the family. I found out they were the Maestro's piano tuners!

   They didn't stay long, but like me, they felt compelled to bid farewell to this simple man, whose skills and talents were such that he could have had a successful concertizing career abroad if he wanted (in fact, I later found out that he was offered a place at the faculty of Peabody)... but whose love for his country and for UP was such that he went back to Manila, and became an institution in its musical community.

     I wish, oh how I wish!! that I had gotten to know him, and talk to him. As a father, a husband, a pianist, a conductor, and a teacher... the man behind the name proved to be so much more than the sum of his outstanding career. And though I cannot claim to have received mentoring under him (how I envy those who can!), my own life has been touched, in the same way that those strangers who paid their respects to him were affected by his life, though they had never exchanged words with him.

    I am comforted by the knowledge that he passed away peacefully, surrounded by family and friends, and the knowledge that his legacy will live on for as long as there are music lovers in the country.