MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 1

1. I�����������

Over the past 93 years, the Bulletin changed names twice. First, in 1972 when the martial-law regime closed all newspapers. The Bulletin reopened three months later but with a more politically acceptable name personally approved by President Marcos. The second was in 1986 when it tried to rid itself of Marcos’ ghost. Different names are also associated with different owners. The first with Carson Taylor, the second with Hans Menzi, and the third, with Emilio Yap. But to a number of its long-time employees, the Manila Daily Bulletin, Bulletin Today and Manila Bulletin will always be one and the same newspaper.

The story of the Bulletin can be summarized in one word: growth. From a small operation in the 1900, it has become today a multi-million peso enterprise. From its rented space in various shops in downtown Manila, it now has a building all its own. From a poor second in circulation and adver-tising to the Manila Times, it claims today to lead all other local dailies (1992 gross income: P1,217,338,224).

But all through this period of being second-best, the Bulletin always considered itself as number-one. It looked up to the New York Times as a role model, both in lay-out and in standards. Veteran reporters will all recall the gruff editor in the Sixties who threw fits over missing commas and fired anyone who accepted money from people they were supposed to cover. It was as if they knew that someday they would earn the top spot and that they had to deserve it, in all departments.

This paper will look into the history of the Bulletin, from 1957 to 1984, the years during which it was owned and associated with Hans Menzi. This was also the period that saw it take its place as the No. 1 newspaper in the country. It will not be a plain chronology of events, but rather the story of and by the people behind these events.

The writer interviewed six people, each of whom worked with the Bulletin for a minimum of 25 years (with one exception) and who had dif-ferent backgrounds. They were, alphabetically, Vicente Abanilla (worked in the advertising department from 1966 to 1991), Susie Aunario (librarian from 1947 to 1979), Jesus Bigornia (columnist, employed in the Bulletin since 1939), Crispulo Icban Jr. (editor, joined the newspaper in 1976), Lourdes Mendoza (retired as assistant treasurer, 1957 to 1988), Benjamin Pangilinan (retired circulation manager, 1949 to 1985), and Benjamin Rodriguez (editor, joined the Bulletin in 1951). These conversations are preserved on magnetic

2 • MARIANO

audio tape.

There were also previous conversations — albeit informal — with former columnist Amelita Reysio-Cruz, former librarian Teresita Mariano, former publisher Apolonio Batalla, former editor Patricio Gonzales and former president Mariano Quimson Jr. The last three are deceased.

2. T�� E���� Y����

Carson Taylor was a schoolteacher from Illinois who served as a vol-unteer with the U.S. Army in what the Americans simply called the Islands. He was a happy-go-lucky man who thought one should never be too serious about life. He put up the Manila Daily Bulletin in 1900, as a young man in his 20s, without any idea that someday it would be the nation’s most profitable paper. He did not do it alone, however. In fact, the idea of a shipping news-paper came from H. G. Farris, who saw in Manila a potential major shipping center. In 1902, Farris sold out to Taylor. (Taylor 1927)

At first, the paper was distributed free to anyone who would accept it. He sold advertising space but this was limited mostly to shipping com-panies. It was not until a year later that Taylor began charging money for copies of the Bulletin.

The original office address is listed as 10 Carriedo, Manila. Later it moved to Evangelista street until World War II during which it was destroyed. Briefly, it held office on Soler street on grounds lent by the rival Roces family. Later it occupied a quonset hut on the corner of Florentino Torres and Raon streets (just behind the Quiapo church and beside the TVT building) before moving to the Shurdut building in Intramuros in 1956.

Those who remember Taylor speak of him fondly. He was regarded as a father figure. Dark and quiet but impressive because he was tall, but with a down-to-earth sense of humor. One retired librarian recalls drinking from the fountain when Taylor slapped her in the back and said, “You are suffering from pe�icoat hangout.” Another former librarian says that when he’d see her talking to or from work he’d pick her up in his car.

Joining the paper as young women in the late ’40s, they recall playing hooky from the office and going for a stroll on Escolta. Popular destinations then were the Botica Boie and Oceanica. Once, the publisher’s car happened by as they emerged from one store, shopping bags in hand. Caught in the act, they expected a scolding. Instead, out peeped the head of the elderly Taylor,

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 3

smiling, “Need a li� back to the office?” In the ride back to work, Taylor was no truant officer. He even took a look at the stuff the girls had bought and complimented them on their choice.

In yet another instance, Talor took one of them to a moviehouse that had just opened on Rizal avenue. “He was like a grandfather,” she said.

The Bulletin was an American newspaper. It was owned by an Ameri-can. It was edited by Americans. Editors were H. G. Farris (1900), George Rice (1900 until 1904 when he was deported by Gen. Arthur MacArthur), Charles Bond (1904-05), William Crozier (1905-13), William Crozier (1913-18), C. Rus-sell Zeininger (1918), and Roy Bennet (1918-42). Li�le is known about these men, except Bennet, who was a tough-nosed editor nobody liked to mess with. Benne�, a graduate of the Missouri School of Journalism, succeeded Zeininger when the la�er joined the United Press bureau in Chicago.

Its pre-war competitor was the Manila Times, established on Oct. 11, 1898 by Thomas Gowan. Along with Israel Putnam's Cablenews-American and R. McCullough Dick’s Philippines Free Press, they made up the American press in Manila. The Times was sold on March 15, 1930 to Alejandro Roces, owner of the TVT (Tribune-La Vanguardia-Taliba) chain, who decided to stop publication in order to boost the Tribune’s circulation. By World War II, the Tribune was the largest selling newspaper and it was used by the Japanese for propaganda purposes. A�er the “Liberation,” the Roceses reopened the Manila Times.

