The ESL Program at OLP and My Students: Through the Years

May 2, 2012 
I met Everardo on my way to my classroom today at Our Lady of Peace School. He got two canisters in hand while examining the plants around. What are you doing, I asked, because he was supposed to be just waiting for the teacher in front of the classroom. "I water plants. They're thirsty." Hah, he remembered the English word thirsty and spoke two straight sentences. That's enough perk for a teacher. 

The plants indeed looked parched but perhaps there's a sprinkler somewhere that automatically turns on. But like a generous elf, Everardo couldn't stand the sight of the dying plants. So, he went ahead and filled his two canisters with water to freshen up the dehydrated plants.

Everardo is only one of my ESL students who have demonstrated such watchful eyes on the church and school area. As a beneficiary of the free English class, he looks to it like his own property that he must help safeguard and care for. "Teacher, it's dark here. Light no good," he would say, when he noticed it was pitch-dark where my car was parked.

So many of my other students feel that sense of belonging in a community they can trust as a loving and supportive one.The above is only an example of how they give back. We have had students helping in church community events. Some have become members of various church ministry. Santos Yaque is now an Spanish lector, two others a few years back whose names I have forgotten) are members of the Spanish choir. And one of the best things that have really given them lasting benefits is their having improved themselves to the point they are able to move on to higher-paying jobs. Phuong Nguyen, one of my smartest students, finished Level 4 in my class. I told him it's time for him to move to a vocational school. He did and finished the electronic technician course at the North Valley Occupational Center. I talked to him today and found out he now holds the position of an electronic technician at the Arc Machine, Inc. (a leader and innovator corporation in automated orbital welding) and receiving higher salary than before when he didn't know much English. His wife, My Pham, who was my student in another school under Van Nuys Adult school in 2009, recruited him to go to my class at OLP. After learning I used to handle GED test preparation, My Pham, according to Husband Phuong, might attend my class in September with the hope she can learn more English and Math, which she needs to qualify for a doctor assistant exam. Tall order for an English teacher who will be without income anymore come July. But who will help these committed students now that the adult education is being dismantled? They can't afford private colleges. My Pham used to be a doctor's assistant when she was in Vietnam and it's a pity for her not to be able to use her skills just because she does not have enough English. She is such an amiable and conscientious student I have no doubt she will achieve her American dream . Btw, the couple and all their children have now become U.S. citizens. Everardo also had also passed his citizenship test and more, he and his common-law wife finally decided to tie the knot within the Catholic Church, 

Another former student of mine, Marlon Canales (shown below), from El Salvador, has gotten his high school and gone on to a better job last time I heard from him. I think he works for Nestle FoodService. When he was in my class in 2006, I coached and trained him for the Spelling Contest of Kennedy Adult School and then entered his name as our OLP-ESL class representative to the competition for all 18 branches of Kennedy-San Fernando Adult School. I remember having gone to the auditorium of San Fernando High School with him and another student of mine and was surprised at how the other contestants were surrounded by families and classmates rooting for them, parading with placards, cameras, videos and all, like it was graduation day or something. I started regretting not having pushed all my other students to come with us. There was only Juana Barajas, another of my more advanced students,  and myself to boost his morale. Not one of us even remembered bringing a camera. But surprise, surprise, our humble Marlon Canales beat them all one by one until he was the only one left to become the champion. He was awarded a trophy, a medallion, a plaque and the latest edition of Webster's Unabridged Dictionary.  I cried as though it were my own son that won the First Prize.

Similar stories abound among committed ESL students struggling to acquire a second language even as they eke out a living, trusting that someday they can merge into the mainstream where they can gain their rightful place as self-reliant and contributing members.
When in 1998 I first proposed to our then pastor, Father John Keese, an ESL  Program at Our Lady of Peace to fill the need for English of non-English-speaking parents of students in that school, little did I know that the Program will spill out to the whole community of the parish and once in a while, even to neighboring areas. The idea was to help these parents learn enough English to enable them to help their children in their schoolwork  and add a multiplier effect on themselves in terms of integrated lessons and value inculcation they can hopefully pass on to their children. Father John readily approved it. Upon learning about it, the then OLP school principal, exclaimed, "I have been waiting for years to have this kind of outreach program for our community!" And finally, there it was. And by the grace of God, Kennedy-San Fernando CAS picked it up as an LAUSD class, assigning me the class we had given birth to. And now with the School Board dismantling it, the question can be asked, Quo Vadis, adult learners?

