My grandfather
MY grandfather Leoncio Barcelon was a Commandante (equivalent to Major) in the Revolutionary Army of the Philippines at the turn of the 20th century. He lived to the ripe old age of 94. In his last decade, he spent most of his day sitting in his chair and meditating. One day he showed me his appointment as commandante and a pure-gold ten-dollar coin, the size of our old silver ten centavos but of pure gold, attached to a piece of soft cardboard. He was only a commandante but he was secretary and aide to General Geronimo who could not read or write. So my grandfather was privy to all that the general transacted. He also told me that he was in the tent in Cavite when the irascible Andres Bonifacio got angry and slapped the secretary of Gen. Aguinaldo. To him this was bad omen. Sure enough the three Bonifacio brothers took three different routes getting out of Cavite but no one of them was able to get out.
Gen. Geronimo did not know how to read or write but he was brave and a good tactician. He was once in Marikina with his group of tiradores de muerte (sharpshooters) when they sensed that a high-ranking American officer was to visit the front lines. They hid behind boulders in Marikina valley and held their fire. Up on the ridge where Ateneo is now there was some commotion. The revolutionaries concentrated their fire on the unsuspecting big shot, who turned out to be Colonel Lawton, highest ranking American who lost his life in the Philippine-American war. Those who remember the tranvia passing by Plaza Goiti know that the next plaza was Plaza Lawton, named after this Coronel (it is now Liwsang Bonifacio). They also say that Gen. Geronimo defended Caloocan with bolos against the cavalry of Gen. Smith. And Gen. Smith was so angry at his losses that he killed every man, woman, and child in Caloocan as he later would do in Samar (The source of the Balangiga bells.)
My father Emeterio was never close to his father. But he remembered as a precocious two-year-old hiding under the huge mango trees with his mother whenever any fighting occurred in the vicinity. After the war my grandfather Leoncio worked as a legal clerk with an American firm. I once asked why did he not practice law when he could have. The only answer of my father was: “Ask him.” I never did ask. When my father told my grandfather that I had decided to enter the novitiate to become a priest, my grandfather went into a rage and said: “Tell that boy not to come to my house again. What does he want? To be a muchacho of the foreign priests?” This was the racist condition of his times when even Spanish boys born in the Islands were discriminated against. This was partly the reason for the revolt and martyrdom of Frs. Burgos, Gomez, and Zamora. And partly the cause of Msgr. Aglipay’s revolt, thus establishing the Filipino Independent Church. Happily the transition has been made so that we now have over a hundred Filipino bishops and four living cardinals to take care of the flock. When I went to see him, however, dressed up in my soutana, my grandfather was happy to see me. I introduced Fr. Hamilton, SJ, to him and although Fr. Hamilton spoke little Spanish and my grandfather knew little English, they got along together famously, so that when he felt the end was coming, he asked for Fr. Hamilton to give him the last Sacraments.
As a revolutionario he was against the friars for he claimed he had seen too many abuses but he had a great devotion to Our Lady of del Pilar. Every night at eleven till midnight he spent the hour in prayer before a huge picture of Our Lady of the Pillar. On my grandmother’s side, she was not too pious but I remember she gave me my first calesa ride. My mother could not refuse her and she asked to bring me to her house for a week. (I did this several times.) Her house was in Oroquieta near Requesens. It was a cancer house. My grandmother died there of cancer; so did my uncle and some other relatives. My grandmother’s death was the first death that I witnessed. It was midday and we were all praying, kneeling down. My grandfather’s comment was that my grandma loved pig’s knuckles too much.