Benne� was editor in 1942 when the Japanese invaded the Philippines. According to one account, a Japanese consular official, brandishing a pistol, walked into the newsroom accompanied by soldiers and announced: “You don’t publish. No more Bulletin.” Benne� and other Americans on the staff were interned at the University of Santo Tomas where they published, briefly, a series of mimeographed newspapers known collectively in history books as the STIC (Santo Tomas Internment Camp) Press.

Bigornia says he was there when the Japanese closed the Bulletin. He recalls:

We were taking shelter in the bodega of the Bulletin which was lo-cated at the corner of Evangelista and Raon, just behind the Quiapo church. It was an old building and the ground floor was the press and the stacks of paper. We used to stay there while the Japanese were bombing Manila. We were there about 10 o’clock in the morning. The Hudubu came in, accompanied by the Kempetai. They closed

4 • MARIANO

the Bulletin. They killed the Bulletin. We were out of jobs that day.

At the time, Taylor was on home leave. He returned in 1946 to find the offices and presses destroyed during the bombings. He reorganized the paper with the help of Hal Linn, who was his advertising director, and Ford Wilkins, editor. Ramon Roces assisted Taylor in making the comeback of the “exponent of Philippine progress” a reality by lending the family’s facilities on Soler street.

There was no formal organization yet to speak of. Susie Aunario, who was librarian for 32 years, joined the Bulletin in 1947 hoping to write home-making columns. She had just graduated with a degree in home eco-nomics. Instead, Taylor told her to organize the library. But she was not just a librarian. She was everything she could be: typist, clerk, messenger. Tessie Mariano, who worked in the library from 1949 to 1988, remembers operating the telephone switchboard whenever it became necessary. She was also sent for first-aid training and thus became the staff “nurse.” The Bulletin hired its first registered nurse only a�er it was required by law.

Although the Philippines became independent in 1946, the Bulletin remained American for another 11 years, when it was sold to a Filipino in-dustrialist. (Actually, Hans Menzi was born to Swiss parents but opted for Filipino citizenship.)

Nobody can tell his age at that time, but when he put the newspaper up for sale, Taylor must have been in his 80s. He said it was his old age, but it is suspected that the establishment of a labor union, nonexistent (and un-necessary) for more than half a century, was his cue to retirement. He was afraid of losing his paper to organized labor. Susie Aunario quotes him as always saying, “I don’t know whether my paper will still be here or not.”

On July 13, 1957 Taylor announced the sale of the Bulletin to Menzi & Co.

3. T�� G������ T���� O���

There were at least three other prospective buyers, but Taylor thought that Hans Menzi would make a good successor. According to Aunario, Felix Gonzalez, who had moved to the Herald, was instrumental in delivering the Bulletin to Menzi.

I heard Herald wanted to buy it [the Bulletin]. But Judge [Gonzalez] was the one who mediated for Menzi and then got it. And then Judge

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 5

returned to the Bulletin with Menzi, because Judge moved to Herald when we were in Florentino Torres.

When Menzi took over, he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. The Bul-letin was occupying the ground and second floors of the brand-new Shurdut building, which today houses the Department of Labor and Employment. But everything was not as neat.

Ben Pangilinan, former Bulletin vice president for circulation and now president of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, was in his early early 30s in 1959 when he joined the newspaper. The Bulletin had a circulation of 20,000, referring to the number of copies printed and distributed. Half of these were returned. It was also on a slump, because the competition, the Manila Times, was “so big” — not to mention it had collection problems, both with dealers and advertisers.

If one goes to the Bulletin’s air-conditioned news room today, he would see rows and rows of tables and atop each one a video display terminal. The editors’ offices are glass-walled. It wasn’t like that in the Fi�ies, when editors and reporters sat in the same room. The rhythm of typewriter keys filled the air, which was also filled with cigare�e smoke. The editors all sat at one big desk.

The editorial staff then consisted of a virtual Who’s Who in Philippine journalism: Hernando Abaya, Ricardo “Bing” Torres, Pat Gonzales, Felix Gonzalez, Pol Batalla, Jose de Vera, Jimmy Lacsamana, Arthur Sales, Ralph Hawkins, Ding Poblador, Oscar Villadolid, Francisco Tatad, Bernie Ronquillo, Aurelio Calderon, Amando Doronila, Prudencio Europa, Antonio Zumel, Amelita Reysio-Cruz, Le�y Magsanoc, Joe and Rudy Romero, Amante and Jess Bigornia, Sebastian Catarroja (the first Panorama editor).

One of the first things Menzi had to do was to put things in order. He hired Mariano Quimson Jr., who held an M.B.A. from Northwestern. Quimson was a salesman of NCR business machines and had just made a sale to the Bulletin. Menzi made him Secretary-Treasurer. In fact, that posi-tion was the equivalent to that of the President, General Manager or Chief Executive Officer.

Also hired, in 1959, was Pangilinan, a C.P.A. who had some years in his family’s pharmaceutical and construction companies. His job: to boost provincial circulation. He set up branches in Cebu, Iloilo, Bacolod, Davao, Dagupan, San Fernando (Pampanga) and Baguio. The next year he was made

6 • MARIANO

overall circulation manager.

In the early Sixties, he engaged about 800 newsboys and 100 solici-tors in the city to perk up street sales, in addition to direct subscribers. The newsboys were paid half the minimum wage. He also organized contests for agents and newsboys as incentives. The object was not only to get the Bulletin printed on time and delivered ahead of the others. More important, agents, newsstands and newsboys had to carry it.

He also contracted bus companies to transport copies to provincial routes that included San Fernando (La Union and Pampanga), Baguio, Legazpi, Cabanatuan, Bataan. The Bulletin later tried delivering with its own trucks but found it “problematic.”

Circulation figures rose to a respectable 80,000 before martial law. But it was not until later that it took over as the circulation leader.