THE MAKING OF "BUT FOR THE LOVERS"---NOW IT CAN BE TOLD

In the United States, the relationship between between a book author and his publishing editor can sometimes be fraught with a lot of ambivalence; love- hate in some cases where the author may not want to budge from his passionate belief in his own writing. If one were to read letters between Thomas Wolfe, for instance. Or Hemingway and other American authors, one can have a glimpse of how these two entities dealt with each other.

In the Relationship between Editors and Authors: A Lit Review, Kelly Shackelford describes this even more strongly: 

"The stereotypical relationship between editors and authors is one of antagonism. Editing seems to naturally produce conflict between editors and authors as they vie for authority over each piece of writing. Often, editors feel unappreciated and believe that authors are over-sensitive to changes, while authors feel threatened and believe that editors are taking away ownership of their writing. No one is surprised when the two sides disagree, and their conflicts have become a source of humor." In the case of Wilfrido D. Nolledo and Hal Scharlatt, considered during his time as one of the best editors in New York, the kind of relationship between them in the course of Hal's editing of BUT FOR THE LOVERS perhaps was a rarity. Scharlatt was, in 1967 an editor of one of the leading, if not the leading, publishing houses in New York, the Random House Publishing Co. He was the one assigned to handle a thriller book collaboratively authored by Wilfrido and a British author, Stephen Gray Wilfrido had met in the Iowa Writers' Workshop. The two authors submitted through John Hawkins, a literary agent who visited the University of Iowa in search of potential authors to sell in New York. I remember having read Scharlatt's letter (I'll dig some more into Wilfrido's file for the original) praising the writing (as most editors are wont to do as a prelude to the ax) and saying it just wasn't right for them. He added, however, in a p.s. note asking who wrote this and that chapter the difference in style being so obvious. Upon learning who authored the ones that impressed him, he asked if Wilfrido had a novel of his own. He wanted to take a look at it. Wilfrido sent three chapters of BUT FOR THE LOVERS through John and on the basis of those three chapters alone, Hal made an offer to publish it, sending the contract through Agent Hawkins who was thrilled that the first big  publishing house that had taken a look at it accepted it outright. In New York, publishers or editors and even agents would not give a writer the time of day if they were not unusually excited over a manuscript submitted. In the contract was even a stipulation for an OPTION  for the second novel Wilfrido may write. An Option gives the publishing house priority to read it over all other publishing houses. Throughout all this, Robert Coover, multi-awarded American author, who was then a visiting professor handling the Creative Writing Workshop at the University of Iowa which Wilfrido was attending under a Fulbright scholarship, provided mentoring that proved very valuable in validating Wilfrido's writing skills and his gift of language. Hal later had to move on to E.P. Dutton Publishing, another leading publishing company in New York. He made it a condition in his new job, though, that he would bring with him BUT FOR THE LOVERS, and requested Random House to allow him to do just that. That was how E.P. Dutton came to be the final publisher. Anyway, I hope to post here a few excerpts from the letter exchanges between Hal and Wilfrido. The letters have prints already fading and hopefully can be included in a future publication before they completely get obliterated with age. In the meantime, let me just quote here what I think are the most intense arguments between the author and editor. It appears that Hal had not red-penciled the manuscript at all but just typed  in a separate sheet what he wanted cut or changed with his strong and valid, one must admit, arguments as an editor. Wilfrido, on the other hand, argued back point by point in what appears like a battle of wits between the two. 12 March, 1970 Dear Willie, In the largest sense, I want to reiterate my commitment to BUT FOR THE LOVERS and to emphasize how extraordinary I think is its song, its language, its incredible fusion of myth, history and comedy. Above all, it is a feat of language, an ambition on such large scale that your accomplishment is simply awesome. Having read the entire manuscript four times, I want to once again direct my remarks to the extremely difficult question of cutting and thereby tightening the manuscript for one purpose: to keep the reader interested, not purely in the language itself but in the events of the novel and the condition of its characters... a fusion between history and man...  ......... Pages 125     The story of Vanoye should be a separate chapter. I want to suggest cutting pages 140-157 to       139     completely. Willie, we especially have to consider that the reader is deep within the novel by                      now and there's a definite impatience stemming from the continual detailing of minor events. Wilfrido's Answer Pages 125-139 The next three paras will be crucial, Hal.  And please, please, do not take them as the outpourings of a spoiled poet, whatever that is. Pages 140-157 contain the hemorrhage scene of Hidalgo as prefaced by Alma's "menstrual months."  I realize that this is not easy reading; nevertheless, this section is a set-up: in effect, the girl is spitting out the Spanish Colonial experience. Her monthly period comprises, in terms of history, four centuries of Hispanic subjugation. Four hundred years of Spain, Hal! And all I'm asking for Hidalgo is his one chapter in court. If Hidalgo's remembrances strike you as unreadable, they nonetheless contribute to his image as the Don Quijote of Ojos Verdes. We Filipinos have had to wait centuries for the privilege of killing our "spiritual father," and Hidalgo de Annuncio, like James Bond, is unkillable. For me to cut this part would be an act of cowardice, personally. And won't we be doing the reader an injustice by presuming he can't digest such stuff? If it were simply a matter of verbiage, something I could cut without harming the structure of the novel, I wouldn't waste this space arguing. With the conviction that this is an integral part of Lovers, I will not spare the reader the printed anguish that my country had suffered in blood.

