John Wayne --that’s what Fr. Rudy liked to be called. Not because he looked like the Duke—tall, dark and handsome.  Or walked that distinctive cowboy walk.  Or because he could ride a horse, or was quick on the draw.  But, simply because “John Wayne died with his boots on.”  At least in the movies.

     

“Dying with one’s boots on” epitomizes for our sacerdotal John Wayne the exercise of one’s priesthood to the last breath, a consummation devoutly to be wished for.  It is  “to die working while still in active employment or before retirement – like the draught horse which drops dead between the shafts of a cart, or the soldier who dies fighting . . .”

 Fr. Rudy wanted to die in full harness, still in the full flush of his priestly ministry—celebrating Mass, hearing confessions, officiating at marriages, counselling married couples, anointing the sick, burying the dead. In his last days, he was saying Mass for the Old Folks Home of Mother Teresa’s Sisters, filling in for Sunday Mass in a subdivision chapel, hearing the confessions of the Pink Sisters, conducting Marriage Encounter meetings, substituting for Fr. Ocampo as University Chaplain and Alumni Director, and hearing the confessions of Grade School kids.  

Where a normal, sane person would have retired 26 years ago, after a full life of accomplishments, Fr. John Wayne chose to ride on in full gallop, guns blazing.  He had lived a full life.  Correction, please: He had lived two or three full lives.  He was one of the seven founders of Ateneo de Davao; in fact, for several years, he was the only surviving member.  He was Dean of Men and Dean of Studies of Ateneo de Davao, and for recreation and pastime, climbed Mt. Apo one summer.   Shifting gears, he became Fr. Minister of Sacred Heart Novitiate and was Headmaster of Ateneo de Manila Grade School for 11 years.  He would have been appointed Rector of Ateneo de Naga had he not begged Fr. General to be excused.  Jokingly he confessed that he had always wanted to become bishop, but there were no takers. Returning to Davao, he became Principal of the Ateneo High School and Supervisor of Campostela School of Valderama Lumber Co. The incredible list goes on: Spiritual Director of Marriage Encounter, Executive Director of Kauswagan Foundation, Director of Mindanao Land Foundation Board . . .  so when I  say Fr. Rudy led two or three full lives,  I kid you not.

An octogenarian myself, once I congratulated Fr. Rudy on his cheerful optimism. While I was waiting a few months or even a year or two to cross the Great Divide, Fr. Rudy was expecting the Parousia—Christ’s Second Coming—in a matter of days or weeks. He said he did not want to retire. He wanted to follow John Wayne’s words to his cowboys, “Don’t get off your horse.  Stay on the saddle. Die with your boots on!” 

He liked to picture himself, he said, as a small, quivering flame which will be snuffed out as soon as the sun rises. When he said this, I was reminded of a transition scene in the movie Lawrence of Arabia, where Peter O’Toole as Lawrence blows out a match flame and the camera cuts to a blazing sunset.  

Once I asked him, “Rudy, what is it that you really want?”  “To help the poor,” he answered.  That was why, in 1989, he gave up a successful career as an academic administrator to devote the rest of his life to the service of the poor. He was our community’s official almoner to distribute alms to beggars and the needy.  A hands-on almoner who attended to these people himself, not through delegation.  Sometimes, after having exhausted his budget and his own allowance, he would come to borrow money from me, promising to pay back at the beginning of the month when we received our allowances.  “But, why me?” I asked, “You have other Jesuit friends, affluent, with more money.”  “Because,” he answered equivalently, “You’re a soft touch.” Meaning, I don’t ask too many questions.  Actually, I knew that Fr. Rudy’s loans were never for his own personal use, but to help out some urgent indigent need.  I was always able to help him out simply because, like Fr. Rudy himself, I don’t go to restaurants unless I am invited and somebody else foots the bill. In other words, I am a parasite.

Speaking of restaurants, Fr. Rudy’s favourite restaurant is the Jesuit Hilton, meaning the Jesuit Residence. A man of simple taste, he attributes his long life to a diet of fish, vegetables, chicken, and grilled hamburger meat—and, of course, champurado. During pre-prandials, he dilutes his wine so much he might as well be drinking water. A real John Wayne even in his eating and drinking habits.

Like Fr. Finster, he never spoke ill of anyone.  As somebody said of his mother, “She did not have a mean bone in her body.”  Fr. Rudy had the requisite number of bones in his body, not a single one of them “mean”.  Unlike Fr. Finster, though, he spoke a little more and was the greatest collector of text jokes which he would share with the faithful in his homilies, with us at table, and even with Fr. Provincial.

Whenever he asked me a question, he would preface it with “Ning, you know everything . . .” I suppose he was momentarily lapsing in memory and mistaking me for Fr. Samson or Fr. Nebres.  I would bask in the compliment, too proud and too vain to correct him.

He was the greatest listener because, as he said, he was lending his ear to the communicative. The cynical among us might even add: And also to the compulsive.  He would have made a great Boswell to a Dr. Samuel Johnson, because he practically never interrupted the ongoing saga or put on a pained, martyr’s look even though he had already heard the story five times. For that alone, he deserves to be canonized.

As Fr. Rudy shuffled into our dining room he would greet us with “Maayo-ayo . . . mayo-ayo”—a greeting that covers all the times of the day—morning , noon, afternoon, evening—and, if he were in the temperate zone, all seasons of the year—spring, summer, autumn, winter.  I am sure that that is the same greeting he will greet St. Peter with when he arrives in heaven and reins in his horse, a greeting valid also for eternity.  And St. Peter, himself a swordsman and a man of action,  who knows some Visayan, will answer, “Welcome, pardner, to the O.K. Corral.  We have your new boots ready for you. Maayo-ayo!”