The term journalist is loosely applied to anyone who is involved in the gathering, processing and transmission of news on a more-or-less regular basis. In its broadest interpretation, a person can be a Cabinet official in the government and a journalist at the same time, even if the situation might seem contradictory. Such was the case of Larry Henares, who was chairman of the National Economic Council in the Macapagal Administration, when the Manila Times invited him to write a front-page column. While Henares studied engineering and considered himself an industrialist, he has since written for a number of publications through the years. And anybody who says he was not a journalist will have a hard time explaining why for many years he was the main attraction of the Inquirer for which he wrote a daily column.
But Larry Henares cannot be considered, shall we say, a career journalist, if by that we mean a person who started out as a reporter and rose through the ranks before becoming a columnist or editor. Teodoro Benigno was one such example. He was a cub reporter in 1949, then regular reporter, at the Manila Tribune, then sports editor of the Philippines Herald, correspondent and then bureau chief of the Agence France-Presse, and at present columnist of the Philippine Star.
In many cases Filipino journalists, regardless of their education, learned the ropes in the field and from fellow journalists. At the beginning of the journey is cub reporting, the new reporter's initiation into the profession. As a cub, the neophyte works with a senior reporter for about a year, often with no pay except for an allowance. If the tiger cub learns how to find food in the jungle, the cub reporter is trained to get a story on the beat, to write the first paragraph, plug in holes in the story.
Most editors believed that the best place to train new reporters was the police beat. The police blotter, that record of crime kept by each police station, offers leads, but the reporter has to find the story, says Omar Acosta. His editors will inquire into an incident and the blotter will not have the details. Acosta says police reporters learn to find out the circumstances that lead to a crime and hence develop the instinct to go deeper. (Austria 1999)
Aris Ilagan elaborates:
You get information from the police beat because they do not depend on press releases. You have to go to the scene, interviewed the witnesses, the victim, the relatives of the victim and the police investigator. It is a big advantage for a journalist to start at the police beat. Besides you make your character stronger because there are times when you interview criminals. (Balza 1999)
The police initiation, says Rudy Liwanag, requires the cub to toughen up his guts. "Kailangan mo munang makapasok sa morgue, makakita ng duguan, mga habulan, mga hostage, at calamities."
However what most reporters remember from the cub years was not so much the nose for news that they developed under the guidance of the veterans, but how their fear or awe of the veterans dominated their memories of this period, or how the elders in their new profession all but took advantage of their fragile status.
The first thing the cub reporter learned was that he did not belong -- yet. "Kapag baguhan ka they would surely put you in your place," says Joe Antonio, "Hindi ka puwedeng makihalubilo sa kanila." This treatment was given not only by the cub's senior reporter but everyone, "including the photographers, cameramen and even the drivers," says Boo Chanco. Chanco adds that they made the cub feel like he was "the lowest creature on earth."
Marianne Go describes the ordeal cubs went through at the hands of some editors:
Cub reporters were always terrorized by their editors. They treated you a little bit better than a slave. You were subject to their whims, their caprice. Everything they could think of to ask you to do, they would ask you to do. They would send you off on some wild-goose chase, make you stay late. Sometimes they'd shout at you, tear up your copy and throw it at your face. Talagang diyos ang editor. (Barcelon & Henson 2000)
Manuel Almario recalls how he was assigned to the desk, simply running errands. As a cub reporter witht the Chronicle in 1960 Raul Locsin was assigned to the police beat where the first thing he dida was buy pancit for the other reporters. Louie Logarta, also a Chronicle cub but in 1971, said he was ordered around by editors:
...to buy, cigarettes, fetch their girlfriends. I would have a service vehicle at my disposal. If they wante this kind of food bought from the Manila Hotel or the Manila Hilton or the Sheraton, they would tell me, "Louie, pumunta ka nga dun bumili ka nun. Yung may mga utang sa kanila, o kunin mo, singilin mo si kuwan, si Colonel gan'to, may pangako sa'min yan." They would tell me that and I'd have to do it because I wanted to, to perform well and I wanted to be part of the community of reporters. I had to go through the gauntlet. (Lota 2000)
Edgardo Malay said he was only paid P60 a month, half of what the reporter got. He claims he had to do the dirty work while his mentor played dominos. His first story as a cub, he says, was the Lucila Lalu case, but the byline went to Ruther Batuigas (Abad 1999). Efren Danao also wrote articles that were bylined to his mentors, who also made him buy cigarettes or serve coffee (Ongchap 1999).
