Margie Moran-Floirendo: A journey into ‘My Universe’

Rosales is a three-hour drive from Manila, at 100km per hour, on the NLEX and SCTEX through Tarlac. Today’s freeway is so scenic, almost devoid of distracting billboards, displaying the flatness of the topography of the central plains of Luzon. Leaving Manila at six in the morning to avoid the traffic build-up between Makati and Balintawak, we stopped at the first Shell station to have our breakfast at Pan Cake House. Breakfast with a beautiful, strong coffee is always a treat on any early morning excursion.  

I recall our journeys to Rosales when I was very young, where my paternal grandmother, Doňa Nieves Gonzalez Moran, had a home after she was widowed. My parents, Francis and Charo Moran, took my five younger siblings and me to Lola Nieves’ home whenever there was an opportunity during school breaks. My parents would take turns at the wheel during the three-hour drive, leaving Manila at the crack of dawn. We would watch the gradual illumination of the rice fields and the carroty hues of the rising sun as we approached San Miguel, our weekend breakfast stop-over in Tarlac.  

“I am a fifth-generation Gonzalez, Margie Moran, daughter of Francis Moran, son of Nieves Gonzalez Moran, daughter of Joaquin Gonzalez, the son of Francisco Gonzalez y Reinado.” That was how I introduced myself at the first Gonzalez clan reunion in 2006 at Cuenca Park, Ayala Alabang Village. In the excitement to touch base with everyone, close to 700 showed up. I discovered that I am related to some famous clan members: Sen Ralph Recto, National Artist Eddie Romero; actor Janice de Belen, model-turned-rebel Maita Gomez, founder of Tahanang Walang Hagdanan Ruby Gonzalez, famous chef Ed Quimson; band members Charlie Ysmael of Spirit of ‘67, Gary Gonzalez Ignacio of Alamid, Tillie Moreno, of the Circus band; Kuh Ledesma and her daughter Isabelle; and Luisa “Isang” Tapales, a renowned soprano in Europe and South America who married my Lola Nieves’ brother, Enrique, a lesser-known Filipino tenor. 

However, as we could not choose our relatives, we accepted that we also had an infamous relationship. Making it to the front pages of worldwide dailies in 1964 was Francisco “Kiko” Gonzalez, a suicidal passenger who boarded a Pacific Air Lines Fairchild F-27A flight from Stockton to San Francisco. In this bizarre incident, he entered the cockpit and shot the pilot and co-pilot dead, causing the fatal crash where all 44 passengers died. Everyone was in shock, trying to figure out why he did it.

Lola Nieves was a Carnival Queen from Bautista in the 1920s and the dutiful wife of Manuel V Moran from Binalonan, Pangasinan, the first Chief Justice of the Philippines and the first Philippine Ambassador to Spain and the Vatican. She had six children: Manuel, Jr, who married a club hostess from Las Vegas; Oscar, who married thrice; Nieves, who married a diplomat; my father, Francis, a lawyer; George, who managed the farms; and Eduardo, the twice-married graduate of Cambridge. 

We lived in a two-house compound: our house and that of my grandparents across the yard. When I was 12, I would sleep with Lola most nights after Lolo Manuel passed away at 67. Death came early in the family. His eldest son, Manuel Jr, died at 50, and my dad, Francis, died at 49. I slept in Lolo’s bed, an individual twin-size. I wondered then why they had to sleep separately. I deduced that perhaps age made one seek the comfort of solitary slumber. 

Lola Nieves must have acquired the flair and elegance growing up as the granddaughter of a haciendero, Don Francisco Gonzalez y Reinado. It is not clear if Don Francisco, known as “Balbas”  because of his long white beard, was peninsular, said to have been born in Palencia, north of Spain, in 1829, making him a Limpieza de Sangre (a pure-blooded Spaniard). Or, he could have been an insular, a criollo, from Baliuag, Bulacan, who migrated to Pangasinan with his two brothers, both also named Francisco, one with a pet name “Pugot”, the other “Bungo”. 

Don Francisco “Balbas” married Doña Feliciana Esperanza Mondragon, who bore him two sons, Don Matias and my great-grandfather, Don Joaquin. A few years later, the brothers Francisco (Balbas, Pugot and Bungo) purchased Hacienda Esperanza, named after my great-grandmother. Hacienda Esperanza was one of the most extensive landholdings, with Francisco “Balbas” owning around 30,000 hectares, spanning the provinces of Pangasinan, Tarlac and Nueva Ecija. 

