The human side of FVR

Fidel V. Ramos was, in my book, the most presidential Chief Executive after Ferdinand E. Marcos.

He was more presidential – acting and talking as a Chief of State is expected to do so – than his immediate predecessor Corazon C. Aquino, and then after him Joseph Estrada, Benigno C. Aquino and Rodrigo R. Duterte.

Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo would stand side by side with Ramos in being presidential.

Ferdinand R. Marcos, our current president, can’t yet be compared to FVR in being presidential as he’s still new to the office, although so far, he talks and acts like the president of a nation should.

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However, despite his serious countenance and leader’s mien, FVR was sutil (the closest English definition is probably a person who annoys others by being jokingly contrarian).

I remember jogging with Ramos at the Central Park in New York in his first State Visit to the US in 1993. FVR made himself and others in his group a nightmare to the Secret Service agents assigned to guard him.

(I was sent by the producer of the “Action 9” program on RPN 9 to cover FVR’s State Visit, along with fellow hosts Dong Puno and Rey Langit).

The physically fit Chief Executive crossed busy streets leading to the Central Park, followed by his security detail and fellow joggers, making cars screech to a halt after US Secret Service escorts signaled them to stop.

FVR and his fellow joggers would then run zigzag among the thick Central Park promenaders. There were many other joggers in the park that early morning, obviously preparing for the New York City Marathon several days ahead.

Suddenly, FVR would make a complete turnaround and run in the opposite direction. The Secret Service agents, obviously not used to jogging with their wards, scratched their heads – figuratively and literally – trying to catch up with the Filipino joggers.

One federal agent, obviously pissed off, vented his annoyance on a taxicab driver whom he yelled at while signaling him to stop at a pedestrian lane. The poor cabbie looked perplexed, as the traffic light was green for cars and red for pedestrians.

Closely following or jogging alongside the president, I told him that the Secret Service agents looked peeved.

“Let them get annoyed, that’s their job (or words to that effect),” he said.

A graduate of the US Military Academy at West Point off New York, FVR was obviously testing the patience of his US escorts.

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For a graduate of West Point, FVR had not gotten rid of his thick Ilocano accent.

He may be a prolific writer – he has written several books on governance – but he was not much of a talker; his Ilocano accent was very pronounced.

As I said earlier on, our jog at the Central Park was a nightmare for the Secret Service agents, as we were in the midst of a thick early morning crowd.

Two pretty Caucasian women, jogging in the opposite direction, came toward us.

FVR stopped, greeted the women as they came alongside us and said, “Arrr you taking parrrt in the marrrrathon?

The women either didn’t understand or hear him or they just ignored him and continued jogging.

“Hey, arrrr you taking parrrrt in the New Yorrrk Marrrathon?,” Mr. Ramos repeated.

As the women continued their workout, their backs now already turned to us, FVR did what a typical Filipino commoner would do to beckon another whose attention is elsewhere.

“Ssssst, ssssst, ssssst.”

“Mr. President….,” I cautioned him, hardly catching my breath.

FVR looked at me, smiled, and then we continued our jog.

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Mr. Ramos was a physical fitness buff. He could jog or run or jog and run for hours on end in his younger days.

He once parachuted carrying a case of beer when he was Armed Forces chief of staff.

I had a hard time catching up with him and his equally fit security escorts in that New York early morning jog. And to think that at that time I was a very fit 46-year-old, compared to a man 18 years my senior at age 65.

Mr. Ramos could outrun or outjog a man much younger than he was in his prime, and even in his early senior years.

FVR would finish his jog with push-ups, like the Army airborne soldier that he was before, and required his fellow joggers to do the same.

At the Central Park, he did 20 push-ups several times, each time dedicating the exertion to “let’s do 20 for Ramon Tulfo, 20 for so-and-so.” I was huffing and puffing while trying to catch up to FVR’s rhythm and tempo. His security men were laughing at me for doing a half push-up.