My idol, friend, adviser, protector
Philippine Daily Inquirer’s editor in chief Letty Jimenez-Magsanoc. FILE PHOTO
Up to now, days after I learned from news on television that Inquirer editor in chief Letty Jimenez-Magsanoc died on Christmas Eve, I still can’t get over the reality of her passing.
As I am writing this piece today (Monday) my eyes are swelling and tears are about to fall again. I shed copious tears when I read the dzMM newsboard that Letty had passed on.
Letty was first my idol, then my friend, and later adviser and defender.
Our relationship dates back to our days at the Manila Bulletin where she was then the editor of the paper’s Panorama magazine while I was one of the paper’s police reporters.
Ours was just a nodding acquaintance then as she was busy with her work and I had my hands full reporting crime in my beat, the Western Police District, now the Manila Police District.
We became close after she left Panorama.
The martial law regime forced Hanz Menzi, Bulletin’s publisher, to dismiss her in 1981 for writing articles that Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos found insulting.
If I remember right, a criminal case was filed against Letty in the then Ministry of Justice.
I took part in the protest march from the National Press Club at the foot of Jones Bridge to the Ministry (now Department) of Justice compound on Padre Faura, Manila.
I joined the women journalists with “balls” then, one of them Bulletin columnist Arlene Babst, in the protest march.
I joined because I was ashamed of myself that a frail woman had more courage than the male journalists—including myself—who were working for the so-called Marcos press at the time.
I said to myself: “This woman had the guts to defy Marcos. Isn’t she scared she might just disappear from the face of the earth?”
I thought about Primitivo Mijares, once Malacañang’s favorite journalist who fell in disfavor with the Marcoses after he wrote the book, “The Conjugal Dictatorship,” which detailed the abuses of the couple.
Mijares just disappeared and was never heard from.
Anyway, Letty learned about my joining the march from Babst and she asked me, “Aren’t you afraid of losing your job?”
When I came to the Inquirer in 1987, she was not yet the editor in chief; it was Louie Beltran who took me in.
There was a changing of the guard—from Louie to Dick Pascual—before Letty took over the helm of the “fightingest” newspaper in the country, and became my adviser and defender.
In the early 1990s, I got brickbats from the public for defending Hubert Webb, one of the accused in the murder of the Vizconde family—Estrellita, 49, the mother; Carmela, 18, who was also raped, and Jennifer, 6—which came to be known as the “Crime of the (20th) Century.”
I went to the US to interview witnesses who claimed he was there at the time of the massacre, and I found this to be true.
But what hurt was most of my fellow Inquirer columnists criticizing me for my opinion.
The public opinion then was Webb and his “companions” should be hanged for the crime
—and that I should be hanged with them.
I complained to Letty about the virulent attacks on my person by my fellow columnists.
“I thought you could take what you dish out,” Letty told me.
I said I wouldn’t mind if it came from other people or columnists from the other papers, but not from my colleagues in the Inquirer.
Letty cut me short before I could continue: “We practice democratic space in the Inquirer. We don’t spare anybody, even our own, from criticism.”
She said that if Webb and his coaccused were acquitted by the court, I would be exonerated.
My exoneration came many years later, into the 21st century, when the Supreme Court acquitted Webb and his coaccused.
And then, she defended me again.
The public was outraged by my returning the insult heaped on me by a female police superintendent on TV after I practically called her a prostitute.
The police official said I was an extortionist—she claimed she was giving me P500 a month!
—and that I was stupid. I shot back by saying her brains were “down there.”
The public didn’t consider the fact that I was just returning an insult; I had the right to defend my honor.
“Mon, even the female reporters and columnists are upset with you for your statement,” Letty said.
How do I appease my fellow female colleagues in the Inquirer, I asked the editor in chief.
She advised me to take part in a “beauty contest” where men dressed in old issues of the Inquirer and join their parade on stage.
“Make fun of yourself, make them laugh and perhaps they will be appeased,” she said laughing.
I did just that—at the Inquirer’s anniversary program—parading on stage in a Hawaiian hula costume with other macho employees of the paper.
A few days later, I called her: “Are they appeased, Letty?” “I don’t know,” she replied, again with a laugh.
I learned later that I committed a booboo in the eyes of the Prietos, owners of the Inquirer, who wanted me out of the paper. But Letty defended me—again.
The Prietos, the conservative and devout Catholics that they are, apparently took offense at what they considered an attack on women. I was chastised and I publicly apologized.
On another occasion, I won big in the BW Resources stock market boom which, I learned later, was a result of insider trading.
I invested in BW stocks upon the advice of my friend, Dante Tan, owner of BW. My name was on the list of the big winners.
But how would I know if it was insider trading? It was my first time to play the stock market.
“Mon, you have to convince us that your winning was legitimate, that you didn’t invest in laway (influence) like Senator so-and-so,” Letty told me.
I presented a personal check with the receiver as BW Resources written on it and which my bank had used.
I got off the hook.
Letty’s integrity was beyond question.
At the height of this paper’s reportage on the pork barrel scandal, Janet Lim-Napoles, the scam queen, allegedly tried (but miserably failed) to bribe Letty Jimenez-Magsanoc.
I heard from the political underbelly that Napoles’ intention in coming to the Inquirer was to talk to Letty and offer her an eight-figure amount to go slow on the reports on the scandal.
Instead, Napoles was met by Inquirer editors and columnists, whom Letty had invited to join her in the conference room.
The plan was for Napoles to talk to Letty alone at her office, but she met the whole caboodle.
Letty was also tsismosa; she indulged in bits of gossip.
She inquired about my relationship with Rosanna Roces, the movie actress, and asked me if I could bring her to the Inquirer.
“Si Letty naman. Deny ako nang deny sa misis ko, pero ngayon ibibisto mo ako. Patay ako niyan (Come on, Letty. I keep on denying that to my wife but you’re blowing my cover. I’m a dead man because of that).”
And she let out her famous throaty laugh.
Once, she asked me who was the government official I mentioned in my column who was a sex pervert.
When I told her, of course in confidence, she said, “Oh, that’s why.”
Again, the hearty laughter.
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