Two LCHS alumni won the top berths in a golf tournament at the Golf and Country Club of Iligan City on Sept. 13-14, 1997, sponsored by the Tomen Construction Ltd. of Japan.

Arturo "Toto" Samson romped off with the championship in the Class-B division with a net score of 65 and handicap of 19, while Peter Dy won as runner-up in Class-D with a net score of 69 and handicap of 29. In the tournament's raffle draws, Peter also ran off with the major prize of one unit gas range, while the second major prize of double-burner gas stove went to another alumnus, Julius Racines. In an earlier tournament held in August, another alumnus, Philip Lee, also won the championship in Class D. Meanwhile, Joseph "Kangkang" Siao hit a rare hole-in-one on a separate flight at the Iligan golf course last July 30. Fore!

Alumni May Now Register On-Line

LCHS alumni may now register on-line at our alumni web site. The LCHS alumni home page now features a page link that allows alumni to register directly on the spot. The information entered will then be transmitted to the administrators of the home page for data processing. They will then be included in their corresponding batches on our Internet alumni directory. Register now by logging on to this site: http://www.iligan.com/~lchs/alumni/

LCHS Photos on Home Page

The LCHS alumni web page has added a page link that features photos of the new LCHS campus in Pala-o, Iligan City. The photos, taken recently by Igdono Caracho (Batch '66), include the main building, the new nursery building, the gymnasium, and school canteen. Alumni who have photos of the old LCHS campus on the former Roosevelt Ext. are enjoined to share them with the Spectrum editors so they can be scanned for posting on the Internet photo gallery. 

Our man in Sydney, Australia, Loloy Tan is back online. In this issue, he brings us on a trip down memory lane to his days at LCHS in his column "Briefs from Down Under." Loloy, of Batch '66, is currently the president of the Filipino Freemasons in Sydney, and editor of the Lodge's newsletter. 

The scenario pretty much replicated a classic whiff of deja vu: After recycling in the operating rooms an incessant barrage of miserable tales on physical dysfunctions and on families clinging tough on naked panic, brewing anticipation and biblical mutterings, my first call-beeper is downgraded into a mere digital gadget with a touchy sensitivity. Nonetheless, my hyperkinetic neural networks stubbornly refused to snag a sedate mileage out of this sporadic, blissful interlude. Thus, being a rabid opponent of gray matter stasis and disabled rationality, I made a conscious effort not to be choked by the Spectrum deadline. With limitless time to browse my gentler thought, I always savor delight in the amusing shuffling of cliches and in the rosy rhapsodies about the virtue of promoting the mating of adjectives and nouns.

As a transplanted Asian American, I initially sensed precordial distress from viewing a cockfight video that was mailed by an acquaintance from Silay City. I find it wryly amusing to observe two raging cocks stage a nightmarish kiss of death, especially when these vigorous birds are compelled - via human orchestration - to pound on eachh other's jugulars to judge which Braveheart will herald the next dawn with a triumphant serenade and which dissected anatomy will simmer in the soup mix. Essentially, this fanfare deprives these hapless feathered species the liberty to stretch their mortality; a downright assault against animal freedom. If I write with offensive bluntness, attribute this transient "insanity" to a little more than two decades of Western culture bombardment. At any rate, instinctively, I only took a few glimpses at this arena entertainment to resuscitate my native juices. My adrenalin sparked ceaselessly with each blur of blood-tinged feathers and with each stinging punch. I rediscovered the manly delight of this ethnic sport: the teeming energy of the bulangan, the crazed, caffeinated look of the masyador, the crispy temptation of the lechon. Before long, I could perceive the roar of a phantom crowd, the ancillary pleasure of growing up in Iligan...the fragility of happiness and life itself.

Suffice to say, I'm plain homesick.

(Editors' Note: Ernie Yu can be reached on his e-mail address: Ernstyu49@aol.com) 

Like most of the readers of the Spectrum, my first experience of formal schooling began at our beloved LCHS. I spent a total of twelve years in our alma mater with many unforgettable moments. I would like to share with you those wonderful and not-so-great experiences.

