Feel-good story

BENCHWARMER

Ramon S. Dacawi

Twenty one years is a life-time, yet there are stories that live on for a life-time, forever etched in memory. The need is always there, for these stories to be told and retold so they can be passed on like prized heirloom.  One such story was recalled and  re-lived last Tuesday, after Conrad Marzan, the expat Baguio-Cordillera folksinger with a heart, came home three summers back  from Northern California where he is based for seven years now.

Twenty one  years ago, Conrad’s mother, retired public school teacher Tomasa Marzan, withdrew a  substantial amount from the Philippine National Bank. Her grandchildren needed the sum for their school enrollment. After placing the cash inside her bag, she flagged down a cab  and asked to be brought to the post office where she was to meet her husband, war veteran Perfecto Marzan.

In her rush, she paid and  stepped out of the cab without her bag. Another passenger who boarded  and asked to be brought to Camp Allen noticed  the bag and told the driver. With the fare’s blessings, the cabbie turned back to the post office but couldn’t find Mrs. Marzan.

After delivering his second passenger to Camp Allen, cabbie Art Pasag drove to his rented home along Naguilian Road. He asked his wife to open the bag for documents revealing the name and address of the owner, which was at Puguis, La Trinidad, Benguet.

It was already evening and Art was unfamiliar with the address. The Born-Again  couple decided to search the address the following morning. Meanwhile, they spent the evening praying for divine grace so the bag owner could sleep, feeling assured of its return.

They located the place the following morning and were received by Mr.  Marzan. Mrs. Marzan had set out early, to the city, to peer into uniform-looking cabs, hoping to get a glimpse of and recall the face of the cabbie she had flagged down the afternoon before.

Conrad later told me the story, including how his father tried to know more about the couple when they came to return his wife’s bag. His father had insisted on presenting Art with a P2,000 cash goodwill token. Conrad’s dad  learned Art was driving double time to raise the amount needed for the pre-surgery tests of his 22-year old son Victor, who was born with a heart defect.

In gratitude, Conrad and his fellow folk and country musicians did what they still do best: stage a concert-for-a-cause for Victor. With support from then regional police director, Chief Supt. Rogelio Aguana, they raised P28,000.

I wrote of Art’s honesty for the People’s Journal group of publications that, through Manong Alex Allan, had taken me in as correspondent. The article triggered a call from then regional tourism director Lita Mondiguing who asked if I knew where the Pasags were staying.  She said then Tourism Secretary Vicente Carlos had read the news item and responded. He ordered her to look for Victor so he could be admitted to the Philippine Heart Center.

Feeling the need to follow up on developments, I tagged along and about six hours later, we were in Secretary Carlos’ office along Kalaw St., beside Fort Santiago.

“The whole country is proud of you,” Carlos told Art as they shook hands. Turning the Victor, he said the boy would be admitted that morning for surgery at the Heart Center and that the rest of the Pasag family would stay in a hotel behind the medical facility for the duration of Victor’s hospitalization. All of their expenses would be sponsored, he said.

Soon, Victor was back home to Baguio, his heart mended, allowing him to finish his bachelor’s degree in mass communications. Later that year, Art was called to Malacanang where he was honored  for his honesty as “Taxi Driver of the Year” under the Kalakbay annual awards of the Department of Tourism.

Back in Baguio, fellow journalist and DZWT anchor CrisBartolo called me up about the follow-up story on the city’s not wanting of honest cabbies. He admitted the virtue has turned contagious. “Adda effect na diay istorya ni Art Pasag,” he said, “Nagadu metten ti um-umay ditoy istasyon nga taksi drayber, manong,” he said. “Agi-iyeg da ti papeles, bags, sagad, sapatos ti baby ken dadduma pay nga nabati dagiti pasahero da.”

Personally, that was not the end of the story. One time I boarded a taxi and whipped out my fare the moment we were beside my in-laws’ house my family was taken in for years. The cabbie wouldn’t take the bill. I looked and recognized Art, who was smiling and gently shoving back my hand.

That made me wary. Before boarding a cab, I would have to be sure it was not Art at the steering wheel. Once I recognized him while waiting for a ride at the top of Session Road. I shook my hand, indicating I would rather walk down, which I did until I turned right after Mercury Drug at the foot the main street. Art, who drove down at my pace, all the while motioning with his hand for me to ride, was left with no choice but to give up.

Now and then, I would retell Art’s story during basic training for campus journalists, for them to convert into a feature, from the first, second or third person account.  

Three years back, the story served as dessert at a reunion lunch hosted by Conrad for the Pasag couple and their son Victor, now 40 and with a family of his own.

The story will be told and retold now and then, to enliven journalism lectures, speaking engagements and interactions.(e-mail: mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments).