All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version. NIV.

Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. Photographs used in the section Nestor de Villa Gallery are from the personal collection of the Soriano family, courtesy of Jeric Soriano.

The Last Man Dancing: The Nestor de Villa Story

Copyright 2011 by Gines Ricardo Soriano Cover design by Jonathan De Vera Page layout by Dorothy Joy Quan-Cheng Published (2011) in the Philippines by OMF Literature Inc. 776 Boni Avenue Mandaluyong City, Metro Manila www.OMFLit.com ISBN 978-971-009-107-2 Printed in the Philippines

Contents
Foreword May I Have This Dance? 5 7 11 31 57 73 93 103 115 127 135 147 153 159 177 185 195 199 209

Chapter 1

Building the Bridges A Serendipitous Start Dancing in the Dark A Star is Born Again Living up to his Name Captive Audiences Lord, Not Yet, Not Yet I Can Still . . . A Road Trip to Remember Only God Knows How Long To an Unknown Dad Dad Goes Home It All Comes to Pass Life Goes So Fast A Time to Dance Nestor de Villa Gallery Endnotes

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Foreword

since back in our days at LVN Pictures. Just like most of the characters he played on the silver screen, Nestor is a jolly person in real life. His sunny disposition never fails to light up the room, a trait that has endeared him to his fellow artists and to almost everybody in the showbiz industry. His positivity springs from his deeply-rooted faith and devotion as a born-again Christian. He stands out in the industry because he is kind-hearted and good-natured. Throughout the years that I have known him, I did not feel any pretense from him, that he was just acting out a part. He is, for real, a good man. Just like his love for dancing, doing good to others and being a God-fearing Christian are second nature to him. He puts serving the Lord on top of his list. Dancing is a big part of his life, but more than this is his being a dedicated servant of God. Reading this book has brought me back to those days when he was a living inspiration for me to become a better person, a better Christian. Up until today, he continues to inspire me; and hopefully he will also inspire everyone else who will be reading this book.
i have known nestor

Rosa Rosal August 2011

introduction

May I Have This Dance?

the flow of ones destiny

has a definite rhythm to it. There exists a divine choreography that people step into, making their lives come alive. I remember watching The NidaNestor Show1 every Thursday night when I was growing up in the 1960s. Nida Blanca and Nestor de Villa would start the program with a tantalizing dance number, flowing across the dance floor with grace and elegance. They were so attuned to each other2 that Nida would intuitively follow the lead of Nestor.3 Their rhythm was such that every move seemed so natural, so magical. There were moments in their opening number when Nida would shine. At Nestors lead, her uniqueness and flair on the dance floor would radiate. You could sense that Nestor thoroughly enjoyed allowing her the spotlight as they slid and wove their way around the stage. Together, they made their dance seem so effortless, so easy. All the long hours of backstage practice, all the hard work all these melted away when the lights warmed the stage and the cameras began to roll. It was fascinating to witness this beautiful work of art unfold with such a seemingly spontaneous creativity. Just as dancing characterized the life of Nestor de Villa, my father, his life can similarly be described as a dance. His dance of destiny unfolded before the eyes of many. When Dad would twist and twirl on the dance floor of life, it was

Last Man Dancing

the Lords lead that brought him forth. And my father could dance! We would ask in amazement, How does he do that? As his admiring onlookers, we never could figure out what drove him to move with such grace and rhythm, whether it was on the dance floor or in his lifes great dance with God. My father had kept in step with Gods sovereign lead. Because of this, Dad danced through the dark valleys of the shadow of death and leaped with joy toward the mountain heights of heaven. The amazing grace of God, which surpasses all human comprehension, divinely chose him, held him in His loving arms, and determined to never let him go. Dad remained in the pleasure of Gods company. Writing about the days of my father helped me navigate across the emotional landscape that everyone will eventually travel. This book is a sons reflection on his fathers life, death and the things that matter most. I have learned incredible lessons from my father. I dare say if you wring out the pages of this book, they would drip with tears of sadness, as well as tears of joy. My father has been physically gone for a while now, yet not a day goes by that I am not reminded of him in some special way. I remember the last intimate months I spent with him. We entered into a time of healing and experienced Gods unique way of restoring our long-lost relationship making it whole and meaningful and loving at last. The journey toward my fathers departure has taught me more about what really matters in life than all the previous decades combined. I held my fathers hand and learned as I followed his lead. We traveled through deaths dark territory together. And when we arrived at the place where I could walk no farther, he let go of my hand and entered into another life. Solomon, the wise king in the Old Testament, wrote in Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 (nlt),