LOOK, MA, THE ROBIN'S BREAST BLEEDS---POEMS

RECYCLED WATER 
by Blanca Datuin

They say this is water from the sewer.
waste from the world's wanton usage,
feces emitted from toxic humans,
dissolved in bogy ground, fluid from
bodies relieving the excesses of the system.

Is this the quagmire of my soul
begging recycling? Agua de Dios, what have
they done to you? Where is the water of my river
that flowed in my veins when rain was pure,
luxuriated flowers of a softened sun?


Where the brook water that flowed endless,
when birds flew without fear, fishes swam
without the venom of man? Rid it of man's 
waste were that likely. Bleach it to a gleaming
white. Slake the wilted soul.
                       Easter, 2009

               TO BE HUMAN

              By Blanca Datuin

The thing hoods his head and shrouds his face

Scared to let others know the real him.

Would he let us see the contour of his soul?

Beloved earthling, why do you hide behind

a black shade? Is your face so accursed

it glowers beyond my nightmare? 

 What kind of god tells you to behead 

One who touched not a single strand

Of your hair?

What power sets your mind to mangle

a world so lovingly shaped by the one

true God, then rend yourself to pieces?

What vileness breaks your fragile brain

And turns your humanness into a chimera?

Oh, that you would wake up ,

Look to the sun and not be blinded,

Shake off the shackles and taste

The heroic, wresting lives from the dragon.

Breathe in the fresh scent of flowers,

Cradle a  baby, nurse a wounded soldier.

See, the sky bends to kiss the sea.

Sun gleams resplendent if you let it in.

See the you that is human and beautiful

With all the fullness of your splendor.

                                                  - 2009

  .

END OF THE VIRGIN

 By Blanca Datuin                       

A wonder of creation was she,

Standing so pristine,

untouched by human hand,

birthing the fruits of heaven

from the crown of her head

bejeweled with green

down to her feet clothed with

more green.

None but nature tended to her,

quenching her thirst, feeding,

husbanding, with nothing but

drops of rain from heaven.

This was she, of my universe,

standing so serene and beautiful,

before the wanderer hid under

her skirts and violated her thighs,

before the ax man cut her down

to make way for the new highs.

Father Alexander

What is charisma? A special charm, allure that inspires allegiance or devotion. It is a grace, a gift from God that Father Alexander made good use of in inspiring people. Not by proselytizing or propagandizing, but by being just himself, quietly telling you not to be too hard on yourself. To "live in the present. Forget the past. Just listen to the call of God because He loves you." Always, his message was God loving you. So much so that even a despairing sinner gets to believe it and turns his life around because there is God waiting for everyone to come to Him. He made it sound like a simple requisite that one void of  a sense of self-worth can not not heed it. No wonder, when parishioners knew he would be the presiding priest, the church would be filled beyond the entrance door, a Hispanic student of mine had once told me. Adult students of mine who had not gone to Church for years started coming back because they could relate to him; he spoke fluent Spanish, Vietnamese aside from his English language, and learning Tagalog the last few weeks of his life. He was like a star that skyrocketed from heaven and then vanished.just as fast.

