Friday, July 15, 2011


The rains were relentless last Saturday.  But that did not hinder the friends to gather around his bedside at Medical City.  He checked in the day before and was supposed to leave Sunday to go back to the Villa but the doctors asked him to remain for another day for more procedures.

The friends have made arrangements to proceed to the hospital in the early afternoon.  And we all came, somewhat surprised to find other pals there to share the visiting hours with our ailing buddy.  

We were warned by those who saw him earlier that his looks revealed his sad condition.  We were told to brace ourselves because his features were so different now.  The sickness had practically drained him of his life.

We were also told by another friend, his cousin, that the doctors have already stated that there was nothing more humanly possible that can be done. It was only a matter of time.  And that was why we all gathered in that hospital room that rainy Saturday afternoon. 

We were aware that our time together with him was coming to an end. We wanted to be there to assure him that we were all there for him. 

So it was not surprising that we suddenly filled the room with so much chatter and laughter. We all agreed that this was going to be a happy occasion ... a get-together that so resembled the many we have had in the past under better circumstances.  Tears were not allowed. Not in front of him.

He looked at us from his bed and tried his best to give his reactions and join the conversation. But for most of the time he was listening ... and watching ... and looking at us ... and smiling. He was staring at each and every one of us, as if trying to recollect all the memories shared through years together.

Yes, he lost so much weight. Yes, he complained about the helplessness that accompanies such a fatal ailment so much so that it has been called "the emperor of maladies."  And yes, he was weak ... when he spoke, his voice was much softer ... and not the booming sound that he usually made whenever he wanted to emphasize a point. But there was still much life in him: ever so sharp, so attentive and in control. For that was him.  That was all of him.

Don Escudero has always been the biggest man in any room. He is the giant of my life.

The first time I met him was when I transferred to De la Salle College and landed in Section 5-C.  Don was also in that class. By the time he was in the Fifth Grade, he must have been about five feet eight inches tall. La Salle had a policy that time that we all had to wear khaki shorts until we reached Grade Seven.  That was the only time we were allowed to wear long pants. So Don was this giant among us in short pants.

But even then he was the gentlest of all the kids I have met.  

Whereas everybody was obsessed reading comic books, Don was already discussing Tolkien. Yes, even before Frodo and the Hobbits became fashionable, Don was already devouring such literary works with great gusto.  He was into CS Lewis, he was into history. He was into music ... he was into anthropology. He came from a family that did not only cherish but breathed refinement and culture.  And Don was the inevitable heir apparent.

Despite his size, Don never took advantage of anybody.  He never considered his social station, intellectual or even physical prowess as a reason to belittle others or assert what he wanted. He was, indeed, the Gentle Giant.

He held a big birthday party some time around the last week of January of this year.  He called the event Alive at 55.  At that time, we were not certain about the state of his health although some friends whispered that the cancer had actually undergone metathesis. 

It was almost two years since we heard the news that he was diagnosed with that most dreaded ailment.  The friends gathered around him at that time giving him moral support and encouraging him to give a good fight. His family had always rallied behind him --- so we were sure he was going to go to the battle with head up high and immeasurable determination.  He could draw strength from so many sources.

For a while we believed that the cancer went into remission.  

We were jubilant.  We have known people who have also been diagnosed with the sickness and have survived.  We were certain he was going to be one of them. We could not imagine how his life could be so shortened whereas there were still so many things he wanted to do ... and more he had yet to do. 

Even when he opted to leave the entertainment industry behind to take care of the business of running the villa and resort, he already boasted of achievements that are still unmatched and would find great difficulty to equal until today.  

For how can the history of Filipino cinema be discussed without his brilliant production design of Oro, Plata, Mata or Scorpio Nights or Once Upon a Time?  With Peque Gallaga as director, his visual genius outshone all the others in his field because his was intelligence, scholarship and inherent taste that could not be acquired through workshops or mere posturing.

We were friends all throughout high school and found ourselves together for most of the time in college.

We were both members of the De la Salle Dramatics Guild: I remember Don in a Michel de Ghelderode play, Pantagleize where I was supposed to be a member of the cast but had to back out.  We were more bonded together because of the ComArts program together with Manny Castaneda: I was about to graduate when the program opened in La Salle with Clodualdo del Mundo Jr. I remember finishing all my remaining electives in ComArts courses where we were also joined by the first batch of coeds including Benggot Pe Benito.  

Oh, yes, there was a cross-enrolled student from Saint Paul's College who was beautiful, prim, proper and exceptionally quiet. She sat right behind us in Del Mundo's classes: her name was Charo Santos.

So it was not surprising that after college, we all ended up in the "Industry."  