4. D���-��-D��� A����������

A modest circulation also means modest advertising. That would be unbelievable now as the Bulletin in 1992 made P870,964,434 in advertising. Vic Abanilla, who was with the advertising department from 1966 until 1991, recalls the lean years. His first task was as a statistician, monitoring the frequency of ad insertions in newspapers, particularly the Manila Times, and noting their corresponding sizes. He also marked those ads which did not appear in the Bulletin but appeared in other newspapers. Based on these figures, ad-takers were sent out to solicit business. The next year, Abanilla became a classified-ads solicitor.

It was not that difficult ge�ing ads, Abanilla says. The main problem was that of perception. Advertisers thought the Bulletin took only shipping ads. All he had to do was convince potential clients that it also welcomed general advertising. The rewards were small, though, since the Bulletin could not command higher rates. But agents like Abanilla were given 15 percent of the ads they brought in, even if it meant only 50 centavos a day.

The competition, he remembers, was formidable. “You could tell the Times man just by the way he looked: fancy clothes, jewelry, nice car. I was dressed in a T-shirt and denims,” he recalls. The Times agent did not have to work for his ads. “All he had to do was present themselves and they made the sale. But we had to resort to hard-core selling.” They looked for potential advertisers daily using the classified-ads pages of the Manila Times and the

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 7

Yellow Pages, then they’d start calling them to persuade them to advertize in the Bulletin.

5. T�� ‘J����’

If there was a most unforge�able character from that period in the history of the Bulletin, it was “Judge.” You either feared (or hated) the man or loved him. Most reporters belonged to the former but a few employees spoke glowingly of him.

Judge was Felix Gonzales Gonzalez and reporters had be�er spell his name right. He was neither a judge nor a lawyer. In fact, he never even finished college at San Sebastian. But he was “always right,” says Ben Rod-riguez, now editor in chief. Rodriguez was a young reporter when Gonzalez edited the paper. He was a walking encyclopedia, dictionary, and grammar book in one. He had a fantastic memory but a “cantankerous temper,” recalls Jess Bigornia.

Maybe it was because he was a drop-out, but Judge was reputed never to have liked college graduates, whom he regarded with “jaundiced eyes.” According to Rodriguez, he believed rightly that not all college graduates make good newspapermen. He remembers when he and Teddy Owen, who later became news editor, came to the Bulletin a�er graduation from UST:

We brought a le�er of recommendation of Mr. Olivera, a professor then at the UST — both I and Teddy Owen. So when we gave it to him, he looked at the note hastily, and he looked at Teddy and said, “So you are cum laude? It does not mean anything to me.”He made sarcastic remarks like that. He did not make bones about his feelings for graduates.

Judge picked up his nickname while covering the courts. He was said to have had a be�er understanding of the law and the judiciary than a lawyer. In fact, like most tyrants, he was said to have a be�er understanding of everything than anybody.

Says Rodriguez:

Everytime there is a mistake, he would call you. “Come here. See that?” He’d say, “Get the dictionary.” So you got the dictionary. “That’s not the way it’s spelled.” You looked in the dictionary. Of course, he was always right.

8 • MARIANO

Bigornia adds:

There was a time when I would submit my stories to him and he said, a�er going through a one-over — you know, you rewrote them and pasted them about a yard long. He went about one page. He crumpled it and threw it in the waste basket. “Where did you go to school, goddammit!” He would curse like hell. Then you went over again your store and rewrote. “It’s perfect!” I couldn’t see anything and it was only one comma missing.

For sure, reporters learned from Judge, the hard way. “He embarrassed you. That’s why you learned,” says Rodriguez. “He called him [Bigornia] once then started to lecture to him. Bigornia just keeled over and fainted in front of him. Judge himself panicked and called for the nurse. I learned a lot from the guy out of fear and I’m glad I had him as editor because I was forced to learn. He taught you how to excel, always to be be�er than the other fellow. How can you be be�er unless you read and read and read and try to improve?”

Bigornia says Gonzalez was very strict, but acknowledges his fair-ness. “If he thought you contributed something then he commended you for promotion. But be careful that you didn’t absent a single day!”

If he was not shouting at his reporters over bad punctuation and dangling modifiers, he was making sure they maintained their professional integrity. It did not ma�er if reporters were never paid too far above the minimum wage. He never liked any of them receiving gi�s, in cash or in kind, from people they were covering. Especially if it came from politicians. He would not hesitate to fire a reporter whom he found out to be accepting money and challenege the union head-on.

Says Bigornia:

He went around and he knew most of the people. Now all of these people were high government officials. They were on a first-name basis. He would go there asking silly questions to these officials and probably somebody would blurt out that he gave you some pocket money. You’re dead!

We had a very strong union but the union was helpless when he was sure this fellow was a crook. You’re out!

If he suspected somebody of taking money from a congressman he would go to Congress and look for the congressman, whom he’d engage in

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 9

small talk. Then he would spring the bait, “According to my reporter you’re the stingiest congressman,” as if it was a ma�er of pride to the congressman. “That’s not true,” the lawmaker would protest. “In fact I had just given him money.”

Bigornia would tell people in his beat not to send gi�s to the office, even at Christmas. “If you do, Mr. Gonzalez would be the one to return them to you.” For Judge did return gi�s.

One Christmas, a Malacañang official sent him a gi� check. He promptly returned it with the warning that he did not accept checks. Then a messenger came back, with the cash equivalent. The poor boy got bawled out.

His principles also cost him his job. In the ’50s, he had a tiff with a Mr. Abundo, who was secretary-treasurer at that time, who wanted to place a press release which Judge refused. Instead of yielding to the man, he re-signed and worked with the Philippines Herald. He returned to the Bulletin only when Menzi came in.

