The Ugly American by Eugene Burdick, William J. Lederer Page B
Authors: Eugene Burdick, William J. Lederer
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Filipino—he even attended the University in his spare hours to study Tagalog.
Colonel Hillandale became Manila's own private character.
The politicians and the eggheads fondly called him Don Edwin; the taxi drivers and the balut vendors and the waiters called him the Americano lllustrado; and the musicians referred to him as The Ragtime Kid. The counsellor up at the American Embassy always spoke of him as "that crazy bastard."
But within six months the crazy bastard was eating breakfast with Magsaysay, and he soon became Magsaysay's unofficial advisor.
In the summer of 1953, Magsaysay was campaigning for the presidential election. He barnstormed the Philippine Archipelago, and was greeted with enthusiasm everywhere he went. Everywhere—except in one province north of Manila. Here the Communist propagandists had done too good a job. The Reds had persuaded the populace that the wretched Americans were rich, bloated snobs, and that anyone who associated with them—as did Magsaysay—couldn't possibly understand the problems and the troubles of the Filipino.
The political experts predicted that Magsaysay would lose the province.
One Saturday Magsaysay's friend, Colonel Hillandale, went to this province. When he arrived in the capital about halfpast eleven, the people of Cuenco saw something they had never in their lives seen before. A tall, slender U. S. Air Force Colonel with red hair and a big nose drove into Cuenco on a red motorcycle, whose gas tank had painted on it in black "The Ragtime Kid." He chugged up the main street and stopped at the most crowded part. He parked his cycle, and smoothed out his uniform; then he sauntered over near a large pool hall and sat down in the street—on the curb. After waving and smiling at everyone, he took out his harmonica and began to play favorite Filipino tunes in a loud and merry way; he played the first few stanzas in the classical manner, and the last two or three in a jazzed-up style. Within about fifteen minutes a crowd of about two hundred people surrounded the colonel. They enjoyed the music, but they were suspicious of this man who represented the richest of the rich Americans.
Colonel Hillandale began playing Planting Rice is Never Fun . After going through a stanza he stopped, looked around at the crowd, and said in Tagalog, "Come on, join in." In a thin tenor he sang a few words; then, jamming the harmonica up to his mouth, he played as loud and sweet as he could.
The crowd began to sing—about three hundred Filipinos standing in a tightly-packed circle singing their heads off, and pushing to get a look at this strange man.
At twelve o'clock the church bells sounded the Angelus. The Ragtime Kid put his harmonica in his pocket and stood up.
"Well, I sure am starving," he said. "I'd sure like some adobo and pancit ."
The Filipinos looked at each other shyly.
The Ragtime Kid in colonel's uniform let his eyes go around the circle. "I'm hoping someone here will invite me to lunch. I'm broke."
"You don't have any money?" said one of the Filipinos.
The colonel put his hands in his pockets, dragged out his wallet, opened it, and showed that it was empty. He thrust his other hand into his side pocket and pulled out some change. "Sixty centavos."
"But Americans are rich."
"Not me."
"You're fooling."
The colonel was still speaking in Tagalog, "We have poor people in America just like you have in the Philippines."
"But you're a colonel in the American Air Force. I know you get about two thousand pesos a month."
"That's right. And that's a lot of money. But I have big expenses. I have a wife and three children back in America. How much does a bottle of rum cost here?"
"Two pesos."
"In America it costs six pesos."
"Honest?"
"Yes. And how much rent do you pay a month for your house?"
"Forty pesos."
"A line in America costs two hundred and forty pesos— and it's a very small house. I can't get any for less."
"It seems impossible."
The crowd stood silent.
Colonel Hillandale became Manila's own private character.
The politicians and the eggheads fondly called him Don Edwin; the taxi drivers and the balut vendors and the waiters called him the Americano lllustrado; and the musicians referred to him as The Ragtime Kid. The counsellor up at the American Embassy always spoke of him as "that crazy bastard."
But within six months the crazy bastard was eating breakfast with Magsaysay, and he soon became Magsaysay's unofficial advisor.
In the summer of 1953, Magsaysay was campaigning for the presidential election. He barnstormed the Philippine Archipelago, and was greeted with enthusiasm everywhere he went. Everywhere—except in one province north of Manila. Here the Communist propagandists had done too good a job. The Reds had persuaded the populace that the wretched Americans were rich, bloated snobs, and that anyone who associated with them—as did Magsaysay—couldn't possibly understand the problems and the troubles of the Filipino.
The political experts predicted that Magsaysay would lose the province.
One Saturday Magsaysay's friend, Colonel Hillandale, went to this province. When he arrived in the capital about halfpast eleven, the people of Cuenco saw something they had never in their lives seen before. A tall, slender U. S. Air Force Colonel with red hair and a big nose drove into Cuenco on a red motorcycle, whose gas tank had painted on it in black "The Ragtime Kid." He chugged up the main street and stopped at the most crowded part. He parked his cycle, and smoothed out his uniform; then he sauntered over near a large pool hall and sat down in the street—on the curb. After waving and smiling at everyone, he took out his harmonica and began to play favorite Filipino tunes in a loud and merry way; he played the first few stanzas in the classical manner, and the last two or three in a jazzed-up style. Within about fifteen minutes a crowd of about two hundred people surrounded the colonel. They enjoyed the music, but they were suspicious of this man who represented the richest of the rich Americans.
Colonel Hillandale began playing Planting Rice is Never Fun . After going through a stanza he stopped, looked around at the crowd, and said in Tagalog, "Come on, join in." In a thin tenor he sang a few words; then, jamming the harmonica up to his mouth, he played as loud and sweet as he could.
The crowd began to sing—about three hundred Filipinos standing in a tightly-packed circle singing their heads off, and pushing to get a look at this strange man.
At twelve o'clock the church bells sounded the Angelus. The Ragtime Kid put his harmonica in his pocket and stood up.
"Well, I sure am starving," he said. "I'd sure like some adobo and pancit ."
The Filipinos looked at each other shyly.
The Ragtime Kid in colonel's uniform let his eyes go around the circle. "I'm hoping someone here will invite me to lunch. I'm broke."
"You don't have any money?" said one of the Filipinos.
The colonel put his hands in his pockets, dragged out his wallet, opened it, and showed that it was empty. He thrust his other hand into his side pocket and pulled out some change. "Sixty centavos."
"But Americans are rich."
"Not me."
"You're fooling."
The colonel was still speaking in Tagalog, "We have poor people in America just like you have in the Philippines."
"But you're a colonel in the American Air Force. I know you get about two thousand pesos a month."
"That's right. And that's a lot of money. But I have big expenses. I have a wife and three children back in America. How much does a bottle of rum cost here?"
"Two pesos."
"In America it costs six pesos."
"Honest?"
"Yes. And how much rent do you pay a month for your house?"
"Forty pesos."
"A line in America costs two hundred and forty pesos— and it's a very small house. I can't get any for less."
"It seems impossible."
The crowd stood silent.
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