When I was starting my career in mainstream journalism in 1997 (I was then writing for another daily), I was first assigned to cover the police beat. So there I was reporting for work early in the morning at the Western Police District on United Nations Avenue covering all sorts of crimes — from petty pickpocketing to grenade blasts in the streets of Manila.
But early on I knew I would be a lifestyle writer one day when I came to the WPD one chilly morning wearing not the ubiquitous reporter’s vest but a baby pink pashmina. The day I reported with an alampay around my neck, an incident report reached the WPD pressroom that a heavily armed man went amok in the vicinity of the Quiapo church. All the reporters jumped to different cars to join the cops who responded to the scene. I found myself praying as I held on to the bars of the jampacked owner-type jeepney service of some policemen — with my pashmina being tossed by the wind in mid-air.
By the time we got to the scene, the man had gone on a shooting spree. The reporters ran for cover, of course. I found myself taking down notes under the Inquirer service car, trying to hide myself further by covering my head with the pink pashmina. I was trained to get the story no matter what the situation may be. In police reporting, it was ingrained to my system that detailed data gathering was key to a newsworthy report. I have always remembered that. The same way that I always remember the acronym DTPO (date, time, place, occurrence) in many a blotter report my eyes rummaged on at the Homicide and Robbery sections of the WPD. And yes, in those days, summaries of stories, before a newsman wrote his report, were phoned in first to the editorial assistant at the desk. I remember clearly that filing two stories was a no mean feat. They were called attendance stories, proof that you were at the beat.
During my time, if you were covering the police beat, it was also automatic that you would cover the investigative beat. So, I would also be seen navigating the busy intersection of UN and Taft Avenue to get to the office of the National Bureau of Investigation. One time, because I wanted to hear clearly the press con proceedings while a couple of rape suspects were being presented by the NBI deputy director to the media, I went near the alleged rapists. The following day, a photo of the suspects was splayed on the front page of a now defunct daily — and I figured prominently in the picture that bore the caption title: THE SUSPECTS. It was a good thing I was shown scribbling on my reporter’s notebook to somehow distinguish me from the real rapists. By the way, the alleged suspects were nabbed for raping a woman.
Because I wanted a scoop, and at the same time I wanted to develop a stronger bond with my sources at the beat, I agreed to become a poseur buyer of drugs in a district in Manila. The NBI agents taught me in a day about some druggie jargons. Then off I went to the house of the pusher to “score” shabu. I was only armed with a wad of marked money and a ton of guts. I got the drugs and positively surrendered them to the agents who raided the house a few minutes after. The pusher was accosted quite peacefully while I was having a revolution inside me. I never returned to that place anymore.
Somehow, perhaps because I earned some brownie points in my stories, I was assigned to do a plum beat just when I was beginning to enjoy police and investigative reporting. I was asked to cover the Foreign Affairs beat, which meant reporting for work at the DFA on Roxas Boulevard. The first piece of advice I got from my desk editors was that I needed to report to the beat a little bit dressed — because I would deal with ambassadors and diplomats. So I would come to work in slacks and long-sleeved shirts. The DFA Press Corps was populated by reporters who were fierce but friendly. Everyone had his or her own specialty — one was a Spratlys expert, another a specialist in American affairs that included the Visiting Forces Agreement (which was ratified in 1998 when I was still doing the beat). I thought I showed my inclination in reporting cases that concerned the welfare of the OFWs that time.
One day, while all of us were pressed for time doing a story on John Aquino, an OFW in the death row in Saudi Arabia, we were waiting outside the office of then DFA Secretary Domingo Siazon Jr. The government that time didn’t want to telegraph its move about the case but we were journalists who had the task of following up on the development of the story.
When Siazon came out of his room, he turned right to go to the toilet. Since I was the only man in the company of four lady reporters, by default I had to go to the toilet, too, to get at least a quote from the secretary. So there I was interviewing Siazon while both of us were facing our respective urinals. The girls were outside the door, listening to my interview. Didn’t I say that as reporters, we would do everything to get a story? After a couple of wiggles, I got some details from Siazon that I weaved to become a three-page, single-spaced report. The beauty and intensity, too, of Foreign Affairs reporting lies in the richness of the reporter’s database. The more information you know about an issue, the better report you can produce.
As I did my diplomatic beat — where it became more of a standard to submit not less than six news stories a day — I was also asked to “pitch in” for beats whose reporters were on day-off or on-leave. So, I was an occasional relyebo at the Department of Justice or in Senate and five times in Malacañang during the colorful times of Erap.
Then I was asked to transfer to the lifestyle section. That moment, I had a field day in my heart. The drums stopped rolling when I got my first assignment: to interview a young bold star and bring a lifestyle angle out of her.
Because the sexy star was in a hurry, she requested me to start asking her questions while the photographer was shooting her. I asked a few getting-to-know you queries until I reached the background check.
“You grew up in the province, you said. I’m interested to know how you were raised by your parents,” I asked.
“Ah, conservative ang family ko. So, very conservative din akong pinalaki,” the bold star said while she took off her bra in front of me.
I almost fainted.
(Will tell you more anecdotes next time about my experiences as a reporter. Please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. You may also follow me on Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have a blessed Sunday!)