Bigornia narrates:

Abundo just wanted the activities of the masonic temple on the front page. He had a fight with this guy and then he quit the Bul-letin. But the Bulletin was always his love. He was never happy with the Herald. He did not like the sensationalism. He did not like the internal politics also. He used to come around to the Bulletin just to play ping-pong with us.

If he could not return Christmas gi�s, he raffled them off — for jani-tors only. The cleaning men would go home with legs of ham and bo�les of fine whiskies and brandies. A�er the holidays, one janitor was sporting an expensive barong tagalog, courtesy of the President of the Republic.

If Judge was a spartan in the newsroom, he was an equally tough man at home. He would always remind his children that they should never take advantage — at school or at work — of the fact that he was a newspaper editor. Each one of them had to work hard for his own success. The entire family has since emigrated to the United States, where Clarita practiced medicine (until her death recently), Lina is a lawyer and Felix Jr. (“Jun G.”) is a bank executive.

In reality, Judge had a so� heart and the women employees suspected his ferocity was a disguise. If he barked and growled at reporters, he was a

10 • MARIANO

doting lolo to his grandchildren and a chevalier with the ladies. Susie Aunario (who is the daughter-in-law of La Vanguardia columnist Pedro Aunario) and Tessie Mariano only heard tales about the Judge. They swear they never actu-ally heard him cursing in front of them. In fact he was godfather of Aunario’s son and the friendship continued up to his death.

When he retired in 1970 and went to the United States, he gave former librarian Teresita Mariano a special power of a�orney to a�end to his af-fairs. He also le� most of his books, precious possessions of every writer, with her. When her brother (a lawyer who never worked with the Bulletin) emigrated to America, Judge offered his home, helped him get a job, buy a second-hand car and find a nearby apartment. Of course, the closeness is an extension of the friendship he shared with the elder Getulio Abanilla, a long-time colleague and buddy at the Bulletin.

One thing the reporters never knew was that Judge was indeed con-cerned about their financial state. A newspaperman’s newspaperman, he himself was always broke and he was aware that because of their low pay the temptation to accept bribe money was strong. He gave Mariano a secret fund of P2,000 (this was the ’60s) from which reporters could borrow. There were the likes of Francisco Tatad, who would arrive in the newsroom huff-ing and puffing, trying to find money to pay the taxi driver, and others who needed cash for tuition, medicines, groceries, anything. Finally Mariano had to tell Gonzalez that the fund was almost dry because most of the reporters did not pay back what they borrowed. Judge simply looked the other way. It was his gi� to his boys, the victim of his frequent newsroom tantrums.

Looking back, veteran newsmen Rodriguez and Bigornia admit they learned most of what they know about the profession from Gonzalez. Big-ornia thinks that he was Judge’s favorite — “of all the reporters that came under him.”

The kind of reporting Judge and the other editors demanded of their news gatherers was much, much different from what is practiced today, says Bigornia “You could be my best friend, but by golly, if I had to scoop you, I would. Even if I had to steal your notes. We were that competitive. Today reporters organize press associations and share notes.”

6. T�� O���� G�������

Pat Gonzales became editor in chief in 1981, when Rodriguez was, apparently, forcibly retired by Menzi, apparently to appease Marcos who

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 11

was ge�ing irked by reports that challenged the government’s position. A�er the EDSA event of 1986, Gonzales became publisher of The Philippine Tribune which he co-founded with his best friend and erstwhile Philippines Daily Express editor Neal Cruz (now with the Philippine Daily Inquirer).

But all his life, Gonzales had wanted to work with the Bulletin. He almost never did. The son of a laundrywoman from Pasay, Pat was said to have borrowed a pair of ill-fi�ing, odd-colored pants for his high-school graduation. He was class valedictorian. He studied journalism at UST on a scholarship courtesy of a patron who wished to remain anonymous.

A�er ge�ing his degree, he applied with the Bulletin and was rejected outright by Menzi, who was no less outspoken than Judge. “This is too much,” said the General. “I already sent you to school and now you still want my money. Go find another job.” It was only then that Gonzales learned that he was a Menzi scholar in college.

He landed a job as a reporter for an obscure daily and later became a proofreader for a publishing house. But the urge to be a Bulletin man would not go away. He applied again, but this time he went to Judge Gonzalez. Judge spoke through Tessie Mariano the librarian and the negotiation went like this:

Judge: Ask him if he’s crazy. He has a wife and a kid. He’s bet-ter off in his job. We can’t afford to pay him what he’s ge�ing there.

Mariano (a�er consulting Pat Gonzales): He said he’s crazy enough to take the job.

Judge: Ask him if he’s willing to start as a cub reporter.

Mariano (again, a�er relaying the message to Gonzales): He said he’s willing to be anything.

And so, Gonzalez made Gonzales a reporter for the sports page, work-ing under Lito Fernandez, who is sports editor to this day. But that was not the end of it. One day, Menzi came to see Judge.

“So where’s the new guy? Let’s see him,” said the General. Told that the “new guy” was Patricio Gonzales, he kept mumbling to himself, “I’ve heard that name somewhere.” Then Gonzales walked in.

12 • MARIANO

“You!?” Menzi exclaimed in disbelief. “Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want you working for me?”

Gonzalez spoke for Pat and, like a dedicated defense a�orney (which was totally out of character for a man like Judge), delivered a glowing recom-mendation for the new kid. Menzi relented, telling his editor, “I trust your judgment. If he’s good enough for you, he’s good enough for me.”

End of episode? Not quite. A�er the meeting, a flustered Gonzalez cornered Gonzales. “Why didn’t you tell me you two knew each other and that he didn’t want you working for him?” he demanded. He had put back on the usual grouchy face and tone that once caused Bigornia to faint. “Had I told you about that, you might not have hired me,” replied Gonzales.