Lolo Balbas was the wealthiest landlord, with all the assets outlined in his will in 1895. Two-thirds of Hacienda Esperanza (20,000 hectares) was given to his two heirs, Matias and Joaquin, valued at US$595,749.50. According to my Lola, he died almost a centenarian, having fathered more than 65 children. 

Don Joaquin, his second son and my great-grandfather, was said to be a convivial person, a benevolent feudal lord who gave back to the peasants and their families. His family always had a cause to celebrate an event, whether a baptism, a wedding, or the hacienda fiesta. He contributed significantly to making the celebration a sumptuous affair and invited the townspeople to come and celebrate with him and his family. 

Work in the fields was left to the peasants and the encargado, as his children moved to Manila for better education and to experience the urban lifestyle of the rich. The men studied at the University of Notre Dame in America and bought expensive cars. The women stayed at Assumption Convent, hoping to find their betrothed from the buena familia.  

The family, down to the grandchildren, would vacation in Baguio during summers, where they had a colossal villa named Villa Nieves across from St Louis University. For the rich in those days, a house in Baguio was a status symbol. It will not be reckless to surmise that there came a point when they lived beyond their means, and even when the harvest season did not bring enough dividends, they mortgaged parts of their vast landholdings to finance their way of life.

Upon Joaquin’s death in 1940, the ownership of one-third of the most fertile portion of the hacienda in Sta Maria was granted to Doña Nieves in his will and last testament, with the remaining two-thirds in different municipalities of Pangasinan, divided among his 18 children. 

A few years later, Doña Nieves was lured to make a substantial investment in a new venture—gold mining in the Mountain Province, which became prevalent in the early 20th century. However, such speculative exploration by individual entrepreneurs she invested with was disastrous.  She lost the value of all her land and was left penniless in the care of her daughter, Julia. 

Jacobo, who continued to care for my Lola’s rice lands, was killed with his wife by a drug-crazed grandson. This sad incident compelled my Lola, Tito George and Dad to take control of the hacienda. We would accompany my father and grandmother to Rosales as often as possible whenever they had to take care of business. 

Francis, my father, was a lawyer who graduated from the Ateneo and became a professor of Law at the University of the East. He was a partner in the Avanceña, Escaler and Moran Law firm…. He also updated and edited the volumes of the Rules of Court, books his father authored after serving the country as Chief Justice. He was an accomplished lawyer, but overseeing the farms on weekends was another difficult job. We would listen to what seemed like endless troubles in the rice lands and mango orchards. 

On October 21, 1972, one month after he declared Martial Law, President Ferdinand E Marcos signed Presidential Decree 27, “ordering the emancipation of all tenant farmers from the bondage of the soil”, putting land planted to corn and rice under land reform.  

Sixteen years later, on June 10, 1988, President Corazon C Aquino signed RA 6657, the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Law enacted by the 8th Congress to promote justice and the emancipation of the landless. It covered all private and public agricultural lands. 

The complexities of agrarian transfers had given us no reason to return to Pangasinan.  Lola Nieves passed away in 1985, not knowing she had lost all her remaining land.  The house in Rosales and other vestiges of what once belonged to our family in the province were sold.  

Returning to Rosales brought back many memories of my youth, and the stories about Francisco, Joaquin, and Doña Nieves came alive. Rudy Rivera took me, before the awarding ceremonies, to the properties we once owned and what we could still reclaim. We motored to Bautista, where the house of my great-grandfather, Don Joaquin, once stood. We walked outside the perimeter fence that allowed a glimpse of how the family once lived. The cement wall was ornately designed for a royal house. Unfortunately, the house had long been gone, and in its stead stood a small house. 

“Sino nakatira dito [Who Lives here]?” I asked. “Ang anak ho ng abogado ni Don Joaquin [The son of the lawyer of Don Joaquin]” was a neighbour’s reply. I wondered why it ended with them. Could it be that Doña Nieves could not pay her lawyer after she lost her money?

The stories of growing up a Gonzalez transported us back to those enchanting days of the once sleepy town of Rosales. Even as the golden and green rice lands are now dotted with SM, housing projects and small hotels, and even if the city is crowded and the traffic tests your patience, a hometown symbolises the family’s bonded spirit. In this town, our forebears took root and made history, where I know I connect by blood to an Ilokano and a peninsular. 

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