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Eulogy for Mil Villareal
By Artie Atienza
September 16, 2011
There’s so
much you can say about a great person like Mil Villareal, but at the same
time there’s so little I know about him because he never bragged about
anything. He never told me about his accomplishments. I would hear from
other people what he had done in the past, but it was what I saw in the
twenty years that I knew him that told me just how great he was.
It was
almost twenty years ago, maybe even exactly to the day the way things have
been shaping up today with the coincidences I won’t be surprised if today is
the day twenty years ago, that a lady talked to me and said, “Artie, there’s
a guy here who is probably the most famous arranger and composer in Cebu in
the Philippines. His name is Mil Villareal. Maybe you want to talk to him
because you’ve always wanted to form a group that would sing other than in
the church.” So I said, “Ok, introduce him to me”. And it was at the
backyard of Gilda Yee where I approached DaddyLo or Daddy. I called him
Mang Mil actually. I said, “Mang Mil, I heard you’ve done great things in
the Philippines. I want to be able to form a group of Karaoke aficionados
and they all want to be heard outside of the basement of Gilda’s house. Do
you think you can teach us a few things about music?” And he said, “Bring
them on. I will teach them. I will play the music. I will perform. I
will arrange. I will compose.” And I said, “Who’s this guy? Who does that
on a spur of the moment?” He didn’t ask me, “How much are you going to pay
me? What are the terms of the contract?” It was just, “Yes, let’s do it”.
And I think when Babette told me, “Artie, my family wants you to speak about
Daddy”, immediately that was the first thing that came to my mind, that
first day I met him. And I realized I didn’t need to know much more about
Daddy because his greatness was in his constant effort to be as small,
insignificant and regular as he could, but he was probably the biggest
person that I have ever met, biggest in terms of heart.
He took my
hand under his wing and he said, “Artie, do you know music?” I said,
“Daddy, I don’t. I have never taken lessons before.” And he showed me a
few scribbled notes on a piece of paper and I still got it in my wallet. It
was music theory in about five pages. When he retired from actively playing
for the Philippine Choral, he said, “Artie, do you still have that piece of
paper I gave you?” I said, “Yes, Daddy.” He said, “Can you continue the
choir?” I said, “Yes, Daddy, I think it will be easy because I know you’re
there.”
His
greatness, as far as I’m concerned, was not in what he accomplished himself
but in what he was able to make other people accomplish. He inspired
people. He encouraged people. He gave them all the support that they would
need to do great things. I’m not saying that the Philippine Choral was
great but he always gave us the impression that we were good. There’s
another choir here, the Vismin Choir. I don’t know if he played the same
game with you every time there was a rehearsal and he would teach you a new
song – after the rehearsal, he would give you a grade. He would say, “uh
... 85 per cent”. I don’t know, “How high did you ever get in your
rating?” We picked up 90 at one point!
You see, if
he were to put us on the same standard as his professional buddies in the
Philippines, we probably wouldn’t even rate a “5”, but he made us feel 85
and 90, and that to me was the greatest gift he gave us. He made us do
great things. It wasn’t his great accomplishments that counted. It was
him.
When I
thought of what word I would remember him by, I struggled. I said, “He was
great, yes, but he was also very simple, very dedicated, very loving, very
humble”. And then the word “humility” just stuck up in front of me because
that was the core of his existence. And if you look at the word “humility”,
at the very core are three letters: M - I - L.
He was the
simplest, most humble person I have ever seen, but at the same time the
greatest.
Daddy, we
will miss you but you will be always be with us.
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