Boo Chanco says covering the police beat quickly shattered his youthful idealism because he was in the company of jaded reporters, policemen and politicians.
Acosta said that as a cub with the Inquirer in 1986, he was so naive. "Buguy na bugoy ka, batang-bata," he recalls. "Tapos pagbobobolahin ka ng mga pulis, paglolokohin ka ng mga senior reporters. Nandyan yung kokoryentehin ka, bibigyan ka ng maling information" (Austria 1999) Like Ernie Sarmiento when he was a young news photographer. His seniors would switch darkroom chemicals to confuse him. Even when he was writing writing captions for his pictures: "In golf, may bogey. Tapos sinabi nila yung isang shot daw ay cha-cha," he muses. "So I wrote cha-cha" (Chugani 1999).
For Marichu Villanueva her stint as a cub was an assault on her sensitivities:
Iyakin ako noon nung sinisigawan ako. Hindi ako sanay na minumura ako pero in-explain sa akin ng mga editors ko, "It isn’t personal to you," kasi nakikita na lang akong umiiyak sa isang tabi. Tapos isasama ka pa ng mga editors sa mga girlie joints, may bomba-bomba. Ini-introduce ka sa ways of the masa -- mga boys. Maski babae dapat one of the boys, para hindi ka ma-shock. (Manicia 1999)
Only after going through this ordeal, they claim, were they finally accepted as a colleague in the profession. The cub, says Boo Chanco, ws some kind of a neophyte trying to get into a fraternity.
On the other hand, a few reporters seemed to savor their experience as cubs. For Jay Gotera it was a thrilling experience because the entertainment beat was an opportunity to meet so many celebrities. Some of his seniors had this tendency to teach a lesson or two, which he did not resent because "this was not to undermine my character" (Tolentino 1999). Joel Lacsamana calls his 12 months of cubbing as a very informative year. What he appreciates is how some of the older reporters took time out to let him learn the ropes (Hermanos 1999).
And of course, it is all attitude. Gene Orejana remembers running errands for everybody in the newsroom, making coffee, buying cigarettes and food for the editors or their guests. "Since I loved the job, I enjoyed being a cub reporter. I had fun," he says. "I'm still having fun right now. It was difficult. But when you like the job, then you shouldn't have complaints. When you ike it, you're excited about it. My thing was it was all right even if I didn't get paid as long as I got the experience" (David 2000).
Omar Acosta, cubbed with the Philippine Daily Inquirer in the 1986:
First assignment ko pulis. Bugoy na bugoy ka, batang- bata, titignan mo yung blotter, pagbobolahin ka ng mga pulis, paglolokohin ka ng mga senior reporters, andyan yung kokoryentehin ka, bibigyan ka ng information na mali naman.