I N T R O D U C T ION

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance. This book will explore significant seasons in my fathers life. Allow me to take you through the spring of his early years that you may understand him, the summer of his rise to stardom that you may enjoy him, the autumn of his spiritual awakening that you may follow him, and the winter of his final days that you may embrace him. As I trace the dance steps of my fathers life in this book, it is my prayer that you feel Gods rhythmic flow shining through its pages and penetrating your heart. Allow me to introduce you to my fathers Dance Partner of a lifetime. The Lord has always been a willing Partner. Why, Hes the Master of lifes rhythm and soul. You may not even be aware that He has always been in tune with the song of your life. The dance floor is wide open and the band is now rendering a timeless number. Just listen to the beat. May my fathers story encourage you to feel the heartbeat of God, throw yourself into His arms, and follow His perfect lead. Rest assured that He wont step on your toes or break your balance. God is stepping into your life today and is extending His hand as He asks you, May I have this dance?

chapter one

ing the Build s Bridge

here is a story behind every bridge built. The chosen location of the structure is just as important as the bedrock beneath the rushing river over which the footings would be founded on. The large wooden planks that were fastened in place and the safety rail erected on either side not only steadied ones walk but also provided a sense of security for the weary traveler. A bridge is a vital link engineered to connect us with others it was our means of coming together. I am where I am right now in my lifes journey because of a particular bridge a bridge that was built by my very dear father; a bridge whose foundations were of divine origin; a bridge that will stand the test of time. But my fathers bridge, to borrow the lyrics of singer and songwriter Paul Simon, was built over its own troubled waters. Nevertheless, his bridge stretched out across a turbulent divide allowing me, as well as others, safe passage.

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Building from a Shaky Shore BUILDING FROM A SHAKY SHORE Sometimes, before every bridge is built, it faces obstacles in its way. The man who would be Nestor de Villa was born Gines Francisco Soriano on the 6th of July 1928, and the building of my fathers bridge commenced over unstable and shifting sand. He was the firstborn son in the second family of wealthy rice haciendero Emiliano Soriano. My grandfather Emiliano was a very handsome man whose features were distinctly European in origin. He had a sharp nose and high cheekbones. His hair was wavy and auburn in color. He was six feet tall a head taller than most young men in his native town. Gines inherited his fathers physical features. There was an air about the young Emiliano that made him different. He didnt look like a Filipino at all. Many have commented that he looked like General Douglas MacArthur. As he matured and his physique developed, it soon became apparent why he somehow stood out in a crowd. It was unmistakably obvious that Emiliano was of foreign descent. This fact alone set him apart. Although his fine features were a dead giveaway, the subject of his roots was understandably buried. The topic was taboo among his immediate family and close friends, and not one soul within his social class dared to raise this issue. They simply turned a blind eye and deaf ear to Emilianos questionable beginnings. It was of great importance to the religious community that this young mans true identity be shrouded. It remained an elusive mystery for over three generations. Emiliano was the only illegitimate child of Padre Joaquin Garcia, a well-known Catholic priest in the province of Nueva Ecija. Although it was common knowledge that the Spanish priests had secret affairs with the local women, every unfortunate pregnancy among them was a scandal in the