To him there were no rejects. The poorest of the poor always first on his list of priority programs. He was so eager to embrace the continuity of our Food Program for the needy, the free health program, the Meal of the Month for the homeless, the ESL Program that has actually been my baby, so many more. At the time of his death, he had some project for the youth, I understand, and put at its head Chuy Sandoval.One of the first things he did upon assumption as administrator-pastor of our parish was refurbish the physical facility of the whole compound. Operation Beautification and Cleanliness, he called it. He enjoined the whole neighborhood to participate in the Street Cleaning Operation. Plants and flowers started springing up around. Security fences went up. Suddenly we had a modernized gate built to make ministry members meeting at night feel more secure. The Police was invited to meetings to help build community unity in fighting crime. It seemed like he was always full of ideas he just had to put into action and reality. He helped the needy, counseled the despairing, was always ready to rush to the bedside of the sick and dying whenever called. Perhaps, this was what drained his emotions: he suffered with the suffering.

  I had just finished reading my Legion of Mary annual report and had barely sat down when a co-Legionary tapped my shoulder and showed me a text on her cell phone: Father Alexander passed away this morning. That was Sunday afternoon. We were in disbelief, No,it can't be true! Eloisa, seated next to me, and I bowed our heads, started praying quietly even as we couldn't help weeping, "Lord, please, don't let it be true. Don't take him away from us. Not our beloved pastor." My other co-Legionary went out of the hall where we were having the Curia meeting, frantically trying to reach anyone from the Our Lady of Peace to verify it. Then came an answer from one ministry member: It's true. It was announced in the last afternoon Mass.

I wonder if there was a single one in the church with dry eyes after that.

(To be continued)

TO THE READER

Some friends following my blog commented verbally they would rather they didn't have to trudge through a maze of posts of different topics in my archive if, for instance, they're just interested in my research findings on some issues or essays and articles on various topics. Others are interested mainly on Wilfrido Nolledo, about which I'm so pleased as it reflects the continuing interest not only in his life but most of all, his literary works. So, to those who follow this blog, please note I'm organizing my archive and putting together my posts according to the form of writing each falls under and/or topics. Thus, the reader will find it easier to find the topic of his/her interest. It will take a little time as other duties beg for my immediate attention.
Thank you, and please continue to give me your comments and feedback.
Blanca aka Alma Viajero.

Gems of Childhood

Sharing this life story of this remarkable saint -

Found: A Gem in My Childhood

St. Louis Of France
Louis was born on April 25, 1214. His father was King Louis VIII of France and his mother was Queen Blanche. The story is told that when Prince Louis was small, his mother hugged him tightly. She said, "I love you, my dear son, as much as a mother can love her child. But I would rather see you dead at my feet than ever to have you commit a mortal sin." Louis never forgot those words. He grew to cherish his Catholic faith and his upbringing. When he was twelve, his father died and he became the king. Queen Blanche ruled until her son was twenty-one. Louis became a remarkable king. He married Margaret, the daughter of a count. They loved each other very much. They had eleven children. Louis was a good husband and father. And as long as his mother, Queen Blanche lived, he showed her full respect. Busy as he was, the king found time for daily Mass and the recitation of the Divine Office. He was a Third Order Franciscan and lived a simple lifestyle. He was generous and fair. He ruled his people with wisdom, charity and true Christian principles. There was no separation between what he believed as a Catholic and how he lived. He knew how to settle arguments and disputes. He listened to the poor and the underprivileged. He had time for everybody, not just the rich and influential. He supported Catholic education and built monasteries. The historian, Joinville, wrote a biography of St. Louis. He recalls that he was twenty-two years in the king's service. He was daily in the king's company. And he could say that he never heard King Louis swear or use any kind of profanity in all those years. Nor did the king permit bad language in his castle. St. Louis felt an urgent obligation to help the suffering Christians in the Holy Land. He wanted to be part of the Crusades. Twice he led an army against the Turks. The first time, he was taken prisoner. But even in jail, he behaved as a true Christian knight. He was unafraid and noble in all his ways. He was freed and returned to take care of his kingdom in France. Yet as soon as he could, he started back to fight the enemies of the faith again. On the way, however, this greatly loved king contracted typhoid fever. A few hours before he died, he prayed, "Lord, I will enter into your house, worship in your holy temple, and give glory to your name." St. Louis died on August 25, 1270. He was fifty-six years old. He was proclaimed a saint by Pope Boniface VIII in 1297. "Be kindhearted to the poor, the unfortunate and the afflicted. Give them as much help and consolation as you can."-St. Louis