Pat Gonzales kept his job, moved to more important assignments, sat at the desk as city editor and was a two-term National Press Club president. During his term as editor in chief, he put out the Bulletin Today Stylebook, the first and only such manual for that paper. It was only regre�able that when he died of a heart a�ack, he had severed ties with his dear, old Bulletin.

7. M������ L��: T�� T������ P����

About 10 years a�er he began working to increase the Bulletin’s circu-lation, Ben Pangilinan had already succeeded in improving the figures: from an embarrassing 25,000 in 1959 to a decent 80,000 and stable in the early ’70s. Advertising was also catching up under Roque Laudico, who was advertising director, and the late Dita Roseberg, who was classified-ads manager. Judge Gonzalez had just retired, and gone to the United States. He was succeeded by Ben Rodriguez, the cub reporter he once hounded.

Rodriguez was the newsman’s newsman. He had covered almost every possible beat in the field, except sports. He reported on celebrities arriving on the waterfront (once he spo�ed Prince Sihanouk traveling incognito and scooped all other papers). He covered City Hall, the House of Representa-tives, Senate, Malacañang, over a span of 20 years. He was the perfect choice to succeed Judge.

According to former librarians Aunario and Mariano, Judge did not share the opinion. He thought Batalla was the be�er editorial writer. But Batalla was slow and so much of an introvert, while Rodriguez was a go-get-ter and had be�er “PR.” He decided to make Rodriguez editor-in-chief and Batalla the editorial writer. Neither one of them liked the idea of spli�ing

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 13

the editor’s chores.

“He [Judge Gonzalez] foresaw the declaration of martial law,” said Susie Aunario. “He was inviting us all to go with him to the States.”

Then it happened. Former Bulletin reporter Francisco Tatad, who had become Marcos’ information secretary, was reading, with a somber face, on national television the provisions of Proclamation No. 1081, the General Orders, Le�ers of Instruction, and Presidential Decrees. Le�er of Instruction No. 1 authorized the Departments of National Defense and Public Informa-tion to take over and control media. That meant the closure of, among oth-ers, the Bulletin, owned by a long-time Marcos associate. DPI Orders 1 and 2 instituted censorship and the need for permission to publish.

There was uncertainty for the men and women of the Bulletin, but Menzi continued paying their salaries. Unlike other newspapers, the Bulletin did not suffer as many arrests. Amont those who were detained were Doronila and Abaya, although at that time they were no longer Bulletin employees. And Amelita Reysio-Cruz.

Amelita was a society columnist who did not hide her contempt for the First Lady, whom she called “Imeldita” in her columns. In turn, Mrs. Marcos labeled her “Animalita.” She was held at Camp Crame but was later released due to an illness. Menzi was given strict instructions not to reinstate her in the Bulletin, but because of her friendship with the General she was retained as his biographer.

The Bulletin’s casualty list, however, would pile up during the martial-law regime, in which one reporter a�er another would be harassed, fired or, in the case of Tempo correspondent Tim Olivarez, even “salvaged.” But that is jumping the gun. It is interesting to look into how the newspaper was allowed to operate again.

A couple of months a�er martial law was proclaimed, Marcos invited Menzi to a party and told the General that perhaps it was time for the Bulletin to reopen, on condition that it changed its name. An implied term was that it should support the New Society. Menzi complied with both.

The publisher presented several studies of the new logo to Marcos: one was the Philippine Daily Bulletin and the other was the Bulletin Today. There is still on file the very page on which Marcos signed the la�er, which he also marked “��.” The Bulletin never hid this fact. Rather it was proud of

14 • MARIANO

it, especially during that time that it considered the Marcos imprimatur as its authority to publish.

Meanwhile, military control of the media eased and more civilians were placed in media bodies named, in succession, as the Media Media Council (1972) and the Media Advisory Council (1973). In 1974 Menzi was made chairman of the Print Media Council of the Philippines and one of his functions was to grant licenses to all publications around the country. His co-members were Business Day publisher Raul Locsin, Evening Post pub-lisher Kerima Polotan-Tuvera, Juan Perez and Rosario Olivarez. These were the papers that would later be known as the “crony” press for they were all owned by Marcos associates. Or, if accounts by long-time employees are to be believed, by Marcos himself.

It is said that it was during the three-month hiatus that Marcos ironed out his entry into the Bulletin. According to Lourdes Mendoza, former treas-urer, Marcos became majority stockholder when the newspaper resumed operation. Three cronies — Eduardo “Danding” Cojuangco, Cesar Zalamea and Jose Campos — were allo�ed 17 percent each although it was likely, she said, that they never actually put any money in. “Umiyak pa nga si Quimson dahil parang hindi na majority, dahil the three big stockholders were those three,” she said.

She adds:

When we declare cash dividends, those [Cojuangco, Zalamea and Campos] are the names wri�en on the checks but which were given to President Marcos. Parang common knowledge dun sa ones in-volved. They really bring it [the checks] to Malacañang. And those three never a�ended the meetings.

The checks, she said, would eventually be deposited at Security Bank.

Bigornia, whose brother Amante was a Malacañang official at that time, tells of how Marcos would show off the Bulletin checks to his associates. “Greg Cendaña would tell him that everytime when the check comes around, ‘Ah, where did this come from? The other papers don’t give me anything,’” he quotes the former president. The others would mean the Evening Post, published by the wife of his executive assistant Juan Tuvera; the Daily Ex-press, owned by former classmate Roberto Benedicto, and the Times Journal, owned by his brother-in-law Benjamin “Kokoy” Romualdez.

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 15

Of course, the Bulletin was only able to declare cash dividends because by that time, it had become the country’s most profitable newspaper. What was its turning point?

The only answer: Manila Times was out of the way.