B U I L D I N G the B RID G E S

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eyes of the church. Not much is known about my greatgrandmother Maria Soriano. The older members of the family have remained mute on the matter. The stories about her life are scarce. Only her maiden name Soriano has survived. It served as a cover for Father Joaquin, allowing him a bit of anonymity. Her name was even omitted from the paternal parents portion of my dads baptismal certificate.1 As you can tell, Emilianos life was off to a rocky start, overshadowed by secrets and scandals. Many mestizo clans in the Philippines can trace their origins back to the Spanish Catholic Church. Unearthing this information came as a shock for my generation as we discovered that the Soriano family tree was rooted in a secret priestly indiscretion. This brings me to reflect on a scene in the 1990 film Godfather Part III. Michael Corleone is trying desperately to convince his son Anthony to finish his pursuit of a law degree.2 This is part of Michaels attempt to somehow legitimize the notorious reputation of his New York crime family. But Anthony loves music and has his mind made up to pursue a career as a professional singer. His father, however, insists that he can do anything he wants, but must first become a lawyer and work for the family. Anthony protests, I will never work for you. I have bad memories. Anthonys memories are seared by the early stories of his infamous father and the dark deeds he committed as a Mafia hood. Michael replies, All families have bad memories. The first family on earth also bore bad memories. Adam and Eve covered up their nakedness as best they could but failed to hide their sin. Running and hiding among the trees did them no earthly good either. Theres no point in trying to purge or suppress a wrongful act or a hidden truth. We cant escape the fact that one day our secret sins will catch up to us and we will be found out. And because the sinful genes of

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our parents were passed down through the ages, there isnt a family on this planet that isnt tainted by a shady or questionable ancestral history. Like it or not, we have become the unfortunate inheritors of our ancestors sins. Our own patriarch Emiliano wasnt spared of the shame and scandal brought about by his parents sin. He was born out of wedlock. Worse, his father was a priest. Those who knew the truth pretended that they didnt. This stain of disgrace born within the walls of the Catholic Church needed to somehow be quietly buried and quickly forgotten. After all, it was for the greater good of everyone concerned. And throughout the years, my grandfather grew quite adept in concealing this bad family memory. His only legal link was through secret documents and a single photograph. But Emilianos scandalous family origin gave great gifts to him. Due to the Spanish agricultural influence and the immense landholdings of the Catholic Church, Emilianos father bequeathed to him some 13,000 acres of prime rice estates in the neighboring municipalities of Aliaga, west of Cabanatuan City, and in Bongabon at the eastern edge of Nueva Ecija. Aliaga has a cool climate and is pleasantly situated about midway between the Pampanga Grande and the Pampanga Chico rivers in a large and fertile valley of which the principal products are Indian corn, rice, sugar and tobacco. Bongabon, on the other hand, is the leading producer of onion in Southeast Asia. It was in this locale where my father at one time raised lowland crops. Located in the Central Luzon region, Nueva Ecija lies in the largest plain in the country. Since this agricultural province is blessed with naturally rich soil, she is widely referred to as the Rice Granary of the Philippines. Emilianos paternal inheritance of land somehow laundered the stigma brought about by his illegitimate image. Now he was ranked alongside the other landed gentry. It was then that he assumed the title of Don.

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Don Emiliano later married Priscilla Francisco, a local lass from Aliaga, when his first wife, Elena, had passed away. Priscilla was the daughter of one of his foremen, Francisco Francisco, who, with his wife Aniceta Bondoc, lived under Don Emilianos guardianship. As a benefactor toward those who were under his employ, Don Emiliano happened to be responsible for the young womans education in the fine art of homemaking. I am told that she was an excellent embroiderer and a fantastic cook. This is what she had been schooled in. Don Emiliano had had his eye on this pretty, fair-skinned girl during her growing-up years. As long as their daughter remained the apple of their employers eye, Priscillas parents couldnt ask for more. Among all the local women who vied for the wealthy widowers attention, the lot fell on their daughter. By a stroke of good fortune, Francisco and Aniceta had gained their patrons favor. Their economic standing in the community was raised. The security of their family would stay intact and a good future was ensured. In marriage, Priscillas sheltered life revolved solely around her husband. The admiration she had for him knew no bounds. Priscilla couldnt see her husband as her equal. After all, a landowner came from a completely different class. She behaved more like a faithful handmaiden at his beck and call rather than a marital partner who was one with her husband in every respect. Not once did she complain. She was thankful to have a husband who could provide for her every need. Priscilla eventually learned to love, cherish, and serve Don Emiliano for the rest of her life.