If ever you intend to become a reporter, dapat sana dumaan ka ng pulis, kasi doon mahahasa yung ability mo na makaamoy ng news... As a police reporter hahanapin mo yung istorya. Kasi yung blotter very scant lang yung information doon. Tatanungin ka ng desk mo, "Bakit ba nagpakamatay iyan?" Hindi nakalagay sa blotter yan. So you have to find out the circumstances that led to the crime, or surrounded the crime. You develop the instinct to go deeper. (Austria 1999)
Manuel Almario was a cub reporter with the Philippines Herald in the 1950s:
First, I was assigned to the desk, just running errands. I came in there and the editors started giving me a salary without working. Later on, they noticed me and said, "Hey, why don't you cover a beat." So I covered the Labor Department and later on because they found out that I could write better than some of the reporters, they made me assistant desk editor and assistant provincial editor also. (Young and Sy 2000)
Joe Antonio spent three months in 1976 as a cub with the Times Journal:
Noon mahirap maging rookie sa profession kasi ang mga kasama mo medyo mababagsik na superiors. Kapag baguhan ka, they would surely put you in your place. Di ka pwedeng makihalubilo sa kanila. I did my best not to be an outcast. Nagtrabaho ako regularly at saka I worked hard para ma-apprciate nila yung ginagawa ko. Kasi sa newspaper, lahat naman dito is about iyon mga write-ups mo. Kung hindi ka talaga mahusay, di ka nila papansinin. (Mojado 1999)
According to Luchie Arguelles cubbing in 1986:
was difficult because you had to deal with so many people. And you were bullied around most of the time and you had to meet deadlines. That was really where you learned to work like a real reporter. Your editor or a senior reporter bullied you around. Not exactly bully as in bully. But you know, make utos, ganon.
Cub reporters were given quotas. They had to produce from their beat.
(Lee 1999)
Priscilla Arias said that during her first few months with the Bulletin she was averaging eight to ten stories a day.
Boo Chanco, now a columnist with the Philippine Star, remembers cubbing in 1969 for ABS-CBN, as
"a very humbling experience. Because straight out of college you felt like you knew everything. But when you became a cub reporter, the veterans, including the photographers, the cameramen and even the drivers made you feel like you were the lowest creature on earth. Covering the police beat and even the political beats like Congress and City Hall was a quick way of getting youthful idealism shattered because you ended up having to work with veteran reporters and policemen and people who because of their work, have become very much jaded about the world. And you were just there trying to learn the tricks of the trade. So you become some kind of a well, a neophyte, really, trying to get into a fraternity. Or something like that because journalism is a fraternity of sorts." (Chanco 1999)
Elinando Cinco, was a cub for three months with the Manila Times in 1961, as
"In the morning I was assigned to the defense beat, journalists who were covering the defense beat were on the job in the morning and in the afternoon; early and late afternoon, we were normally in the newsroom to write our stories." (Bruno 1999)
Efren Danao, a 30-year veteran, says there is something worse than being a cub.
"A legman is even less than a cub reporter because a cub reporter is given an assignment. As a legman, I was just a helper of a regular reporter. Even then I wrote some special features but the reporter got the by line. Reporters would invite me to some of the functions. Sometimes they asked me to buy cigarettes or serve coffee." (Ongchap 1999)
As a cub reporter Marianne Go suffered the "tyranny of the desk."
Cub reporters were always terrorized by their editors. They treated you a little bit better than a slave. You were subject to their whims, their caprice. Everything they could think of to ask you to do, they would ask you to do. They would send you off on some wild-goose chase, make you stay late. Sometimes they'd shout at you, tear up your copy and throw it at your face. Talagang diyos ang editor. (Barcelon & Henson 2000)
Jay Gotera had pleasant memories of his cubbing because he covered show business.
