Convos with Sir Leoncio

By John Anthony S. Estolloso

I have never attended any of Leoncio P. Deriada’s workshops on writing and poetry.

Suffice it to say that during the recently concluded creative writing conference that carried his name, it was with a tinge of envy that I listened to the stories and recollections of writers and poets who knew him intimately and were taught by him personally. Conversely, my meetings with him were few and mostly about matters theatrical.

I first encountered Sir Leoncio’s name in a Prima Galaw production of The Dog Eaters back in 2013. Of course, I was impressed: the simplicity of the plot, the candor of the writing, and the manner with which this was fleshed out onstage enthralled me. That experience planted the germ of an idea. Truly yours was moderator of Ateneo de Iloilo’s drama club at that time: why shouldn’t we stage the play as well?

To avoid any copyright issues, I decided to ask permission personally from the author. Through one of our alumni, I was able to contact his daughter, Ms. Dulce Deriada, who graciously arranged an interview with her father. Sir Leoncio insisted on talking to me personally over the phone, where I received a gruff, impromptu 20-minute lecture on my mispronunciations and a snidely comic beratement of my inadequacies as an English teacher. But he agreed to meet with me.

I arrived early that Saturday at UP’s Sentro ng Wikang Filipino, a lean-to shack at that time, where the interview was to take place. Upon being introduced to him, he curtly asked me why I wanted to stage a play meant for collegiate students. I had no ready answer for that one, so I just told him insipidly that I liked the story. Skeptical of my literary tastes, he further quizzed me about my credentials as a teacher: how well was I taught the rudiments of the language and what books and poems I had read.

He saw me holding a copy of Dumas’ La Dame aux Camélias: he talked about the film adaptation starring Greta Garbo; I shared about Verdi’s opera. The conversation rambled on to etymology, poetry, prose, journalism, and pedagogy for more than two hours. As a parting comment to my limitations and capacities as a mentor, he told me to ‘never give a task to students that you as a teacher cannot accomplish.’ The dictum has stayed with me all these years.

At the end of it, he gave his blessing and permission to stage his play; he also surreptitiously suggested that he might attend rehearsals. Inside, I was bursting with elation.

I excitedly informed the thespians the possibility of Sir Leoncio’s presence: there was stolid and uncomfortable silence. One timid hand arose, and a diminutive voice piped up if it was still possible to back out from the production. A chorus of like-minded whines followed that up, to which, at the prospect of losing cast and company, I readily agreed to let go of the proposal to invite him.

And so The Dog Eaters came to Ateneo, where it became a staple of several generations of theatre-folk, with each batch rejuvenating the familiar story of Mariana and Victor. To this day, it is read on certain occasions in literature classes.

The next instance I met Sir Leoncio was during the staging of his triptych ‘Distrito de Molo’ in 2017. I dragged along some members of the drama club to watch the evening’s gala performance, for some of them, their first formal theater experience.

Right before the curtains arose, he was wheeled in, one of his feet swollen and bandaged. He looked feeble yet he did not miss the Iloilo premiere of his play.

Played by a stellar cast, the comedy was social satire and commentary. It did not have qualms taking a dig at the local private schools or at the customs of the city. The audience, some of them wearing school uniforms, chortled with relatable gusto: here were stories of Iloilo City written for an Ilonggo audience.

After the performance, my students and I approached him and congratulated him on the delightful production. He asked us which part we liked best; without batting an eyelash, we said ‘that bit about the people at Loyola Heights.’ He smiled (he knew we were from a Jesuit school) and quipped that wise and intelligent people can always laugh at their foibles without being offended.

That was my last encounter with him.

* * * * *

April 2019: I just exited the school auditorium after the baccalaureate mass when I noticed some student ushers – theater members – weeping their eyes out. Upon inquiry, they informed me that social media was abuzz with Sir Leoncio’s demise. Personally, I sensed a twinge of tragic irony that the momentous day and occasion for our graduates was also the passing of the stalwart champion of Panayanon literature.

The pandemic closed in the following year, and the theatres remained closed for the next two years. But Sir Leoncio’s literature endured: in the many-tongued stories that continue to unfold from his protégés, in the budding verses of our young poets, in the dramatics of our thespians, in the discussions of our literature classes, his legacy thrives and lives on.

(The writer is a language and literature teacher in one of the private schools of the city.)