Turbulent Waters TURBULENT WATERS But turbulence was afoot. One can only imagine the animosity that Priscillas firstborn son Gines, my father, faced with

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the surviving members of the first family. Don Emilianos newfound favor upon his young doting wife and her newborn son bred division. This unchallenged change brought home a real threat to the rightful place of Elenas children in an expanding family. They were powerless to oppose the patriarchs decision. The democratic process we enjoy today did not exist in the world of Don Emiliano. As long as you remained a dependent member in his household, you had no say in the personal matters of his heart. In other words, you dont bite the hand that feeds you. Of all people, Don Emiliano understood the outcome of his actions. He knew that rivalry and intrigue would endanger and tear his family apart. He therefore ruled his family with an iron fist. He had the last word. This was the reason why Gines wasnt particularly close to any of his ten half-brothers and half-sisters. Save for a few siblings from the first family, Dad never spoke much about them to me. He recalled that a half-sister had been kind and gracious to him, but he couldnt remember much more. Dad remained isolated and aloof. Hard as I tried to pry open his memory banks, I never heard him recount a fond story or two about his growing-up years with the first family under his fathers roof. Now Don Emiliano was well along in years. If you do the math, he was old enough to be Gines grandfather. The generation gap was too wide for them to even conceive of a father-and-son relationship. It was barely given the chance to blossom. Besides, Don Emiliano had grown up without a father, so I guess he never knew how to be one. Nevertheless, Gines chose to see things differently. Like his mother, he looked up to his father with great respect and admiration. He was, after all, the paterfamilia the head of the household. He had the immense task and responsibility not only to support and raise his ever-growing family, but to see to the pressing needs of his extended family made up of the many

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foremen and farmers under his care. In the eyes of Gines, his father was a significant but distant relative. No doubt Don Emiliano was a man of great importance. The local agricultural community depended upon his support for their livelihood. The stewardship of the rice lands, the demanding decisions and profit to be had held his attention perpetually captive. How could he possibly make time for the things that make up a little boys life?

Mother: the Bridge into the World MOTHER: THE BRIDGE INTO THE WORLD What Gines lacked in his growing up years was intimacy. He failed to find it with his parents. His father, Don Emiliano, was too busy minding the farm while his mother, Priscilla, was still a teen who had a lot of growing up to do. But there was one thing he did learn from Priscilla: the value of friendship. Since she didnt have to work for a living, his mother had a lot of time on her hands. Due to her new status as a wealthy landowners wife, she quickly surrounded herself with many friends. Festive parties and small gatherings of ladies were commonplace in her home. Entertaining her many visitors was her forte. The food was always great. Priscilla ensured that everyone had a good time. This trait alone made her a very likeable and popular person. You dont fall into the arms of a Don by accident. You dont capture a persons heart without a special charm about you. And Priscilla possessed that gift. People gravitated towards her. Priscillas son naturally emulated that charismatic trait. During his elementary days in Cabanatuan, Gines learned how to make friends. His friendship with the local kids was an important aspect of his early years. He became popular among his peers. After school, his gang had nothing better to do than to hang out along the sidewalk at a busy corner of the town square. What did they care if the buses belched

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their smoke or the pedestrians pushed and shoved their way through the crowded streets? The busier the better. Street vendors would sell their wares by the dusty sidewalks, and the smell of fried bananas and pork barbeque would fill the polluted air. There were days when a stealthy pickpocket preyed upon a marked pedestrian, or a fight would erupt between the local drunks at the nearby beer house. They didnt have television in those days, but Gines and his gang tuned in daily to their form of reality TV. As long as they could spend time together experiencing the sights and sounds of the city, there was never a dull moment. In the Philippines, if a person is found loitering at a street corner for a prolonged period of time doing nothing, he is called a kanto boy or street corner boy. Kanto boys were a common sight in any local city. It was an inexpensive and harmless way to battle boredom. Our modern shopping malls today have inherited this popular pastime. For lack of anything to do, Gines and his friends would linger at their chosen corner until twilight. The gang would pass the time by telling funny stories, stealing cheap snacks, and keeping a close watch on the city clock. Being home on time was non-negotiable and there was no excuse for being late. Home was just around the corner from the city hall. Gines lived in a house along Rizal Street that was designed by his stepbrother, Julio Soriano, who had studied architecture in Italy. It was the most beautiful house on the block, the style of which was influenced by the modern European homes of that period. Parents in those days were strict disciplinarians. If Gines overstepped his bounds, his father would administer the biblical punishment of choice the use of the palisa or wooden paddle. At times, when the palisa wasnt at hand, his father would unbuckle his thick leather belt and proceed to spank the boy. Don Emiliano may have been a busy man, but when it came to disciplining his children, he got personally in-

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volved. After a brief and thorough interrogation, he would roll up his sleeves and produce the palisa, making certain that he didnt spare the rod.3 Priscilla never dared to interfere or talk him out of it. She just prayed that it would soon be over and done with. Discipline was her husbands department. He ran a tight ship, but it was one that sailed successfully. He was headstrong, always insisting on doing things his way.

