21 July 2022
Dear Sir Tony,
First of all I am sorry because I suck at writing, more so at writing emotionally-driven letters. I suck because the one I wrote for my mother never saw the light of day.
But I have to write this letter because I forgot something that has created a greatest impact on me about you. You see, Sir, when Ralph Lawrence Llemit of SunStar Davao (where we spent a number of good years) asked me what stood out for me in terms of your legacy, I could only tell him the stories of life that we shared together during our countless breakfast sessions.
Sorry because at that time my mind was clouded with the emotions of your passing. Honestly, I have to muster enough courage to write this.
To me, the most important legacy is your selflessness especially when it concerned the young generation. How you shared your life with us literally and figuratively.
I was at the forefront either as a beneficiary or as a witness. This is because I would not have lasted for three decades in this occupation (and counting, God willing) without your generosity.
I still vividly remember the third day of my employment with Ang Peryodiko Dabaw when, to my surprise, you handed me P200 in crisp bills. “Pangkaon nimo ugma” (for your food tomorrow), you told me as at first I did not know how to react. It was my first time to receive money from someone not a relative and thanking you profusely was the only thing I could do.
At that time, cub reporters like me were paid per column-inch (still a practice of some publications, including national dailies), so being new, I could only write so much and earn so little. That incident was followed by countless similar incidents that based on my recollection, it seemed that every night you would give me some cash that if I were to add the amount on a monthly basis I would have earned more than what other people earned during the period.
Your generosity nearly stopped me from leaving the publication (when it was already Sunstar Davao) about a decade later. When I consulted my mother on whether I would resign or not, sage as she was, she told me to clear it out with you first. But coward as I am, I could only write a letter to resign, a huge burden on me at that point in my career. But when it was our chance to talk about my resignation, I was relieved by what you told me. “The opportunity is good because it will help you personally and professionally. You can always come back or call me for help; that is, if you will still need me,” you said as if to calm my nerves.
But one privilege I had for the time we were together was having known you as Antonio Ajero the person, not Antonio Ajero the editor in chief. I always cherished the times when we spent breakfast together, or with the two Ediths (Maria Regalado and Edith Isidro, Edfer R. Fernandez, Jimmy Lakingand others who wanted to join us or you wanted to join us.
I remember our breakfast club started two weeks after you hired me. Since both of us were newsroom individuals (to say that the newsroom was your second home is an understatement. The newsroom was your home), one day after you woke up, you told me to join you for breakfast. When I said yes, we hopped onto a cab and went to the Waterfront Insular Hotel, the first time for me to eat breakfast in a hotel, a landmark at that.
After that we would even take the bus and go to some other places as far as Panabo City just to have our breakfast. Lately we would either have it at El Bajada Hotel or at Royal Mandaya Hotel which is just across my office.
Because of our breakfast sessions, I was able to develop codes: When you would text me “magkape ta,” it meant you had a budget but the budget was only for two cups of coffee and I would need to pay your taxi fare; but when you would text me “mamahaw ta,” the budget would be limitless; when the text was “gigutom ko,” then it would be my turn to foot the bill.
These breakfast sessions were our storytelling sessions, too. You would tell me the story of your youth. There were times when as we were passing through Bunawan, you would remind me the time when you, in your short pants, learned how to fish. You told me about the lives of your family, your youth, and the history of the city and its people. These sessions even led me to prod you countless times for you to write a book on the history of the city. These sessions also became venues of our stories of life, nuggets of wisdom from a great teacher like you.
Yes, to me you were a teacher of life and living. To learn from you was a blessing. The lessons of life that you taught me are the treasures that would be with me until the time of my death.
I can go on writing so many things about you, about us, but I know you will get bored like those times you slumped on your chair and slept after reading my copy. I would not want it to happen again.
And the stories of life? I will need a book to write them all; and the time to clear my mind from your passing.
So long, Sir. To thank you is never enough.
CQ
(The author, Carmelito Q. Francisco aka CQ, is managing editor of Mindanao Times in Davao City. He posted this letter on his Facebook account on 21 July 2022 as a tribute to “Sir Tony” — Antonio M. Ajero — publisher and editor in chief of Edge Davao, who passed away peacefully in his sleep on Sunday, July 17. Before Edge Davao, Ajero was editor in chief of SunStar Davao and before that, of Mindanao Daily Mirror. The Sangguniang Panglungsod of Davao City passed a resolution on July 19 expressing its sympathy and condolences on the passing of Ajero and honoring his contribution to Davao City’s development. It referred to Ajero as one of the pillars of the Davao media and considered as the “Dean of Davao Media.” MindaNews was granted permission by CQ to share this.)