The Bulletin hired Crispulo Icban Jr., then a desk man at the Times, as a “consultant” but he did the work of a desk man. At this time, the Bul-letin, trying to look very much like the New York Times, still employed the Cheltenham face for its headlines. One of Icban’s suggestions to make the paper more visually a�ractive was to adopt the full-bodied Bodoni type that is still in use today.

The editors also wanted to make the Bulletin the people’s newspaper. One tactic they used was accommodating press releases. It began running anuncios on kindergarten, elementary, high-school and college graduates, new doctors, new lawyers, new CPAs, corporate appointments, Rotary (or Jaycee, Lion, Toastmaster) meetings. If one’s press release came out in the Bulletin even once, they reasoned out, that person would forever be loyal to the paper. As a footnote, this practice resulted in a negative side effect. An unscrupu-lous few would take advantage of the unsuspecting public and resorted to prostituting editorial space, for a fee, much to Menzi’s constertation.

To generate more advertising revenue, Quimson ordered that the in-side pages, which used to have only eight columns, should now have nine. Depth, which used to be measured in column-inches, was now reckoned in column centimeters. Hence, the Bulletin was able to derive more income per column centimeter per page without actually having to print additional pages. More profit at no added cost.

The Manila Times did not actually hand down the advertising and circulation title to the Bulletin, which was not in circulation for the first three months of martial law. It was the Daily Express. Vic Abanilla remembers that during the time the Bulletin was in the freezer called uncertainty, the Benedicto paper carried more advertising than the Times ever did during its best years. This record, he says, has not yet been surpassed today even by the Bulletin. Ben Pangilinan also says that the Express posted a a record daily circulation of 650,000 and he doubts if the Bulletin, or the Inquirer for that ma�er, could top that distinction.

So what did the Bulletin do right? Abanilla says that in the first few days of their return, advertising agencies began placing orders with the Bul-

16 • MARIANO

letin. They said they were taking their business away from the competition. Curious, he asked why. “Most of our advertisers that had business with the Express said that people there are quite arrogant and made them suffer just to publish one or two [classfied] ads,” he said. “So when the Bulletin was reopened, they again tried us and found out that we were more accommo-dating than the former. And a�er trying us, they never did leave us. And that started the whole thing, being No. 1.”

And when advertising pours in, so does circulation. Or should it be the other way around? Not for the Bulletin. It got its reward first before it had to do the hard work. In a very short time, it overtook the Express as the leader.

When Menzi learned of the Express’s faux pas, he immediately ordered the advertising to undergo mandatory personality development seminars. These were held on weekends — Saturday a�ernoons and the entire Sundays — at the newly opened El Grande Resort in BF Homes, Parañaque, with Menzi himself checking a�endance. Those who did not agree with the order were told they were free to resign. Consultants like Pryce Waterhouse conducted seminars on time management, English conversation, interpersonal skills, good grooming. In short, Menzi wanted the advertising staff to be polished, to be customer-oriented. He had proclaimed: “Now that I am No. 1, I intend to remain No. 1 all the time and at all costs.”

8. T�� C��� �� B���� N�. 1

Note that Marcos was a strongman who ruled the country through presidential decrees (legal) and military action (o�en extra-legal). He was also very sensitive to the press, for their commissions as well as omissions.

While the Bulletin was commi�ed to the canons of journalism it did not take long for it to realize that responsible, fair and accurate reporting o�en meant incurring the ire of politicians, businessmen and military officials close to Marcos. Menzi would frequently be called to Malacañang, either by then Information Minister Gregorio Cendaña or Da Apo himself, for some story which his newspaper had printed and Marcos deemed undersirable. According to Mariano, Menzi would then ventilate at either Rodriguez or Gonzales, whoever was around.

True, there were reporters and columnists who dared test Marcos’ patience. And very few survived. Le�y Jimenez-Magsanoc, who started her career with the Bulletin, was fired for repeatedly offending the Marcoses. The

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 17

last straw for her was running a popularity poll in the Panorama that had Benigno Aquino Jr. ahead of Marcos. All copies of that issue were recalled and Magsanoc was out of a job.

Then there were the Golden Girls: Niñez Cacho-Olivarez, Domini Suarez-Torrevillas, Arlene Babst. Menzi had thought it was a good idea to bring them in, but soon regre�ed his decision for they were “more auda-cious than the others.” They made life too difficult for him for their columns constantly irritated the Marcoses.

Menzi’s logic was simple: if Marcos got real mad, all of them would be out of work. Journalists had to sacrifice their ideals. Yet, it was the “con-servative” Bulletin. Menzi’s concern was valid. The Bulletin was so liquid that it was able to pay for the construction of its present building in cash and without incurring any debts. He didn’t want to lose that becaue of some hotshot columnist. But the editors were careful not to do any bootlicking.

Icban explains: “We didn’t print Malacañang press releases verbatim. For example, one news release would say, ‘In his desire to upli� the conditions of the Filipino people, President Marcos inaugurated yesterday...’ The others would run it word for word. We would reduce the sentence to, ‘President inaugurated yesterday...’ And people noticed that.

“We thought that it was part of circumstances we had to work un-der. Since we cannot fight it, we cannot go underground. You live with it. But you make adjustments so you still are able to do your jobs within the limits of the circumstance of the situation. So if they tell you, halimbawa, I remember aat that time na, ‘Don’t run a crowd picture of the Ninoy Aquino burial,’ merong ganoon. So you will not find in the Bulletin at that time a story, a photo of a big crowd. So what we do, we look for ... I remember I found a beautiful picture of Doña Aurora [Aquino] cradling the body of Ninoy. It looked to me like the Pieta. It came out, ang ganda-ganda. It was within the rules. No crowd photo but it struck the hearts of many people. And Malacañang reacted.