Father: Bridge to Work and Responsibility FATHER: BRIDGE TO WORK AND RESPONSIBILITY Pleasing his father became a priority for Gines during his teen years. He had to compete with ten half-siblings for Don Emilianos attention. It was a challenge since his father was a hard man to please. He had to find a way to stand out and be different. He was the youngest number eleven in the brood. Therefore it was important that he be counted. Being a kanto boy didnt cut it it would only drive a wedge deeper between a son and his father. Knowing that Don Emiliano had poured his life into the agricultural business, Gines decided to learn the ropes of running a farm. He saw the task as an obligation. It seemed only natural, almost mandatory, for the sons of Don Emiliano to be involved in the family business. A strong sense of responsibility in his character started to show. When he wasnt in school, Gines would go to the rice fields and talk shop with the foremen. He was very inquisitive. What would prevent the seed from taking root? Where would be the best place to plant them? Would they have to remove the weeds that threatened to choke the stalks of rice? How could they ensure a bountiful harvest? Gines befriended the farmers as he forged a relationship of trust with them, and they were more than happy to supply him with all the technical answers to his questions. It was amazing how a wealthy young man showed a sincere interest in their way of life. Even though he was the bosss son, they

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soon began to treat each other with mutual respect. Gines was a fast learner. He may not have been an exceptional student in the classroom, but outside of school, he learned much from experience. His personal involvement in the family business not only pleased his father but even those under his employ. Gines was fourteen at the start of the Japanese Occupation. His father assigned him the task of riding around their city in a little truck with other boys, selling vinegar. This was how he pulled his weight and contributed money to the family fund. In time, Don Emiliano entrusted to his son the responsibility of accompanying the trucks and crew at the end of the harvest season. They would load the trucks with sacks of rice, form a convoy, and transport the sacks to the local market. Theirs was an especially difficult journey. The war in the Pacific had begun just a year prior and food was being regulated and rationed by the Japanese Army. The rice shortage brought on robbery along their route and the possible seizure of their transported goods by the local bandits or the organized bands of Filipino guerillas. In fact, word got out that a contingent of freedom fighters hiding in the Sierra Madre Mountains east of the province were in the general vicinity. But the trip was well worth the risk for the family, or they would have been strapped for cash. They maintained the agricultural livelihood that put food on their table as well as served an essential staple across the thousands of other tables in Nueva Ecija. News later reached Cabanatuan City that the combined force of American and Filipino soldiers had lost Corregidor to the hands of the Japanese after the three-month Battle of Bataan. Japanese savagery ensued as the enemy forced 100,000 prisoners of war on a 60-mile march without mercy from the Bataan peninsula to San Fernando, Pampanga. The captured soldiers suffered a great number of casualties along the way, as their unfortunate comrades were beheaded,

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bayoneted, or beaten down with countless blows from the butts of Japanese rifles. Aside from the brutality, provisions of food and water were withheld. Malnutrition and sickness immediately set in, adding to the growing death count. After nearly a week, the infamous Bataan Death March littered the dusty roads with rotting corpses. Then came one morning in September 1942. It was the perfect morning for kite flying outside the city limits. The youngsters in the province had spent hours handcrafting small kites made from scraps of paper and thin strips of bamboo. These assembled kites, no larger than a book cover, would be launched from a string of grass, cotton, or bits of cloth, all twisted carefully by hand into varying lengths. Gines stood at the back of a rice transport truck, watching scores of boys and girls running and giggling in the fields along the highway connecting Pangatian to Cabanatuan City. As they tugged their simple toys in the wind, their whimsical laughter was drowned by the sound of hundreds of marching men. This huge commotion awakened the sleepy town and drew a large and curious crowd. The convoy of rice trucks pulled over to the side of the road and the kites were hoisted down. Gines watched the horrific aftermath of war unfold as the ghostly procession marched along the gravel road. Gaunt red-eyed skeletons sapped of any hope of survival moved with bloody feet. Gines instinctively covered his nose and mouth against the choking dust and horrible stench of death from the open wounds caked with gangrene. The people who lined the highway cried out, Victory Joe! to encourage the weary troops. But they moved like zombies without a single shred of motivation. It wasnt long before the tropical heat would beat down hard on them come noontime. One can only imagine what went through the minds of these starving captives as they passed the truckloads of rice. The powerful white men that Gines had heard so much about

