I first met Ninoy about 30 two years ago when I was producing and hosting “The Late Nite with June and Johnny,” a talk show that aired at 10 p.m. Fridays on GMA Channel 7. It was a co-production; I had to shoulder expenses and GMA provided the air time, as at that time Freddie Garcia didn’t believe that a talk show aired so late would rate. Thankfully I was proven right, and it became so popular.

 

We had so many guests, even the reticent Nick Joaquin, and discussed almost everything: dwarfs, prophecies, ghosts, marriage, careers. However, politics was avoided, of course. There would be nights when the station would call my home after midnight to ask what topic had we focused on, as Malacañang had sent the PSG to pick up the tape of what was aired.

 

At that time, Ninoy’s sister Lupita, the brilliant director of TV and film (“Minsa’y Isang Gamu-Gamo”) and I were barkada, and would play el cheapo majhong with Mitch Valdes. She would always talk about her brother, and the injustice of what was being done to Ninoy. This would just roll off the tops of our heads, as Mitch and I were more interested in reversing our bras and wearing them backwards so our luck would change!

 

Ninoy started sending me verbal messages about the show through Lupita, and soon she would smuggle out typewritten, one-page, single-spaced little letters rolled up to look like white rabbit candies.

 

Then I received an invitation. I can’t remember if it was Cory’s or his birthday, but they were allowed to hold a celebration in the covered court area of the camp. I will never forget having my mugshot taken, holding a card with numbers on my chest and beneath my profiles.

 

I felt like a fish out of water.

 

Then Ninoy began to send me books: “The Medusa and the Snail,” ” Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” “The Art of War,” etc. He was concerned that I filled my mind with superficialities.

 

One message he sent ended thus: “If it’s Friday, it must be June, and that’s another week of my life in prison that has passed and will not return.”

 

Then he was hospitalized, and soon after was released and flew to Boston.

 

I saw him one more time. Marcos had sent a caravan of stars to entertain the Pinoy communities in the US. Mitch and I were included in the troupe, kilig to be in the same party as Bert Nievera!

 

Dictator’s bandwagon

 

By then Lupita was living in San Francisco, and I soon received a letter from Ninoy asking why I had joined the dictator’s bandwagon. How could I tell him that it was all just to get a free trip to the US with pocket money? Cheap ko talaga!

 

He asked if we could meet before I flew back to Manila, and I met him at the residence of Tony and Patsy Gonzalez in San Francisco. We talked of many things, but I remember clearly how he bragged that he kept abreast of what was happening by having Betamax tapes shipped, and that he and Kris would watch the variety shows over and over, and that “Shawie” was Kris’ favorite. Years later, when Kris entered and embraced show biz, I wasn’t surprised.

 

When we heard he was coming home, our hen club, known as the Women in Media, decided to welcome him at the airport. Tina Palma and I went in convoy, and were astounded by the crowd and the yellow ribbons everywhere. But as we walked up the driveway, there was a commotion and rumors that Ninoy had been shot began to spread. Then Popsie Aquino came rushing out crying, and then a somber, teary eyed Lupita came to confirm it.

 

The anger, sadness and despair that followed are all well documented. I was with their family members in coaster no. 2 during the funeral procession, and the sea of mourners was astounding and overwhelming.

 

After the funeral, I went with Lupita to Times Street, as she was getting ready to fly back to SanFo that evening. I saw Cory in the dining room attending to guests. All of a sudden a thought occurred to me. I turned to Lupita to say, “Pitsky, you know who can unite us? Cory! If she runs, she will win!

 

Lupita looked at me and said, “Cory? Never. She hates politics!” The rest is history.

 

And those smuggled messages went up in smoke when our house burned down eight years ago.