A family’s good deed has made Christmas more meaningful for another.
At past 5 a.m on Dec. 12, Risa Lansang-Reyes, a science education specialist at the University of the Philippines’ National Institute for Science and Mathematics Education Development, sent out an urgent flash to friends on Facebook: Her ailing elder brother, 68-year-old Leo, left his home in Lower Bicutan at 8:30 a.m. of the previous day and had not returned.
On Dec. 14, past the critical 48 hours for missing persons, Risa renewed her post: “Please join me on my knees as we pray for the safe return of my brother.”
She also sent a picture of Leo (Len to friends) to the Inquirer, providing phone numbers that anyone with information about him could call. Leo, who suffers bouts of memory lapses, was last seen in a white T-shirt and red plaid shorts and probably had no more than P40 on him, she said.
Day 4, Dec. 15, at about 1:30 p.m., Risa wrote in response to a flurry of words of sympathy from online friends: “Still no word …”
But shortly before 3 that afternoon, Tosh Lansang, another brother whose mobile phone number was listed in the missing-person item published in the Inquirer, received a call.
‘He’s with us’
Speaking in Filipino, the male voice at the other end of the line said: “Are you Tosh? Is Leo your brother? He’s with us.”
A folk singer, Christian song leader and on-and-off spiritual columnist for crime-filled Manila tabloids, Tosh held his breath for the words that might come next. “Of course, it crossed my mind that Leo might have fallen into bad hands,” he confessed.
But what followed refreshed his faith. The male voice quickly dictated an address and rattled off names and phone numbers to call.
It was past midnight when Risa updated her online friends: “Please join the Lansang family in praising and thanking the Lord for Leo’s safe return. After his picture and our contact numbers were published in the Inquirer’s Metro section (print and online issues), the Algire family that took him in, fed him and even clothed him, was able to contact Tosh yesterday afternoon and I was able to fetch him in Cabuyao, Laguna, in the evening.
“Let’s pray that the Algire family will be blessed a thousandfold for their good deed. We thank all of you for your prayers, help and moral support. What an awesome God!”
Caddy for aces
The Algires of Cabuyao, who own a modest house with a sari-sari store in the small Multiland-4 subdivision at the very end of a narrow dead-end street in Sitio San Isidro, were just as glad to see “Tata Leo” find his way home.
Mely Algire, a caddy at the nearby Canlubang Golf and Country Club, initially seemed not to understand what the fuss was about when the Inquirer reached her and asked to interview the family.
We just helped the old man get back to his family, said Mely, who caddies for topnotch golfers like Canlubang ace Tony Olives and Tommy Manotoc. (She is also the mother-in-law of professional golfer Jay Bayron, a runner-up in last year’s Philippine Open Golf Championship and one of the rising stars in the Asian circuit.)
On Dec. 12, Mely’s brother-in-law, Rosauro (nicknamed Oro), observed an elderly man walking up and down their street.
Oro, a tricycle driver, made some rounds, returned at noon, and was surprised to see the man still around, sitting on spare hollow blocks stacked near their home.
He asked if the stranger was hungry: “Tatang, kayo ba’y nagugutom? Gusto nyong kumain?”
“Mamaya na (Later),” the man said.
Oro said the old man seemed short of breath but later rose and walked to the table beside their store, where some of the Algire boys were having drinks.
He sat down and ate a meal of fish (tulingan) and eggplant.
Beer, not water
The stranger introduced himself as Leo Lansang.
Chuckling, the Algire boys recalled that when they offered him a glass of water, he asked for half a glass of beer instead. They proceeded to exchange banter with Tata Leo, who laughed a lot and liked to sing, they said.
Leo remembered the names of his siblings, but not his home address or a phone number to call. He could not explain how he ended up in that corner of Cabuyao.
Irene, Oro’s wife, emerged from the house, took a look at Leo’s dirty shirt and torn shorts, and sort of wrinkled her nose. She went back in and came out with a clean change of clothes for him.
They set him up on a plastic sofa.
Oro’s son, Elmer, used his phone to log into Facebook and found five Lansangs. He sent them each a message inquiring if they knew a certain Leo. But he got no response.
Two nights passed and the Algires desperately tried to find anyone who knew Tata Leo.
Mely went off to look for her son, Louis Ryan, who works at the Convergys call center.
As Louis Ryan told it, he “googled” Leo’s name and found the missing-person item, complete with picture and message, on Inquirer.net. He dialed Tosh Lansang’s number.
Tosh passed the message to Risa, who made the initial return calls and searched for a driver.
Sibling reunion
The Algires waited anxiously for Risa to arrive, giving her detailed instructions by text message.
It was almost 8 p.m. of Dec. 15 when Risa and Leo embraced, speaking to each other in the language to which they are accustomed.
“Ayan, nag-Inglisan sila,” Oro said, adding that his hunch that Leo came from a cultured family was proven right:
“Sabi ko na nga ba galing sa angat na pamilya si Tata Leo.”
Leo comes from an illustrious family of writers and nationalists.
His father is the late Jose A. Lansang, former dean of the Lyceum of the Philippines’ School of Journalism and former managing editor of the premartial-law Philippines Herald.
His mother, the late Flora Celi, was a stalwart of the UP College of Social Welfare and Community Development and the first recipient of the Gawad Tandang Sora Lifetime Achievement Award.
His late brother, Jose Lansang Jr., was a Palanca Award-winning poet. The name of his youngest brother, Lorenzo Lansang—a student activist who dropped out of Philippine Science High School during the martial law years and was later caught and killed by military forces in Southern Tagalog in 1976—is etched on the Bantayog ng mga Bayani monument.
Leo himself was named after Leonardo da Vinci, according to Bani, another brother.
‘Walang anuman’
“The Algires are a wonderful family. They even texted me after we left their home just to make sure we made it home safe and sound,” Risa said.
She said she had also tried to give them money, if only to cover for the food and clothes they had given Leo. But they refused the offer, saying, “Walang anuman (It’s nothing).”
Risa said Leo still could not remember how he got to Cabuyao and what happened before the Algires took him in.
But for the rest of us, it’s good to remember that there are people like the Algire family out there, she said.
“How they treated Len … really inspires us to do good as well. Their actions really give us hope and confidence in our fellowmen,” Risa wrote to her Facebook circle, which now includes a new friend, Oro’s daughter, Mariel.
“It makes Christmas for us ever more meaningful,” Tosh said, recalling in the Algires’ action the biblical story of the Good Samaritan.