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stumbled before him, wracked with disease and malnutrition. These were the surviving 6,500 American prisoners of war who had arrived in Cabanatuan City by rail car from Capas, Tarlac. That morning they were on their final march to Camp Pangatian, just three miles down the road. They looked like helpless sheep being led to the slaughter. As he stared into the eyes of these dead men walking, Gines learned a brutal lesson about the value of life.

A Bridge Too Far A BRIDGE TOO FAR My grandmother Priscilla gave birth not only to my father Gines, but also to three other children. Rodolfo and Isauro were born deaf and mute while Emiliano Jr. was born with a serious speech impediment. My own mother, out of necessity, learned early on how to communicate with them. She was great at sign language. It always fascinated me to see her converse with my dads brothers using rapid hand and body movements. Mom also taught us the basics of sign language in our younger years. We shared in the freedom to also carry a conversation with my uncles. Slowly, we would make out the letters of the alphabet, with my uncles patiently guiding our hands. On the other hand, my father, like Priscilla, refused to learn sign language. He simply opted for a translator or communicated with them via paper and pencil. I could often sense Dads frustration and impatience as he scribbled his thoughts down, and tried to interpret his brothers responses. At times, he would raise his voice and turn to Emiliano Jr., my mom, or one of us his own children for a muchneeded translation. This sad and sorry lack of communication clearly shows that he never had a close relationship with his brothers. When my dad talked about his childhood days,

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not once did he relay a story of him playing or simply spending time bonding with his own siblings. I have come to unravel a hidden truth in the life of my father. He was apparently caught in the middle of two families, yet was not close to either one. He grew up in the household of a first family that maintained a comfortable distance in their relationship with him as the firstborn son of their stepmother. In his own immediate family, where there was little to no audible form of communication, the distance was no closer. Save for some minor interludes of written messages ferried amongst each other out of necessity, Gines struggled in his relationship with his three brothers. All these cost Gines the chance at family intimacy as there was a great chasm in his relationships on both sides of the camp. His was a bridge far removed from what is supposed to be his world a bridge too far. I never understood why the Soriano family reunions were low on Dads priority list, or how I had even grown up without really knowing that side of the family. Only in later years would I receive phone calls from the occasional relative who would introduce himself or herself, who would begin to enlighten me as to how on earth we could be related to each other. Now, I understand.

Dance: Bridge from Home to Destiny DANCE: BRIDGE FROM HOME TO DESTINY Dancing was Gines form of escape from the frustrating realities he faced at home during the latter half of his high school days. American soldiers and Filipino guerillas had driven out the Japanese Imperial forces, liberating the Philippines in 1945. World War II was history. It was time to celebrate a long-sought victory and begin rebuilding the country. Released from the tyranny of the enemy, the Filipino people could now resume their fiestas in true fashion and rejoice in

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the newfound freedom of their spirit. Freedom from the burden of his world of broken relationships was what motivated Gines to pursue dancing. He embraced this art form as a way to creatively channel his disappointments into a positive and liberating experience. The 1940s was a crucial decade for American dance in the 20th century. It was an age of remarkable cross-fertilization: the various distinct dance forms of the two previous decades were imaginatively fused together, giving rise to the dance experiment that crystallized within this period. Ballet was blended with modern dance; modern dance blended burlesque and vaudeville. Jazz, tap, and swing music influenced everything. These newly discovered dance forms found their way across the Pacific and invaded the Philippine islands, landing in our performance halls and town squares. Performing giants like George Balanchine, Martha Graham, Fred Astaire, and Gene Kelly were the ambassadors of modern dance to foreign shores. Their influence upon Gines was lifechanging. Whats interesting is that his home was right next door to the movie house La Solidaridad. Its proximity was such that every evening in his upstairs bedroom, Gines could actually hear the singing and dancing of the big Hollywood musicals. He would open his window wide, shut the lights, crawl under the mosquito net, and lie in bed with his hands folded behind his head, smiling in the dark. The sounds of tap dancing, as well as singing backed up by a full orchestra, haunted Gines. At this time, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) Pictures ruled the silver screen with the great dance musicals of the era. Oklahoma (1943), Pal Joey (1940), Annie Get Your Gun (1946) and Anchors Aweigh (1945) were some of the bigbudget production films that captured Gines imagination and moved his spirit. Every chance he got, he would go to the local cinema to be mesmerized by the magic of Hollywood.

