MY ROMANCE WITH RADIO

By Philip M. Lustre Jr.

MY ROMANCE with radio did not end by listening to a myriad of radio programs. I had the opportunity to work in radio stations, giving me intimate knowledge of the broadcast media operations.

I had my first job in a radio station in the summer of 1972. I was promenading in the Republic Supermarket in Sta. Cruz (we did not have malls in those days), when I chanced upon a big ad on one of its walls, saying a small station based in that area wanted a writer.

I could not recall what pushed me to apply, but I saw myself filling up a form. I was an 18-year-old lad, who had a strong appetite to see the ways of the world. 

In my limited view, I saw the world smiling - or winking - at me. It was my chance. This propelled me to look into the unknown.

The process was brief and straightforward. The station manager with a forgettable name and an inconsequential face asked me a few questions, which I answered all in the affirmative. 

He said they would test me. Since I was a student, I had to come in at 6 am and 12 noon and go out.

My job was to write love poems and love letters for a radio program that was intended for the young but love-stricken people. It was a romance program. 

I had to pretend that I was among those letter writers who wanted to convey some messages to the objects of affection. In the absence of listeners, who were letter writers too, I had to provide the materials.

Thus, the program had two in-house letter writers: me and a chinky-eyed, bedimpled fat woman, who was older than me. 

She gave the woman's point of view; I gave the man's. 

We had a room complete with a blower, table and chairs and rickety Underwood typewriters for our team. I had a weekly salary of twenty pesos, which was a fortune then.

The program was from 8 pm to 12 pm. Over the airwaves, the program host read those love letters, poems and other materials, which the two of us wrote the day. 

As required, our materials should be as romantic as possible and should ooze with all the love and affection in the world, as if our existence depended on this kind of feeling.

It was decent and entertaining, very different from the vulgar radio programs of today like Yes Radio's Papa Jack's. 

Absolutely, it was endearing program as the velvet-voiced host program read those letters with a cadence of a love song.

In between those love letters, the host played some music, mostly romantic songs of that era. I remember him playing the old classic, Claude Debussy's "Claire de Lune," which is one of my favorites until now.

I must confess that it was not easy to write these materials. I always ran out of ideas. 

I had to keep on probing and searching for new themes. Despite the feeling of unease, I somehow managed. It was fun. And I had all the enthusiasm in the world.

The radio station was forgettable and small by today's standards. I was not sure if its signal could be heard outside the Old City. 

But it gave me the opportunity to learn a craft and earn. It was a test case for me; it was my first job.

Also, I did not know that the program had enormous following. 

I was surprised to learn that it had many callers, mostly girls. Later, they were also sending their materials and I edited them for radio. 

That made me know that we should never underestimate the power of the radio.

I've been working quietly for nearly five months, when Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law. He closed all the radio stations, including ours. I was out of a job.