Dear Charo
The mood was frenetic in the hallway that we called our home. A once-dormant Sarimanok was coming to being. All told, there may have been just under 200 of us packed in the deep crevices of a building that was the harbinger of television to a country that was coming into being. The once-proud owners were left to enter the props room—now the main center of activity. As you walked through the towering metal gates, there was a makeshift two-floor newsroom where Larry Ng, a force in radio in the network’s heyday, was watching the machinations of the daily coverage. Further on, a large cavern, guarded by rusting fire doors, opened to a light-gray fluorescent-lit storage office.
ABS-CBN, now on the air for six months, was heralding a second coming. I was perhaps in my first month on the job, that March of 1987. Now settled under the tutelage of Cheche Lazaro at Public Affairs, I was given the assignment of synching U Matic tapes, the mundane exercise of recording color bars and a tone for editing. I had no experience in television, even less so journalism, save for the fact that I did study at the University of the Philippines, taking communication research. I was wide-eyed and eager.
As I sat on my desk with a chair I brought from home (oh, did I tell you it was very much DYI in those days?), labeling tapes, I saw her. A statuesque presence walking past and being guided to the general manager’s office at the end of the hallway. I first caught a glimpse of Rosario Santos-Concio. Her commanding presence alone left me in awe.
Leadership is about kindness, and about respect. ‘Tough love’ was the mark of Charo Santos as a leader.
CSC had walked into the building. At ABS-CBN, we all had three-letter monikers. FMG, ELIII, RVC (the late legend Rolando V. Cruz) and CSC were at the top of the pyramid.
Charo—CSC—had been brought onboard by Eugenio Lopez Jr., at the recommendation of esteemed and multi-awarded director Lino Brocka—to steer the fledgling station from the ashes. And through the years, she did just that.
I was assigned by Cheche Lazaro to work on the rundown for the ongoing election coverage coming up in May. I was a booker, the person responsible for finding guests. It was pre-mobile phone, and the landline was king. Unfortunately, we shared a few lines among all of us in the hallway, including production. I was called by CSC secretary Aida Espiritu (another icon in our journey) to see CSC and she said, “Huy, huwag ka gamit ng gamit ng phone.” With that as precursor, I was quite nervous. When I sat across of her, she asked me—“Monchet, how are you enjoying your work?” I was disarmed. That first encounter let me understand the persona of one of the industry’s most formidable figures.
Over the next four years, I watched as CSC and her team rewrote the landscape for TV viewers. But I think 1991 was pivotal. In a recent Instagram post, she shared how she challenged management in giving Dolphy, who had been living in the US for over three years, a prime-time program. The bosses felt Dolphy was out of touch with the post-EDSA viewer. Charo stood her ground and said she would quit if the program didn’t work. The key point, she was told at the preview, was to have the bosses laugh five minutes into the program. And they did. She recalls how she was ready to give it up for what she thought was right. The show ran for 17 years, recounts Charo.
Charo had me mesmerized. And it was yet another lesson in being a leader: commitment to an idea to stake everything. A year later, I was tagged along with a preview for the drama anthology, Maalaala Mo Kaya. Romnick Sarmenta, an up-and-coming teenage idol, starred in Rubber Shoes. MMK, as it became known, soon hit primetime and, together with Home Along the Riles, it became part of Filipino iconography.
By 1992, Eugenio “Geny” Lopez, Jr., in a management conference at the then Hyatt on Roxas Boulevard, gave his “I Have Dream” speech that spelled the networks battle cry. There he said that wherever there is a Filipino, ABS-CBN will be there.
That speech kindled the beginning of a global agenda—ABS-CBN International and The Filipino Channel.
And that is when our adventures really began with Charo. She taught me about people. I had the honor of accompanying her on many trips that focused on our global agenda. That was when my tutelage really honed up.