“Tapos nung final burial na, we were looking for beautiful photos since we could not run crowd photos. so while they were lowering the casket down from the truck, mga kamay, naka-ganyan lahat. Ang dami-dami. Pero few people lang. Siguro 30 people. It was a very beau-tiful photo. That was what I mean. You work within the guidelines, within the limitations.. The next instruction was, ‘Don’t run photos that arouse sympathy.’”

18 • MARIANO

He recalls the time Ninoy appeared, four months a�er his death, on Page 1. It was Rizal Day, 1983, and Marcos was raising the flag at Rizal Park. Luis Garcia, then chief photographer, snapped the picture.

“You know, that is something very strange. You see, there wre many photos in front of me. I was the one who selected these photos as the news editor. And I selected one. Kinrap kong ganyan. I ran it. It came out the next day. Still, nobody noticed it. Two days later, people began to call up. There is a face on the flag! And that is when I looked at it. Oo nga ’no? So we looked at the original. Oo nga, meron nga. We looked at the negative, it’s there. Malacañang, I think, sent people to look at the negative also, baka minajik ng mga photographers. Hindi naman. It’s real. It’s just a play of shadows.

Icban says he can only imagine what could’ve happened to them had Garcia, or anybody else for that ma�er, actually retouched the negative.

The biggest casualty, it turned out, was the editor in chief himself. And it happened months a�er martial law had been li�ed, though Marcos remained in absolute power. A correspondent, Isidoro Chammag, filed a report that claimed communist terrorists had infiltrated Abra province. Ro-driguez placed it on Page 1. That very day, in the morning, Menzi told him he was being retired.

Recounts Rodriguez:

The hay which broke the camel’s back was the story on page 1 say-ing that terrorists had already infiltrated Abra. [Gen. Fidel] Ramos, who was then Chief of Staff, went to Marcos and said, “It’s not true. There are no terrorists.” Uminit ang ulo ni Marcos at that time so he called up. Gen. Menzi sa Bulletin. Sabi niya, “Gen. Menzi, that story there on page 1.” When they saw it, it was wri�en by one of our cor-respondents, Sid Chammag. “No, that’s not true. Gen. Ramos said that is not true. Are you willing to fight me?” That is what Marcos told him. “Well, I’ll take care of that, Mr. President,” sabi ni Gen. Menzi. So, one hour ’yon sa office... to fire me.”

Rank has its privilege. Rodriguez packed up his things and, the next day, Pat Gonzales was listed in the staff box as editor in chief.

(Rodriguez edited trade magazines. “Not my kind of work,” he says of his forced employment. He was recalled to the Bulletin a�er Menzi’s death in 1984. When Gonzales retired to publish the Tribune, Rodriguez returned to his old post.)

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 19

One retired employee says that Rodriguez resented the fact that Menzi did not defend him before Marcos and wondered why he had to be fired so hastily. Because Marcos might change his mind, said another, and so�en his stand “Menzi was looking for a way to get rid of Rodriguez and that was his chance.”

According to another, Menzi went to the Bulletin that morning look-ing for Rodriguez, who was not yet around. Gonzales had to take the heat. But that only further infuriated the General. By the time Rodriguez came in, Menzi had firmed up his decision to let go of his top man.

9. L����-M��������� R��������

Overworked and underpaid, it is a wonder why people like Bigornia, whose starting pay in 1939 was a mere 75 pesos a month, ever stayed for so long. The informants for this paper were one in their reply: the camaraderie. They were one happy family. Rules were meant for people, not the other way around. Everyone knew everybody else, regardless of position. Reporters mingled with the drivers, and even executives like Mariano Quimson regu-larly played basketball with ink-smeared pressmen. But that did not mean all went perfectly well.

The Bulletin Employes (spelled with one e, in compliance with their style rules) Union was founded in 1956 and had always been led by idealis-tic reporters, among them Tony Zumel and Antonio Nieva. They constantly fought for the worker’s rights with management. There were a couple of strikes worth remembering, but former employees note the swi�ness with which they were resolved. “Always within 24 hours,” said Vic Abanilla.

Quimson, Menzi’s top executive, was o�en the object of their ire. Abanilla remembers one strike:

“Now all the strikers had a placard pero most of the placards you will see na they’re only a�er the neck of one guy, the late Mr. M. Quimson B. Quimson Jr., saying all bad things against him. Maraming tao ang dumadaan nakikita yung mga placards saying bad things about Mr. Quimson. And then nuong hindi na nakatiis yung isang tao he asked the question, ‘Sino ba yang Quimson na ’yan? Mabagsik pala ’yan, ano?’ Then one guy answered, ‘Ako ho ’yon.’ That guy was seated right in the middle of the strikers and they were holding hands. Even if there was a strike, walang violence. Hindi violente, in fact, nanduoon pa yung taong kinaiinisan nila, kumakain duon sa strike line.”

20 • MARIANO

For a while he was leery of people he suspected to be loyal to Felix Gonzalez, as is normal for executives to be insecure when they come in during transitions. Abanilla, whose father Getulio was a long-time associate of Judge, and his sister Tessie Mariano did not win his favor easily. In fact, Mariano did not come to cordial terms with Quimson until a�er he had retired.

Yet Quimson, whose financial and business genius helped propel the newspaper to its present position, never lost touch with the common employee. He regularly organized pick-up basketball games on the Bulletin parking lot with drivers and press operators. He was also captain of the ad-ministration team (“Office”) that played in the annual, company-sponsored inter-department basketball tournament.

Abanilla remembers how a�er one such pick-up game, Quimson told his playmates to have refreshments in the company cafeteria, on him. Sweaty, smelly and the lowest-ranking in the company, they were refused admission by James Roberson, the concessionaire. When Quimson heard about this, he blew his top. “Never turn away anyone just because he is poor,” he berated the concessionaire. The Big Boss, normally hated for his strictness, forever earned their respect.

