March 29, 2024

(Editors’ note: The Courier is reprinting the columns of the late Atty. Benedicto T. Carantes as a tribute to one of its long-time columnists. This piece was published on July 28, 2019)

A Filipino writer and anthropologist, born and raised in Baguio, who later migrated to the United States after finishing her college studies at the University of the Philippines, came to visit me the other week, curiously wanting to know a few things about my lolo Quidno, “patriarch,” so the lady says, “of the Carantes clan, Baguio pioneers.”
Unsure where she was coming from, I nearly blurted, “Madam, you are a century too late.”
Indeed, today, if one were to ask, where Carantes Street is located, the response would probably be a scratch on the head, followed by a sorry: “Sori, di ko po alam.”


Anyway, my knowledge of my lolo Quidno borders (I say this with pride in my heart) on the unflattering.
A municipal presidente of Baguio during the Spanish regime, which didn’t exactly endear him to the American rulers who took over the country after Admiral Dewey’s fleet defeated the vaunted Spanish Armada in the battle of Manila Bay, my lolo Quidno, like the Tuazons, were bequeathed large tracts of land – as far as his horse could cover in a day’s ride before darkness fell.


But my lolo Quidno was quick to adopt himself to the American way of life. He soon started wearing snazzy suits either tailored in Manila or Hong Kong, which he coupled with cowboy boots and Stetson hats imported from Texas.
He also sported a thinly trimmed mustache that went with hair parted in the middle, each strand kept in place with expensive Vaseline able to stand the cruel Baguio wind.
His fashion sense, however, didn’t endear him to his envious fellow Ibaloys, who felt that money should be saved and not spent.
A true gentleman of leisure, my lolo Quidno loved to gamble and drink fine whiskey, but definitely not a skirt chaser – more like the other way round.
Although a faithful husband, he loved the fun of life. Ever solicitous and generous to my apo Kensha each time he would win big at the San Lorenzo racetrack in Manila, yet would also vent his frustration on her after losing a bundle in a poker game.


Gambling was in his Carantes blood, even sitting down with the lowlife when passing them by playing cara y cruz.
And in much the same way that they would filch money from their wives’ purses, so too did my lolo Quidno ransack the “baul” of my apo Kensha each time his pocket was empty.
A prolific Ibaloy, he fathered six sons – Busa, Junan, Mondero, Pedro, Marvin, and Kelly – and four daughters – Cotning, Agumey, Rosalind, and Agustina.
In the end, his vices exalted their toll on his body, leaving my apo Kensha a widow of many years, who lived to a nearly hundred years old.


During family gatherings, my uncle Busa always reminded us that we inherited our traits from his old man, and our sloth from our lolo Mateo Carantes, who had himself carried on a hammock all the way to Agoo, La Union, just to attend a horse race (dumba ni kabadjo).
Mateo spent his days sitting idly on a rocking chair, dozing off every now and then. Upon waking up, and seeing the sun high up in the sky, he would order his servants to butcher a cow for lunch, after which he would point to a sheep grazing nearby, which was promptly butchered by the help for supper.


The only difference between them and you, my uncle Busa would add, is that the two had money. “No, no quara no amta yo, tuway ni pilak nyo ngay.”
Whatever, us Carantes grandkids idolized our lolo Quidno, and even with our meager resources, we try to tread his footsteps or the way he led his life. Happy go lucky, and not think about tomorrow.


Or, like what my auntie Rachel pointed out, “Go back to school, be like your cousins Begong and Julie, who are your apo Kensha’s favorites because they are both professionals – a doctor and a lawyer.”
“The days of wine and honey have long been gone, and you are now on your own.”
“Heed my words for your own good.”
And so I went back to college after being out of school for some years.
After finishing law with honors (sorry, I can’t help myself), I passed the Bar a year later, no failing marks, in any Bar subject, (sorry again.)
For my cousin, Robert, the inheritance came and went over a period of three years, until he died of the Carantes curse – broke and broken hearted.


I didn’t bother to watch and listen to Duterte’s SONA. I simply had other things to do. No, no, I am not being dismissive like him. What was it he said about Senior Justice Antonio Carpio in our sea fight with China? “Walang Carpio-Carpio diyan. (The betting was or is not Pacquiao and what’s his name again?)
The betting is who is more arrogant – a military police officer or a lawyer.
In their Philippine Military Academy and Law school days, they were meek and condescending. All too suddenly their colors went from clean to nasty. Success really does go to the head. Does the suit and necktie or the brass and uniform have something to do with it?