Charo saw me as a young boy, looking for acceptance. She was about tough love. CSC never raised her voice when she saw something amiss. In fact, it was measured, with a slight pause, and a stroke of her hair behind her ear: “You know, Monchet…” Then the bomb dropped. She spelled out my mistake clearly and definitively. That did not happen too often, but when it did, it humbled me like FMG (Freddie Garcia)’s booming voice or ELIII (Gabby Lopez)’s “Your ass is grass,” so that I was lost. The difference was after that dressing down, she quickly changed her tone to ask if I understood, and we moved ahead. That “tough love” was her mark as a leader.
On a trip to Bali, Charo was presenting her first-ever regional talk to an Asian Marketing Forum, I further understood that leadership is about kindness, and about respect. The flight to Bali then was via Singapore and it lasted much of the day. We spoke about many conflicts that were a management challenge, among my peers and in running the business. She said, as I recall, “Monchet, I may not have all the answers, I am not good at finance, but I know that I can motivate good people to help me, all of us, towards our goal.” Leadership, again, isn’t about knowing everything; it is about working with those that can help you learn and achieve your goal. Charo in Bali engaged the attendees. I was proud witness to my boss, a true subject-matter expert on trends and viewership.
When I wasn’t in a good place, she knew. Charo had the uncanny ability of reading people. Because she watched and she listened. Most bosses are not like that. She was a keen learner, twice told. That made her a very special person. That is wisdom that is admired, and if possible imbibed. Charo was—is—my friend.
Her incessant appetite to learn was astonishing. But her curiosity was even more, let’s say, hilarious. Boy, she loves to eat. On long flights, she would ask me to charm the flight attendant for an extra meal so we could try everything onboard, so “sulit the ticket.”
But what I enjoyed the most was our trip to Mexico. It was the heyday of the telenovela and let’s say Thalia pummeled everything in its way. So, to Televisa we went. We arrived at Four Seasons at the Paseo de la Reforma at about noon, and after settling into our rooms, Gabby Lopez said we should have lunch. The concierge was ex-Peninsula Manila and knew my seniors. I can’t recall her name, but when I called her she said that the dining room wouldn’t be open for another few hours (very Hispanic). Of course, when you are with FMG, ELIII and CSC, telling them “no” was not in the playbook. The concierge got back to me and said she convinced the chef to serve us. When the menu came, we decided to get the Mexican pica pica to start. When the cloche was removed, it had crickets and larvae eggs. Gabby goes, “Chet, you first…” And Charo joined me… and she said it was crunchy. We all had a laugh.
Our adventures continued, looking for Pinoy food in Cannes and gamely eating an almost whole lechal in Madrid. In between that she shared her well-documented story of being a movie fan from Calapan, and when you hear from her, it was always with a sense of wonderment. That wonderment was infectious—that, in between charming supplier and playing soft-spoken hardball. Oh, Charo.
We continued to travel together for work as allowed till right before I retired, but the highlight of our journey together may have been her attending the night at the Oscars. It was 2009 at the 81st Academy Awards. Charo was resplendent in a Cary Santiago beaded terno. And as I have mentioned many times, I accompanied our version of Jackie O. A day or so before the Oscars, we had lunch at Spago in Bevery Hills—Wolgang Puck’s legendary restaurant. After sitting down, we took notice that the chef was in residence, so I gamely went over and asked him for a photo. I remember saying that we carry his programs on a cable channel in the Philippines, and he quickly said, “Lifestyle Network! I just taped a promo reel.” I brought him over to meet Charo whom I introduced as my boss and he quickly was ready for the shot. He did send us some comp items as well.
At the Governors Ball, held also at the then Kodak Theater after the Oscars, we took the escalator up to the venue, and there, Puck (he remains the Ball’s caterer of choice) stood and let out a loud shout: “There is the beautiful lady from the Philippines!” Charo beamed, sheepishly.
Charo and I have not seen each other since Cesar, her husband’s passing. She was extremely devoted to him during his ageing years, being his caregiver. The way I saw Cesar and Charo was a relationship goal, caring and understanding each other through it all. Like all friendships, we pick up where we left off, and do so when we can.
I remain indebted to Charo for her tough love, and to her friendship. Leadership can never be taught but is molded. Thank you, Charo, for taking time to help me mend those cracks and to make this boy into a man.
