At times when I get to pass by the busy environs of the Department of Foreign Affairs along Roxas Blvd will images of the past rush in. The old Thomasite model building of the academy would materialize, serenely secured from the outside world by a white picket fence behind trimmed bushes broken only by a narrow gate punctuated by a guard post and a brief wall that serves as a marquee for the academy's brass logo, which has consumed gallons of Glo and Kiwi metal polish, being the bright works for the Fourthclassmen.
Two relic 40mm navy gun mounts adorn the entrance, giving the academy an impression of having a military structure. Sweaty forthclassmen in dungarees would be running across the grassy yard from the classrooms to their quarters, to the quarterdeck, carrying out arduous orders with no other purpose but to cram and make miserable their already regimented training.
A Friday afternoon in 1965 would normally feature these events until taps when the 'Probies' would just drop into their bunks out of utter exhaustion, all in preparation for the dreaded spit and polish Saturday morning inspection.
If I hung around much longer, I'd see these midshipmen in their smart Liberty Blues marching with their seabags on a 'liberty boat' heading for Williams street for the much awaited weekend liberty. I would then see myself still aboard on account of excess demerits, now perspiring while counting push-ups. "....47, 48, 49, 50, orders complied with, Sir!", would I be shouting those familiar academy jargon as I stood at attention while gasping for breath before an indifferent upperclassman. I remember the strains of the once popular song, Down Town by Petula Clark providing a momentary escape from the torments of what seems an eternity.
Nostalgia has a way with details that makes me painfully miss the cool breeze from the sea by the old Dewey Boulevard with its postcard picture-perfect "Sunset of Manila Bay", before it was reclaimed and turned into a circus of a commercial area. Nothing remains the same as you might say. Only the graying images in our minds are the moorings that link us to that far and distant past called academy days on Dewey Blvd.
But connection to the past also connects with people with the same narratives to tell. Nothing could be more moving than remembering these vignettes of our yesteryears in the academy, which this entry log (if it didn't bore you yet) would initially attempt to do - connect with fellow PMMAriners. I say, initially, as I'll try to connect with other seafarers with whom we have much in common.
I pray to our eternal Father in Heaven who compasseth the seas that all may be well with the elder PMMAriners as this blogger, who are still up and about, even as we dimly remember those who have sailed away ahead of us into that great sea yonder.
Two relic 40mm navy gun mounts adorn the entrance, giving the academy an impression of having a military structure. Sweaty forthclassmen in dungarees would be running across the grassy yard from the classrooms to their quarters, to the quarterdeck, carrying out arduous orders with no other purpose but to cram and make miserable their already regimented training.
A Friday afternoon in 1965 would normally feature these events until taps when the 'Probies' would just drop into their bunks out of utter exhaustion, all in preparation for the dreaded spit and polish Saturday morning inspection.
If I hung around much longer, I'd see these midshipmen in their smart Liberty Blues marching with their seabags on a 'liberty boat' heading for Williams street for the much awaited weekend liberty. I would then see myself still aboard on account of excess demerits, now perspiring while counting push-ups. "....47, 48, 49, 50, orders complied with, Sir!", would I be shouting those familiar academy jargon as I stood at attention while gasping for breath before an indifferent upperclassman. I remember the strains of the once popular song, Down Town by Petula Clark providing a momentary escape from the torments of what seems an eternity.
Nostalgia has a way with details that makes me painfully miss the cool breeze from the sea by the old Dewey Boulevard with its postcard picture-perfect "Sunset of Manila Bay", before it was reclaimed and turned into a circus of a commercial area. Nothing remains the same as you might say. Only the graying images in our minds are the moorings that link us to that far and distant past called academy days on Dewey Blvd.
But connection to the past also connects with people with the same narratives to tell. Nothing could be more moving than remembering these vignettes of our yesteryears in the academy, which this entry log (if it didn't bore you yet) would initially attempt to do - connect with fellow PMMAriners. I say, initially, as I'll try to connect with other seafarers with whom we have much in common.
I pray to our eternal Father in Heaven who compasseth the seas that all may be well with the elder PMMAriners as this blogger, who are still up and about, even as we dimly remember those who have sailed away ahead of us into that great sea yonder.
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