I first read about the story of Queen Blanche when I was a child of ten. How providential that on the eve of my birthday, the life of her son, St. Louis IX, would appear on the sidebar of my email, reminding me of this extraordinary mother who produced two saints: Blessed Isabelle and St. Louis of France. Her words, however, reverberates: what a tall order for her own self! But how remarkable her son turned out to be. Could such a mother exist nowadays? Could such good governance and religion, as Louis IX had shown, mix in today's times?  It's a dream devoutly to be wished! 

Gems of Childhood 

Children, these days, get weaned away from the mother as soon as they start walking, or even sooner, for that matter, if and when parents can afford the luxury of a nursery room separate from their own private room. When I was a child, we didn’t have that luxury. Until I was seven, I think, I used to sleep with my mother. I remember the feel of her body giving warmth to me on cold, rainy days. Sometimes, on hot summer days and she was so tired from the day’s endless housework (there were no washing machines nor any other house tools that could provide relief from a poor mother), she would just flop on the buri mat we slept on, and I got a whiff of the smell of  her house dress wet with sweat. But to me, her nearness was all that mattered. If I was sick or had fever, she would rub my chest and back with Vicks VaporRub Cream and then run her fingers through my hair till I fell asleep in the comfort of her gentle touch. I miss seeing that in most mothers nowadays. It’s the touch therapy that’s gone. It was replaced by the modern psychology and attitude to let go of the child to get him or her to become independent as soon as possible.

A Letter from a SUNY Professor re BUT FOR THE LOVERS

 March 4, 2016
 Wilfrido D. Nolledo's "But for the Lovers," (E,P. Dutton, New York, 1986), is available at Amazon.com)

January 19, 2011
In remembrance of my husband's 12th death anniversary, am re-posting these excerpts from a letter by a young Dimiti Anastasopoulos in 1995, now a noted American writer, critic, and English professor at the State University of New York in Buffalo. The letter, saved by Wilfrido and found among his precious collection of letters from friends, colleagues, mentors, publishers and contemporary writers, was one he had meant to answer and thank the writer for but unfortunately never got down to doing. The complete critique might be included in its entirety in another collection of Wilfrido's works, hopefully to be published later.

August 29, 1995


Dear Mr. Nolledo,

...Finished (But for the Lovers) only yesterday, my enthusiasm for it has carried over and preoccupied my day. There's much to celebrate in such a book. the excitement of reading for the first time the work of a stylist with a wholly original voice. As a young reader I can't help but be thankful for a book that's stylistically long overdue. Surely, American readers and writers must take note of your forward-looking style. I think it has opened up the possibilities of what fiction might look like in the near future.


Your novel certainly stands out among the literary fiction being published today. The only contemporary work I've read that approaches its linguistics verve is Julian Rios's Larva. But there's much more to revel in and digest in But for the Lovers, and it makes me wonder why so many other contemporary literary novels sound alike. I suppose writers have given up on the idea of trying to find their own writerly voice, but I can only hope that a good look at your work will present them with a nobler direction, or---as your narrator might prefer it---an ignoble direction. You've opened the boundaries of writing prose into a world's fair of phrase-making to which all writers and readers should attend.  One of the admirable qualities of your style is the refined yet uninhibited carte blanche you take with words, rather than reducing your narrative to an interior voice. Perhaps, by writing in a variety of languages, rhythms and styles, you've exhausted the possibility of a writer's ever "finding" a genuine (limited to one language) voice, and at the same time proven that contemporary fiction does not have to succumb to the logjam of uniformity in a world with entirely too much information and too much noise. You remind us of the laudable goal of honing one's writerly or readerly ear, tuning it to a medley of voices, a sort of pastiche or harmony that one can call his or her own, even though invariably it may be a hybrid of many voices that have already been heard. I hope it catches on. ...
.....
Best regards,
Signed
Dimitri Anastasopoulos
P.S. I'm hoping to read your previous novels--and looking ahead to the novel that's forthcoming--but I see that Dalkey Archive has published only one to date. It's a shame. It would serve Dalkey well to present us with the rest of your work.