Saying Goodbye to the Icons of My Youth

In 1977, when I was in 1st year high school, we all had Farrah Fawcett hair! If I remember right we used to call that style “The Flip” or something. Yup, every woman had the same hair style just as everyone was glued to the local television network weekly waiting for Charlie’s Angels to show during prime time with women identifying with one or all three of those oh, so empowered women.

In Baguio, we would get daily episodes of Charlie’s Angels on the Far East Network (FEN) — along with US soap operas that did not make it to local Philippine TV — that free entertainment service given by the United States to all its servicemen overseas, whenever I would be up on weeks-long vacations to the Summer Capital of the Philippines. Since Camp John Hay, along with other American military bases and recreational facilities, was still being run by the United States Air Force, the rest of the City of Pines would get the same signal and shows as the rest. That was when Baguio was very much “Little America.”

In private Catholic high school, we wore pleated skirts with deep pockets where, invariably a roller brush (was that device actually invented so we could copy Farrah’s hair?) or a Denman brush would be on standby (never mind Springmaid because imported hair brushes “with technology” were all the rage then), ready to be whipped out any time so we could have or maintain “fly-away” tresses all day. Because of this everyone looked like they had a large right thigh.

In fact, when I review my photo album, I laugh when I see best buddies Eileen A., and Osay L. on horseback in Marlboro Country with their Farrah Fawcett hair. It’s a wonder how, without using hair spray (that was too mommyish — we liked gel or mousse), we could maintain that look even after an hour’s hard ride to the top of that mountain. And nope, I am not publishing old photos of us in high school (although we were all so svelte then) for your amusement.

Charlie’s Angels was a phenomenal show — sexy women detectives who were all so bra-less (yup, tomboyish Kate Jackson and lovely, lovely Jacklyn Smith included) which was considered so scandalous by a conservative Martial Law Philippines.

Then there was the great Michael Jackson, the talented little black boy with afro hair of the 1970s whom we all grew up with (he’s just 6 years older than I am) with the purest, purest voice singing “Ben” & “She’s Out of My Life” (purportedly when he and Tatum O-Neill broke up), and to whose revolutionary dance music we all swayed to in college. We also  watched in amusement, tinged with sadness, as he tried so hard to turn white in later years.

Michael Jackson did disco pop with “Rock With You” and we all had to perfect that swinging dance move that was so hard on the knees, expecially since 4-inch strappy stilletos were in vogue at that time. Today, I watch the same shoes back in vogue and marvel at how the young can wear them — but that’s the key there as youth can manage stylish, strappy stilletos while matrons tend to wear comfy Naturalizer pumps.

Then there was “Thriller” the fabulous $1,000,000 music video production that set the bar for all music videos to follow. Before that music videos were mostly just the band members strumming guitars and playing on drums with closeups. Thriller made MTV, broke all records, and got so many of the songs ranked #1 in Casey Cassum’s American Top 40, that we would always listen to on the top Philippine radio station 99.5 RT every Sunday.

Michael Jackson could dance, oh how he danced! The young boys rehearsed his moves in school corridors — especially that “moonwalk” move and those quick and snappy turns, they wore gloves and tight black pants, and wore their hair like Michael. In fact, I believe that Michael Jackson singlehandedly did away with the afro hairstyle.

For four decades we watched Michael Jackson evolve and reinvent himself — he got thicker, he got whiter, his nose was starting to disappear. We watched him trapped in his Neverland world and didn’t care as long as we had his music and his moves. I prefer to remember him in what I consider his prime — when he went solo (remember how he was originally the youngest member and lead vocalist of the Jackson 5?), till before the first scandal.

It’s funny how Farrah Fawcett, who after being married to the Six Million Dollar Man Lee Majors, eventually married Tatum O’Neill’s father, that cutie Ryan O’Neill so that she could have eventually become some sort of a monther-in-law to Michael Jackson had he and Tatum gone one and gotten married. I love the way the whole world is connected sometimes by just a few degrees of separation.

With their passing, I also remember the Baguio City of the 1980s, which was the absolute top tourist destination of the Philippines, and the stuff my childhood memories are made of, as I am sure is the case for a million other Filipinos my age.

The Baguio nightlife them meant dancing all night at Crystal Cave (later renamed Gold Mine) Disco at the Hyatt Terraces Baguio and Sadiwan Disco at Pines hotel. The custom then was to take a rest when lesser mortals’ songs were being played and crowding the dance floor when the most popular songs of the time were put on. In the early 1980s it was all about swing while from the mid 1980s onwards the absolute KING was Michael Jackson and by then Spirits Disco, fashioned after one of my favorite movies “The Shining,” was all the rage. Of course we all repaired to the first Philippine sidewalk cafe of sorts, Cafe Amapola at the corner of Session and Governor Pack roads for more intimate conversations. All these I miss.

I miss all that wholesome fun, in the days before ecstasy and text messaging. When there were no appointment cancellations because there were only landlines (which were scarce to begin with, and with party-lines, too, remember?) I miss those days when dressing up was so important to folks of all ages, and the people of Baguio were among the most fashionable in the Philippines.

It is therefore a sad day for me today to say farewell to two very influential people in my life (even if they knew me not personally).

Their death also makes me remember the charming, graceful, elegant Baguio City of my youth. But Baguio, unlike Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, is not lost yet — as we will consciously, purposefully bring back the charm, grace and elegance with our individual initiatives and by being more conscious of our responsibilities as citizens.

I am not one to settle for nostalgia. I want to recapture utopia because it IS possible.

For I am not ready to say goodbye to the Baguio City I remember and love — ever yet.

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