Johnny de Leon, Ngo-ngo and a deck of cards

   
    Grandmother calls out my name. I stood up, dropped whatever I was doing and raced into the house. By the time I ran up the stairs darkness has already crept into the house. Grandmother had gone back to the kitchen. Only the light in the kitchen is on. I would usually flop down on the floor near the kitchen doorway. From under the glass cabinet-- where grandmother kept her best china, I'd pulled out my stash of green army men then line them up for a make-believe reconnaissance mission.

     The AM radio is on, tuned in to the station of Johnny de Leon's program. It was actually the only radio station Grandmother listened to and Johnny de Leon was the king of the airwaves at that time. You could hear his voice early in the morning and again just before the day ends. He would do the news, commentaries and even dish out advices on relationships. On Friday nights there was "24 Oras" where he voices the character that would give resolution or a twist to a story that, you guessed it, happened all in one day.

    At six o'clock Johnny de Leon would break for evening prayers. He'd play a recording of the Angelus-- three Biblical verses describing the mysteries are recited as versicle and responses alternated with the "Hail Mary". After a short pause, a narration of the story of the "deck of cards" would follow. It's about a "soldier boy" who got into trouble when he was caught spreading a deck of cards during church service. He would be brought before the Provost Marshall where he would explain the meaning of each card. He would start with "You see Sir…" something I would mimic later in life whenever I was asked to explain. I would learn many years later that the narrator was the then popular actor/singer Tex Ritter--father of the late actor/comedian John "Three's Company" Ritter.

    Johnny de Leon would come back with his spiels then smoothly segue to one of many commercial breaks where Ngo-ngo-- Johnny de Leon's cleft-lipped sidekick, would do his "Bataan Matamis"  thing. It's interesting to note that in an industry where one's voice is the ticket to success, a novelty like Ngo-ngo could survive. Today where political correctness has gone overboard Ngo-ngo wouldn't even be on radio much less doing a cigarette ad. Ironically still, Ngo-ngo even recorded a song ("Hernando's Hideaway") and even made TV appearances later on. I remember Ngo-ngo as dark-skinned, slick black hair, short in stature, skinny and stands with a slight forward angle-- not exactly TV material either.

    There was no television then. No video games. Grandmother didn't even have a refrigerator. Instead she had this cabinet with screened doors where leftover food was stored precariously perched on a drinking glass standing on a saucer filled with water-- a precaution against ants, she would later tell me. No, there were no cockroaches. Never saw one. No mice or rats either. Grandmother told me that is so because she kept a sawa on the rafters. And, the resident tuko took care of the rest.

   Sometimes I would lie on my back and stare at the ceiling hoping to get a glimpse of the sawa. Nope, I never saw it. The tuko, on the other hand, guards its turf on the southwestern side of the house. You know it's there because he belts out, without fail, a guttural mating call right after the Angelus.