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Dancing was his drug of choice. He had discovered that he possessed an inborn knack to emulate the dancers who were, to him, larger than life. Gines had a sharp eye that picked up their complex dance routines, and a sharp ear that gave him a great sense of rhythm. What was amazing was that he could capture their sequence flawlessly on his first try. The more he watched their performances, the better he became. Gines spent a considerable amount of time in the theater. He just couldnt get enough of his Hollywood stage heroes. How he loved watching Gene Kelly; he would sit through endless showings of his movies. The 1952 Oscar-winning film (for Best Musical Score) Singin in the Rain was his all-time favorite, hands down. Through it all, he memorized the trademark steps of Astaire and duplicated the dynamic movements of Kelly. These two men were his mentors from miles away. They inspired him to try out his legs on the local dance floor. Gines would frequent the festivities held in the plazas of neighboring cities. He would execute his dancing skills on the basketball courts that were used as dance halls for the fiestas. And every bold step he took allowed him to take the lead among all the dancers in the town fiestas. Women waited in the wings for a chance to dance with him. Little did he know that, while he had gotten into dancing as a way to escape his family life, his dancing had become for him a bridge to a life beyond his dreams. People were fascinated as they watched him work the dance floor with his own brand of magic. Here was one of their young local boys, showing amazing talent on stage. Could he possibly be the next Fred Astaire of the Philippines4 in the making?

Bridging The Gap BRIDGING THE GAP I remember a black and white photo of my dad as a very young boy. He had stopped playing and posed long enough

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so that someone could snap the picture. By the looks of it, he couldnt have been more than seven. He was such a goodlooking kid. At that age, he reminded me so much of my eldest son Jed. In that picture, Dad stared right through the camera as if it wasnt even there. He stood in a place all by himself. And then it hit me. This little boy was alone in his world. His father stood at a distance. His mother was very young and was still learning about the world herself. He was alienated from his stepsiblings. He had minimal communication with his own brothers. He had no relational bridges. The familial turbulent waters surrounded him and threatened his footing. He needed to steady himself lest he be washed away. In order to survive, my dad would often make up his own world whenever he found himself alone and unwelcome in his familys cold and remote world. During a candid moment, Dad recounted this lonely world of his. He told me that he would play by himself in his fathers backyard. Toys were a luxury then, but someone had taken the time to make him a toy car out of disposable materials. A rusty rectangular sardine can was the vehicles body and four soda bottle caps the wheels. In those days, people had to use their imagination and creatively recycle materials that we take for granted today. My dad would create, out of the soil, roadways complete with hills, tunnels, and bridges. And he would roll his toy car up, under and around his very own fantasy world. Mind you, its a far cry from my sons world of Nintendo, Sega, and Sony PlayStation. If you were in my dads play clothes, you would almost have to stretch your minds eye to its very limits to successfully visualize and escape into the world he had formed for himself. As we shift into overdrive and move fast forward to my fathers future, we find him driving down a winding road with the sun at his back and the wind in his face. Its a glorious day picture perfect, in fact. He steps on the clutch,

