North Luzon Monitor

North Luzon

Sir Francis

George Babsa-ay Jr.
Latest posts by George Babsa-ay Jr. (see all)

As I write this, I struggle to find fault or some grievance to remember him by.

It’s a struggle I now pledge to embrace until that day comes. That day I can share his candor and kindness. And learn to smile just as freely and stay as calm, amid the world’s need to worry and fret.

In heaven, as his wont for clarity, Sir Francis must be explaining why he just laughed. Some moments, just enough, passed between us to earn (not concoct) a not-so-private joke about pledges. For I might have pledged change more than once.

But now – even more so, wonderful memories, too.

“…people will forget what you said…and did, but people will never forget how you made them feel,” the poet Maya Angelou once said.

Nowhere can this be truer than here, sharing what we, as a community, must now feel. Or, to what we once felt, in his presence. Sharing a table. A travel. A chuckle. A ‘Point of Order.’ A rumor. A San Mig. A night we’d rather forget. A morning that broke our hearts. A morning that gave us hope.

Because in his constant kindness, we felt free to be our selves.

Even on a day such as this.

Tonight, I can be corny without much fear, only because the memory of him assures – ‘It’s okay. I don’t mind. And I certainly can’t, even if I did.’

Friends, there is lot to say about our grief.

But I’d rather dwell on how Sir Francis embraced life. A life, more real and robust than this so-called death. A life lived, lifetimes more than the lot of us ever could: Sir Francis sang with life. He danced with life. Man, he looked to us like this teenage guru and cool all-around good guy and Manong so that, at some point, Val and I were forced to asked: How does he do that?

Sure, Sir Francis stood out, even as a ‘low-key’ politician. But he stood out because he was respectable. At least, most of the time, whether in a LEE shirt or an Elis barong. Respectable and respected everywhere, or anywhere else. Because he was respectful to everyone else.

Every time, Sir Francis served us – with life. And we love him so, because he served us in his own modest way that was opposite of what we dislike.

Save for a sole instance, as a boss, Sir Francis never let loose any wisp of anger openly aired. Knowing it could be stifling, he didn’t rebuke. He just couldn’t. He just jabbed you with those disarming dimples of his and said, “Remember, we are public servants.” You ‘time-out,’ relieved. But soon enough get so roused anyway with some monotone version of the ‘last song syndrome’: “Servant…servant…servant…”

Imposing integrity, to Sir Francis, was showing up when needed, even on the worst heartache. He was afraid, I think, to break his word. On a date we once set, when we, after a while, began sulking in the sad silence thinking he won’t, he filled our void, incognito. After a beer, he then confides, “I must go home, boys. The dogs, you see.”

How could we have denied him that?

Thoughtful, generous and guileless. No pretense and nothing fancy. On issues and love, he opened his heart plain.

All times, with him, unpleasant things somehow took on a dimple. Anger turned to candor; rebuke to advice; rumor to humor; and fleeting friendship, something truly eternal.

Surely I am blessed to have gotten this chance to draft him some speeches, you see. And, what joy, seeing him setting his glasses on the bridge of an Iba-Chinoy nose, always reading and rehearsing every word.

But, you see, his life-message resounds way, way more than any draft I could muster. For though unsaid, it is one that gently sticks and stays true, even long after the silence and last flower is laid: Live life boldly and joyfully and freely and kindly, as much as you can.

Sir Francis. How amazing a thing can be, we now see, as we do in the songs you once sang, all rests in the heart it springs from … … …

Before I drafted his speeches, there’s one thing Sir Francis always said: “Bro. Make it simple and short.”

Copy, Sir. But this is as short as it can get, though there is much more to say.

“He, he. Thanks, and God bless, La Trinidad,” we all hear him saying.

Even the angels must know, this needs no explanation, at all. And, perhaps try as we might, we can’t even begin to find fault in those dimples for that.

– for Hon. Francis Abance Lee, Municipal Councilor, who deserves the title not so much for having been elected on several occasions, but for having faithfully served La Trinidad well. 

Scroll to Top