Idjay Session Road Tayo: Part III

The post-war babies were starting their puberty years. The guys swaggered about with their lo-waist pants, ducktail hairstyles stuck with lots of pomada, the gals in layers of crispy crinoline petticoats and pastel flats, electric-pleated bandannas tying up their ponytails. Elvis warbled on the radio of the fool such as him, Paul Anka was a great hit with the girls. Percy Faith's Theme from a Summer Place was blaring from the jukeboxes from Session Theatre to Plaza Theatre. Jack's News Stand at the corner toward Malcolm Square was where we monitored headlines, and where comic books were bought after scraping enough change to buy the latest issues. It would be rolled up and secured with a rubber band (no plastic bags then). And was run by a Chinese lady, she is the sister of one of the restaurant owners (can't recall her name but she had on these brocade Hong Kong made jackets with the frog clasps, in all colors imaginable.)

Prosperity was coming to town, boosted by good income from tourism: hotels, restaurants, recreational places, real estate for locals and summer homes for others, providing steady employment. Residental homes opened to transient bakasionistas during the summer months. Tagalog was widely spoken at the Burnham Park skating rink, at the market, Wright Park and other points of "lowlanders'" interest. The mines were still alive and well, Brent School full of kids from mining families, multinationals missionaries and diplomats - they perpetually beat all the school teams in basketball because of the tall Americano boys. (The City High team was so resource-challenged at that time, the jerseys were rotrot but we still cheered on for the Camero brothers).

The PMA cadets occupied the first few orchestra rows of Session Theatre while the palefaced hi-so* BMI cadets kept a close circle around them at Pines Theatre's loge seating section. I can still recall the smell of Pinesol, as you descend down the steep stairs to go to the rest rooms one floor down. Pines Hotel was at its heyday: on the rare occasions, we entered its portals when there was a meeting or program where we had to present a number. Baguio vegetables were as fresh, famous and reasonably-priced. Pedestrian marks on the road started to be painted, and jaywalking became an infraction. (You know the jokes circulating about this. If not, send me an email to inquire about it). Malcolm Square was still a giant parking lot and jeepney stand.

Most of us would walk to town from City High, through Baden Powell Hall at upper Session Road, the Public Library (an art-deco sturdy building which withstood the WWII carpet bombing), Old Pagoda with its display of ceramics, jade, sandalwood carvings, Skyview next to Session Theatre had good warm fried peanuts. And finally to the transport stands, to catch our buses or jeepneys to our residences. A few could walk the distance such as those residing in the City Camp or Bokawkan Road or Fil-Am areas. The Aurora Hill - Trancoville jeepney stand past Tiong San would fill up with passengers from City High, and other schools: those in the blue and white uniforms would be met with icy stabbing stares and seating would be re-arranged so that one does not find seated next to one.

There were still some concrete pillar ruins on Session Road, remnants of the WWII air raids. Some of us were daring enough to cross those pillars like high-wire artists, but never ever during the rainy season. Much too dangerous to cross those moss-covered cracked crumbly concrete pillars with steel rods exposed, in our bakyas. Sometimes we run parts of Session Road, from about Old Pagoda, to Cid's: our lunch boxes cling-clanging along: some of us had those Army surplus two-piece oval aluminum boxes, the lid would be locked by a metal handle (which the GI Joe servicemen would use as a frying pan). My sister gave me a proper lunch box with a leather handle and thermos jug, but I always forgot to pack a spoon and fork: I ended up borrowing Salvacion F-G's fork all the time. To this date, I am more proficient in using a fork than a spoon, thanks to this high school time quirk.

I would sometimes catch the Dangwa Tranco bus going to Trinidad and points north (Acop, Camp Holmes, Pico among other places) , since the fare was half the jeepney fare (five centavos only!) and took me right to my doorstep at Magsaysay Avenue. There was one very ancient Dangwa Baby Bus which plied the town - Trinidad route, driven by a very ancient driver and chugged along at about 3 or 4 km per hour tops. I think it was a 20-passenger bus with the familiar red and grey paint. You could be lulled into a nap by the chugging sound of the diesel engine. If you did not mind the length of the bus ride but was assured of a most safe ride (our parents approved) then this was the bus to take, if you were lucky to catch it, right next to the Sunshine Bakery branch off Magsaysay Avenue. Five centavos and you did not have to flash a student id. And you'd notice all sorts of things along the way, as you slowly wended along, such as a peek inside houses along the road when their doors were open.

And as you approach the corner where Magsaysay Avenue started, stood the Long Live Poprice Factory. If you perchance were passing by on foot, the fragrance of the poprice would entice you to go in and buy a brown bag of retazos: cut-offs from the rectangular shaped poprice wrapped in tissue-thin (what we called Japanese paper) in red, green, yellow, and sealed with a dab of cooked Liwayway gawgaw at both ends. Five centavos for one supotful. Lourdes B-A and myself went in there once which was quite memorable: one of the owner's tots was playing with the glue pot, spreading the gooey stuff around her mouth, then back to the pot.

The not-so-frequent meriendas took place at City Bakery, or more often at Sunshine Bakery at Abanao, for cokes or Canada Dry drinks that were literally half-iced in the bottle, and special hopia (25 centavos with black beans, divided fourways) or regular (five centavos, with kundol or camote fill).

And spend a bit of time, window-shopping at Assandas or Bheromulls where items were perpetually on sale. Or a safe way to inspect the boys and girls from other schools, watching their reflections from the large display glass windows. And when you found yourself in town at 6 pm, everything stopped for a minute while the wail from the Ice Plant called everyone to stand still for a minute's prayer, the Angelus. The same wail you would hear at 7 am, and 12 noon.

Sundays you will see Baguio on Parade: people in their Sunday best, coming home from the Cathedral or other churches where they belong, the kids holding on to their centavos to buy their treats for the week: comics or snacks or knicknacks or school project stuff.

But Session Road was Session Road: you can careen up and down in your slippers or bakyas or in your Gregg best; or in your starched Sunday suit or in T shirt and jeans or your school uniform: it is a most egalitarian thoroughfare. You can cruise in a jeepney, taxi, SUV, or kalagkalag, and nobody gives a hoot. Or meet with your very rich or very poor acquaintances and friends, from Baguio Colleges, Baguio Tech, EPC, Brent, Maryknoll, Saint Theresa, Holy Family, Lepanto High, whatever. All on Session Road. As long as you were a BIB (Born in Baguio) and where Session Road was known, as in "Papanam kadi?" The response was not Session Road, but "Idjay Town".

Note: I need someone (anyone!!) to write the Part IV of this series, about Session Road and what it is like today, to compare or contrast it "as we knew it". Your contributions most welcome!!


*Here in Bangkok, "hi-so" is slang for "high society".