A CLEAR, clean river runs through the town, filled with freshwater fish — “biya” and “dulong” among them, as well as the smaller cousin of eel, which during my childhood days in Morong we called duhol.
As a first grade-schooler at St. Jerome’s Academy in 1950, I had heard of migrant stories — teachers and professionals in Morong who were part of the Filipinos sent to the US to be “Americanized” under the Pensionado Act (No. 854 of the Philippine Commission) enacted by the United States Congress on Aug. 26, 1903.
Historical records show that after the arrival of Filipinos in California in 1587, “specific migration from Morong’s barangays, particularly San Guillermo, began in the early 20th century, coinciding with the American colonization of the Philippines.”
The scholarship program was part of the pacification campaign following the Philippine-American War, the returning pensionados were groomed for “self-governance.”
From the initial 100 students, the program provided education in the United States to around 500 students, returning to the Philippines to work for the government. The program was well-received to the point of having more than 14,000 pensionados, many of whom ended up permanently residing in the US.
The largest American scholarship program ended in 1943, replaced by the Fulbright Program in 1948 — three years after I was born and 30 years before I had to elude the deadly tentacles of the Marcos martial law regime.
Another migrant-hero from Morong is Tomas Claudio, dubbed the “Defender of Democracy,” who died at age 26 as a soldier in the US Army in World War I.
This migration history highlights a century-long, established connection between the town and the United States.
The past rings a bell
Back at St. Jerome’s Church and Academy, I remember Father Kaiser and Father Gallagher as the two priests with whom I served as an altar boy. I was kneeling, standing, swinging the metal vessel with incense suspended by chains, known as a thurible or censer, to burn incense during Mass, creating fragrant smoke that symbolizes rising prayers and purification.
Disclosure: I did not know what it meant then. I was just an altar boy going through the ritual.
I was also the counterpart of a monk tolling the bells during “orasyon,” or Angelus at 6 p.m.
It was Father Gallagher who corrected my pronunciation of island with a silent “s.”
The Church tower was also my study area after class and before Angelus. From there, I had a 360-degree view of the town and Laguna Bay.
My father — Honorato Aranda — was a teacher of Spanish and world history subjects at Morong High School, a stone’s throw from St. Jerome’s Academy. He was not a fan of priestly sermons and had been frequently debating with Father Kaiser on Catholic teachings vis-à-vis the realities of the pastoral life.
My parents (principally through my father) pulled me out of St. Jerome’s Academy after third grade, and transferred me to Antipolo Elementary School, where I completed my primary education. Then my father moved me back to Morong, where the river still spawned freshwater fish and duhol. He also threw me to the deep end, and I learned how to swim.
Most Morong migrants historically settled on the metropolitan shores of Los Angeles and San Francisco, California.