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shifts to a lower gear, and then hits the gas pedal to accelerate around the approaching curve. With the top down, he is seated at the wheel of a spanking clean, luxurious white Ford convertible. It sparkles under a newly applied coat of wax. Its obvious that hes having the time of his life. Along his route, he passes a crowd of eager fans cheering him on. They have been waiting there all morning. They hope that he will give them the time of day. Without warning, he pulls toward the curb and stops for a brief moment to shake hands and hand out his autograph. The sidewalk spills over with a swarm of people. The sleepy street comes alive with excitement. They push and shove each other and surround his car. As he signs his fans books and photos, he is reminded that he has just signed a to-die-for contract with a major motion picture company. Affixing his signature along the dotted line has guaranteed him not only a fabulous salary, but also a house on a hilltop and another brand-new set of wheels to boot.5 As he revvs up his flashy convertible, the crowd parts. He shifts into first and eases on the clutch. He quickly removes his sunglasses, brushes his hair back, steals a look at the rear view mirror, and sees the world hes always dreamed of. A world that was once beyond his wildest dreams now lies before his very eyes. As he speeds off, he cant help but think that this impossible dream may just be too good to be true. He blinks both eyes to make sure that it is not a dream he may have to wake up from. My father found himself firmly at the wheel while going over bridges, under tunnels, and up hills that led to his promising future. It felt, to him, as though he had finally arrived. His far-fetched bridge had not been too far-fetched, after all.

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Know Your Bridges KNOW YOUR BRIDGES The name Nestor de Villa has gone down in the annals of Philippine film and television history. It is the screen name that has captured the imagination of millions of Filipinos. A name, by the grace of God, that belonged to my father. While doing my seminary studies abroad, I came across a book that focused on church growth. The authors practical advice was to find the bridges and use them.6 I immediately understood the application of that statement early in my Christian ministry. It meant that I didnt have to labor in building certain bridges; I just had to find and utilize bridges that have already been built. I realized that my fathers name would allow me access into the hearts and homes of many Filipinos. As a result, as a pastor-at-large, I have been invited to preach and teach Gods Word in their churches. From an ultra-conservative Baptist setting to a full-blown Pentecostal event, I have experienced ministry across a wide spectrum of denominations. I have taken up the role of a circuit preacher in Southern California. I have also been given the privilege to travel extensively and reach out to Filipino communities living abroad. The doors have opened for me to preach the Word in cities along the West Coast Seattle, Oregon, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Orange County, San Bernardino County, and San Diego. Our kababayans from all walks of life have welcomed and cared for my family these past years. The Lord had sovereignly constructed these bridges during my fathers career in show business. These social structures have allowed me to span social and economic streams and reach out to many in our society today, and will allow me to do so in the years to come. Being a well-known film and television celebrity, my father has had a huge following among the upper classes and more so among the masses. The host of characters he had

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portrayed in his numerous films, ranging from a country bumpkin to a city slicker, had reached out and touched the lives of generations of Filipinos everywhere. Whether he was playing the part of a poor, downtrodden peasant or a rich, spoiled son of a wealthy landowner, my dad made an indelible impact upon his audience. The varied roles he played on film had helped many of his countrymen to readily identify with him. His characters personified their plight. My fathers career spanned over five decades, making him the public property of those who loved him dearly. During that time, movies ranked high among the cheapest forms of entertainment in our country. My dad used to tell me, Just think about it for a moment. Film companies may spend millions in production costs to make movies but the viewing public pays only a few pesos to see it. All that extravagant expense for the meager price of a ticket. Now thats entertainment! Television, on the other hand, reaches even the distant parts of the countrys seventeen regions. Driving through the rural countryside during the sixties and seventies, one couldnt help but notice an abundant field of television antennas towering high above the coconut trees. Coming around the bend, you would see these antennas stemming from a barrio of clustered thatch-roofed houses. From the plush aristocratic homes of Forbes Park in Makati to the destitute squatter shanties of Smokey Mountain in Tondo rises this common means of communication. Before the advent of the satellite dish, cable network and personal computers in the latter part of the 20th century, the television antenna was the countrys electronic umbilical cord to the world of news and entertainment. It was also an effective missionary tool that God has used for my father to communicate His message of love and forgiveness through His Son Jesus Christ.

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By Divine Providence, my fathers profession gave him the means to cross a broad range of local cultures in order to communicate the Gospel. To date, the ethnic diversity of the Philippines is manifested in roughly 170 languages that are spoken across an archipelago composed of 7,107 islands and islets, spanning 1,854 kilometers from north to south. From the northernmost city of Aparri to the southernmost island of Jolo, Nestor de Villas nationwide exposure in the early days of the film industry had allowed him to naturally connect and share the Gospel with the man on the street in urban centers and the farmer in the fields in various provinces. My father was a prime example of a good steward of Gods grace7 who not only knew his bridges, but also utilized them effectively for the kingdom. He reaped a great harvest of souls and influenced countless lives through his story and service.