I got my break to write the screenplay of Oro, Plata, Mata because of Don Escudero.  It was he who brought me to Peque Gallaga so that I can flesh out this beautiful story that Gallaga had as an outline.  If it were not for Don, my professional reputation as a screenwriter would not have been sealed. It was through this friend of mine that I gained the momentum to launch my career as a screenwriter.

Manny Castaneda and I left the hospital at about 5:30 PM.  There were still other friends who remained in the room to keep him company. Tats Manahan and Manuel Genato practically gave all their available hours to be with him since he took a turn for the worse.

As I was about to leave, I gave him that usual wave and said, "You take care!" He was supposed to go back to the Villa the following day.

Just last Sunday I sent him a text message: I apologized for all that noise in his hospital room. I said that we were a bit too rowdy for comfort.  But he replied: "Loved every second of it." I also told him that if he going back to the hospital this week that I would visit him again. He said he would like that.  

I knew he was so happy that his friends were with him and filled that room with such beautiful cacophony.

Don was with me in Berlin to attend the screening of Toro (Live Show) for the Berlinale.  Being part of our production company, Available Light, Don took care of the subtitling of the movie in Amsterdam before proceeding to Germany to join me and the other members of the delegation for the showing of our movie.

That was perhaps one of the happiest times of our lives. Don and I rode the limousine to go to Pottsdamer Platz to attend the premiere screening of the movie. I was not myself, practically dazed out of my wits with what was happening to us. When we boarded the limousine provided by the festival to go to the venue, Don said, "Do you know we are riding the most expensive Mercedes Benz car there is?" I looked at Don and said, "Really?"  And he said, "Yeah, really."  And we both laughed.

Don Escudero was also beside me when we marched down Mendiola condemning the Arroyo administration's banning of Live Show. He was by my side, together with other directors from the Directors Guild of the Philippines, who chose to come to my defense.  

Don never left my side ... from moments in heaven ... down to the challenges of hell. How many of us can boast of having friends like that?

Last Monday evening I received word that he was not allowed to leave the hospital to go home to the Villa.  He took a turn for the worse. No, it was the worst.  In so many words, my friend was dying.

It was much too soon, much too fast. We were back at the hospital. We knew that it was only a matter of hours. And we all said our prayers and our goodbyes.

We could not explain why the deterioration was so fast. It was only two days ago that he was still laughing with us. That afternoon, he was still entertaining friends and --- yes, talking about one of his favorite songs, "Shiver Me Timbers" as interpreted by Bette Midler.  He was still in control, making decisions as to what kind of respiratory aid he wanted. 

Tats Manahan said this was an answer to all our prayers. We did not want him to suffer. We did not want him to go through what we heard are the horrors that cancer victims undergo during the last leg of the battle.  And God answered our prayers: He took him home with much less pain than we all feared he would encounter.

When he left, he was surrounded by the family who adored him and who he loved so much ... and the friends who loved him so greatly.

Tomorrow, we shall say our final goodbyes to our friend.

It hurts. It hurts to say goodbye to someone who has become so much a part of your life ... who was there in each and every step of growing up, becoming who you are ... and eventually settling for the terms of what is called life.

It hurts when you think that he is no longer a phone call ... or a text message away.  It hurts when you suddenly feel this gap, this space in your life. It is like having a tooth extracted ... and suddenly there is this hole in your gums.  You know one day the pain will go away but the gap will remain ... and nothing real can ever fill it again.

But then ... we all must let go ... not to forget but to remember. Remember Don's life in celebration, remember him for all that he was to us.  

As I always said ... before Google, there was Don Escudero, who knew everything.

Don has always been the biggest man in any room.  And his bigness has got nothing to do with his physical size. It has everything to do with his mind ... but more so, his heart. That is why many will miss him ... and he will always be remembered as the Giant who taught us how to be gentle ... and genteel.

Goodbye, Don.


  1. My heartfelt sympathies, Direk Joey.. My lacrimal glands went active as I was reading this. May Direk Don rest in peace. *hugs*

  2. no one could have written it better, Direk. Salamat sa pagbahagi mo ng buhay mo sa aming lahat. Hindi mo na kailangan tawagan o i-text si Direk Don. Ang alaala niya ang palagi mong makakausap sa tuwing kailangan mo siya, at malamang sa hindi parang google pa rin na matatanggap mo ang sagot. Ingat po kayo palagi. I really miss working and being with you. Salamat po ulit!

  3. Wonderfully written. I can almost see him smiling ...

  4. Beautiful, Joey! I'm happy I stumbled on this in Facebook. :)

  5. Hi...we don't know each other and I just stumbled onto your blog. I just felt compelled to write in to say how beautifully written this is. What a wonderful man he must have been. I'm truly sorry for your loss.