It was a thrilling experience. I enjoyed it a lot. I got to meet movie stars, entertainment personalities, and so many other colorful figures. Of course there was the tendency for the senior staff to really teach the the neophytes some lessons so that they could grow up. I was given this treatment myself by my senior colleagues but this was not to undermime my character, just to impart lessons. (Tolentino 1999)
Aris Ilagan on why most cubs were assigned to the police beat:
Usually when you cover for a broadsheet, like Manila Bulletin, your on the job training starts with the police beat. That is how you are trained. You got information from the police beat because when you starte with the district level they did not depend on press releases. You had to go to the scene in case there is an ambush incident for instance. You interviewed the witnesses, the victim, and the relatives of the victim and the police investigator. It is a big advantage for a journalist to start at the police beat. Besides you made your character stronger because there were times you interviewed criminals. (Balza 1999)
Joel Lacsamana:
I was a cub correspondent for the Bulletin for one year. It was an informative year. We were paid per column inch, so you really pushed to come out with articles, and I was tasked to cover the immigration and post office beats. At the time, these were populated by mostly men who were a lot older and there were very few people who would take time out to basically teach the ropes to a young cub correspondent like me. It was a staid boring place, but I hung in there basically because I really was serious about becoming a journalist. (Hermanos 1999)
Rudy Liwanag, Bulletin photojournalist:
Sa amin noong araw, pag hindi ka galing sa police beat, wala. Kailangan mo munang makapasok sa morgue, makakakita ka ng duguan, mga habulan, mga hostage, iyon yung unang training namin noong araw at saka calamities, bago kapag may mga bagong events lahat narating mo na. (Ngo and Reyes 2000)
As a cub reporter with the Manila Chronicle in 1960, Business World publisher Raul Locsin, said he was paid P30 a month:
They assigned me to the police beat. The first thing was you'll probably be buying pancit for the other reporters, for the desk men, that sort of thing. And you learn how to write. They put me in magazine, magazine writing. I, was assigned to the Chronicle magazine. So I won an award for them. I think I wrote about land reform. Then they assigned me to the business beat, business section, and that is where I stuck. na. (Rillo and So 2000)
Tribune columnist Louie Logarta:
When I was a cub reporter for the Manila Chronicle in 1971, they would, order me around to buy, cigarettes, fetch their girlfriends. I would have the service vehicle at my disposal. For instance they would want this kind of food bought from the Manila Hotel or the Manila Hilton or the Sheraton. They would tell me, "Louie, pumunta ka nga dun bumili ka nun. Yung may mga utang sa kanila, o kunin mo, singilin mo si kuwan, si Colonel gan'to, may pangako sa'min yan." They would tell me that and I'd have to do it because I wanted to, to perform well and I wanted to be part of the community of reporters. I had to go through the gauntlet. (Lota 2000)
Edgardo Malay cubbed for Sonny Belmonte and Ruther Batuigas:
As a cub, you were an errand boy. You called the desk. You called all the police departments and then you wrote the story, but the byline went to the reporter. As a cub you received P60 [a month], the reporter got P120. And then you did all the dirty work. The reporter just played dominos. After six months or one year you became a full-fledged reporter. Iyo na yung byline.
My first story was the Priscilla Lalu case, the chop-chop lady. I was the cub so the byline went to Ruther Batuigas. (Abad 1999)
Gene Orejana:
The copy boy ran errands for everybody in the newsroom, particularly the editors. The copy boy made coffee for the editors and visitors, bought cigarettes and food for the editors. You had to satisfy their whims and caprices, becaause you were just a copy boy, a janitor, a utility man. That's the old school of journalism. You had to start from scratch. And if you passed that stage, you would be assigned in the police beat.
Since I loved the job, I enjoyed being a cub reporter. I had fun. And I'm still having fun right now. It was difficult, but when you like the job, then you shouldn't have complaints. Because you like it, you're excited about it. So even if you didn't get paid, and that was my thinking then, as long as I got the experience. (David 2000)
Marichu Villanueva:
Iyakin ako, noon yung sinisigawan ako. Hindi ako sanay na minumura ako pero in-explain sa akin ng mga editors ko, "it isn’t personal to you" kasi nakikita na lang akong umiiyak sa isang tabi. Tapos sasama ka pa sa mga girly joints ng mga editors may bomba-bomba. Ini-introduce ka sa mga ways of the masa -- mga boys. Maski babae one of the boys, para hindi ka ma-shock. (Manicia 1999)
Ernie Sarmiento:
Sa umpisa lolokohin ka nila. In the darkroom pagpapalit-palitin nila yung chemicals, so sira yung kuha mo. Or in getting the terms right. Like in golf, may boogie [The correct golfing term is bogey. -- Editor], tapos sinabi nila yung isang shot daw ay cha-cha. So I wrote cha-cha. (Chugani 1999)