I started schooling when Kindergarten was the first step for a child. Nursery? What nursery? Never heard of in those days. Mrs. Tan (Haw Tiu Niew) was an ever-present figure in our Kindergarten days. "Niew si Goo!".... the daily chorus seemed endless and boring. The highlight of my first year was when I joined the newly organized "Sio Sio Gak Tuy" (The Little Band). I was assigned to tap a pair of tiny bells attached to a pair of short rods. I was so excited that I banged the bells with all my force that one of the bells got detached. That was my last engagement with the band. I was so sorry to see that I destroyed a brand new musical instrument. And everytime I witnessed the Little Band playing at the opening of many great nights at the auditorium, my heart always sank with envy.

Grade One was not much to remember in Chinese class except one could still hear somebody shouting "Sian See Pang Sai!". I thought we had already graduated from Kindergarten. However, in the English class I will never forget the time we won second place in a schoolwide presentation contest. Only fourth year high students defeated us with their Barrio Fiesta. We presented a dance performed by six pairs of boys and girls. The boys wore colorful shirts with long denim pants and conical hats made of cartolina with a spiral stripe of crepe paper. My partner was Melania Handumon. All six pairs of us were said to have danced wonderfully and looked very cute with our beaming smiles. So we won 2nd place: the prize was money enough to buy a gallon of ice cream and a large bag of cookies for the whole class. A great celebration in those days!

Grade Two. Chinese arithmetic. Always a sing-song chorus with those multiplication tables. And the whole class seemed to be at its loudest everytime we reached 2x1=2 ("dee-et-dee") as it just sounded like my Chinese name. In English it was a terrifying experience. Our teacher was a fat lady who enjoyed punishing her students who failed to submit homeworks. And her mode of punishment was the most unique I ever encountered. You were called forward, the teacher chose a thick rubber band and rolled it over the bottom of the blackboard where the chalk powder accumulated. Then she released the fully stretched rubber band on the student's lips with the chalk powder exploding all over your face! A very humiliating experience in front of the class and your lips remained numb for a long time. I will never forget that teacher. She was very successful in disciplining the whole class.

Grade Three. I went to school with the luxury of my brand new small bike. We now occupied the last room of the main building away from the kindergarten building. Nearby was the school bus garage, a barn-like structure with the space behind it becoming the favorite place for the young boys to play cards and other prohibited activities. It was also a good alternate place to empty many a young boy's bladder. There was a time when our lady teacher completely stopped allowing boys to be excused from the classes to answer the call of nature. Boys being boys devised the use of soft drink bottles to relieve themselves and poured them over the window. After a while, the whole classroom smelled of strong ammonia. (Continued next issue) 

September 19, 1986. I was then 34 and well into my second year of private practice as an Internist. I will always remember this particular date because it was the day my father (Mr. Lim Hua Lam, a.k.a. Mr. Yu Ho) died at the age of 76 from cancer. Today, after eleven years, I am remembering Papa for all the good things he has brought into this world, his family, and into my life most specially. Below is my letter to him which I have kept all these years along with the sympathy and mass cards, pictures, and other memorabilia:

September 19, 1986; 11:30 p.m.

My dearest Papa,

I used to fear the time when you shall leave this world. That time has come. Now. I cried not because I couldn't accept your leaving us behind but because I know that from hereon we shall no longer have your physical presence each time we celebrate my birthday, Christmas, the Mooncake Festival (which happens to be your birthday), and life's beautiful moments.

When I knew that yours was a case of stomach cancer, I have prepared myself for the eventualities. But sometimes, it is easier said than done. Specially if it concerns somebody you love the most. It wasn't easy to accept that you're gone. More so to stand still when everyone else has fallen. I have to lend support to Mama and the rest. I knew the consequences being a medical man. And that's what hurts me the more.

Everything happens within a month's time - from that night of August 20, 1986 when I carried you in my arms until this noontime when you finally breathe your last. I was practically with you all these times. And I hope, somehow, you'd realized my worth as a son. God knows how much I love you.

Papa, you have been a great father to me throughout all these 34 years of my life. Without you, I couldn't have been what I am today. With you gone, life will never be the same again. But somehow life has to go on. I will forever remember the valuable teachings and the virtues that you have imparted to me. I will try to live a good life that you once had. I know someday we will all be together again.

Papa, wherever you are, please remember that we love you very much.

With all my love and respect,

son Henry