In only one strike during Menzi’s time did things get close to being violent. Workers blocked access to the building. So Menzi ordered those who wanted to work to be flown in aboard helicopters. Strikers released balloons, but later stopped when they they were jeopardizing the lives of their co-workers and friends. Inside the compound, executives worked the typese�ing machines while the editors prepared the paste-up. Later that evening, although later than the usual, they began rolling the presses. Also that evening, Quimson was resolving areas of dispute with the union lead-ers. The strike was over.

There continued to be points of irritation to the employees, particularly wages, which was always the government-prescribed minimum. Advertising solicitors consoled themselves with the fact that they received 15-percent commission on ads. “In the early ’70s I could forget about my P1,500 sal-ary because I made P5,000 a month in commissions,” said Abanilla. Then management, upon the recommendation of Roque Laudico, the advertising director, decided to do away with commissions.

“We were demoralized,” said Abanilla, who was by then assistant display-ads manager. “But we were told that the money would be used for the construction of the new building.”

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 21

To make up for the loss, management made under-the-table bonuses to supervisors up. “Everybody received 13th month, a mid-year bonus and a Christmas bonus. We got another month,” said Abanilla. “We would be called upstairs, one by one, and people would tell us, ‘Hala! Get ready for a scold-ing.’ Of course we knew it was for the bonus.” It took the union more than a year to find out about this so-called anomaly. Management then awarded everybody the fourth month. (Today, the Bulletin claims to pay employees a 20-month year, although the basic salary remains below par.)

10. T�� ‘C�����������’

Susie Aunario was understating when she said librarians were asked to do things other than library work. Sure, library work was tough, consid-ering that when she took over in 1947, there was hardly any filing system to speak of. Dita Roseberg, who was librarian before her, created a card-file system that merely recorded the title of the story and the date of publica-tion. Aunario introduced subject classification. In addition, they would clip the stories, paste them on copy paper and file them in folders according to subject.

“But we were always behind in our work,” she complains. And that was because, since she first came in, people got used to treating the librarians as all-purpose people. To them, the library was more than just a morgue for old stories and photos.

This included ge�ing passports, visas and plane tickets for newsmen who were to cover an international event. (Some of them never came back and put up their own Filipino-American newspapers.) They would meet with college deans and professors so that a publisher’s activist son would not be expelled for staging a “subversive” rally on campus; or with university admissions officers when an editor’s kid had trouble ge�ing in. And even doing bank transactions for their editors.

Tessie Mariano had been cashing checks, depositing and withdraw-ing for Ben Rodriguez ever since he became editor. When he was retired, somebody else had to do these transactions for him. So Mariano introduced the editor’s wife to the bank officials. “Ay! We thought all the while you [adressing Mariano] were Mrs. Rodriguez.”

The library was also some sort of a half-way house for tired, worried, frustrated, broke, or hungry newsmen. “People would always come in look-ing for something to eat,” recalls Mariano. “And they would be disappointed

22 • MARIANO

if there was none. So we had to make sure there was always a sandwich or a cookie somewhere.” Quite naturally, whenever someone sent over a cake it went to the library and everybody in the newsroom was called in. It was also a popular venue for small birthday parties.

Maybe it was because the library was the nearest place where editors and reporters could go. It was between their offices and the elevator. They would go there and talk with the librarians before meeting with Menzi, or a�er a long telephone conversation with an angry Minister Cendaña or some other Marcos official. Apolonio Batalla, Ben Rodriguez and Pat Gonzales were among the regulars.

They would go there if they needed money to pay the cab driver or for their children’s tuition. They would go there if they needed advice. They would go there on the pretext of looking up some back issue but would end up unloading their anxieties.

“We were like a confessional,” says Aunario.

Actually, they were the psychiatrists the pressure-laden newsmen never had. This made them privy to many of the goings-on, big or small, in the Bulletin as well as in the private lives of people who worked there. They listened. And they remember.

11. T�� E�� �� �� E��

Menzi died on Sept. 27, 1984, 27 years and two months a�er he bought the Bulletin from Carson Taylor. Emilio Yap, who had been vice chairman of the board since 1961 took over.

Menzi will be remembered for transforming the paper from a poor second to its nemesis, the Manila Times, to a solid second to none. From a happy-go-lucky organization, it became a well-oiled, efficient operation.

He will also be remembered for his dedication to newspaper publish-ing. When Philippine Airlines pilots went on strike, he would fly his own plane with as many copies as it could take so that delivery would not be interrupted, if only delayed.

He was forever the sportsman, an avid polo player. No fall was too bad for him. He would be back on his favorite horse as soon as the broken bone healed. Until age took the be�er of him and the body was no longer

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 23

willing to take the physical punishment he imposed upon himself.

Upon his death, a major chapter in Philippine newspaper publishing came to a close.

11. C���������

The Bulletin in the years 1957 to 1984 saw a transformation from a forge�able newspaper to the newspaper with which to reckon. It survived a brutal Japanese occupation before that. It also survived Marcos’ martial rule. Menzi’s being a Marcos “crony” did not assure him of the top spot as the other crony papers were owned by people with closer ties to Malacañang.

It saw a change of owners, from Taylor to Menzi. Of editors, from Gonzalez to Rodriguez, and then to Gonzales. It survived the rigors of col-lective baragaining.

This newspaper, now approaching its centennial year, is now known as the Manila Bulletin.

A��������� �������

Bulletin Publishing Corp. 1992 Annual Report.

Taylor, Carson. 1927. History of the Philippine Press.

Valenzuela, Jesus. 1933. The History of Journalism in the Philippine Islands.

24 • MARIANO

MANILA DAILY BULLETIN • 25

An oral history of the

Manila Daily Bulletin 1957 to 1984

By Gerardo A. Mariano Department of Communication

January 1995