Tony Fabella: Creating Dancers

MANILA, Philippines - I dreaded going to the CCP basement in the 70’s. I was just a high school graduate without a dream. Walking through that basement hall meant being a step closer to the “nightmare” room – the company room of the CCP Dance Company – where all the big stars of dance assembled. Tina Santos, Cecile Santos, Joy Coronel, Nini Gener, Irma Bringas and Ester Rimpos were but some of the ballerinas who terrified me. Whenever I saw one of them walking in my direction, I’d slip into the nearest room because I was too frightened to pass them.

The CCP Dance Company was just forming its nucleus then but it was clear that the blood throbbing in its veins was thick, deep red. In that company I was just bacteria (as a theater director once christened an actor), and germs are supposed to be eradicated. At least that was what I felt, although no one seemed to care that I even felt anything.

My sister Alice was the supreme being of them all – artistic director and founder of the company, together with Eddie Elejar. But, in that peculiar world of dance, being the kid sister of the empress dowager meant nothing. The dancers were all nice people but I was paranoid.

One of the demigods in the company room, though, considered me human. His name is Tony Fabella, or Tony Fabs as everyone fondly calls him. I had known him from childhood because he assisted Alice in her earlier television choreographies. 

I would heave a sigh of relief when Tony was in the room. He often chatted with me and I felt enhanced under everyone’s glance. Tony Fabella, the company manager, found me interesting! I would ask him silly questions like, “Ton, why are you wrapping your ankles with Leukoplast every day? Di ba mahal yan (isn’t that expensive)?” He would chuckle – the famous chuckle that sounds like a machine gun – and say, “Itong Leukoplast ang aking ankles (Leukoplast is my ankle). Ha ha ha!”

And there seemed to be some magic potion in those bandages because Tony’s dancing was sheer ecstasy. He had an exceptional ability to pour out joy as he pirouetted and jetéd, like an angel let loose. 

Depressed as I felt about not knowing how to even point my feet, I found myself in a fortunate situation. An adult beginners’ class was opened and I was to learn ballet technique under Tony Fabs. But I wasn’t too thrilled because we were only three students so I couldn’t play hookey. And I hated wearing tights and leotards. They are most uncomfortable when one has to don them straight from school and do a barre without taking a shower. I was used to cutting company classes and hiding in a room to sing pop songs with the other dance delinquents. 

In the beginners’ class, Tony would go down on his knees to touch our legs. “Use your long muscles,” he would whisper to me. “Lengthen them so they don’t get too big.” Then he would arch my feet gently. “You have nice arches, pambihira yan (that’s rare).”

I remember thinking, “Tony Fabs really shouldn’t bother; he’s too important to waste one whole hour working on a loser.” I was determined not to make it, but day in and day out he molded my legs, my feet, my arms, my torso, my neck.

“Pull up, buttocks in, shoulders down, long neck, higher extensions,” he insisted. Geez, was he sure? I was already seventeen and would never be a Tina Santos. But I obeyed him anyway.

One day, at about 17 years and 11 months old, I woke up wanting to be a ballerina. If Tony Fabs believed in me, there was hope. He was meticulous so I became meticulous with myself. He taught me how to make my body work correctly, and to use what I had to the fullest – high extensions, a supple back and arched feet. These were my tickets to the world of the dance gods and demigods. I took two classes a day and, when I got home, put my bags down in the living room where we had a large mirror. In the dark, with no one looking, I practiced feverishly. That was when I realized that a dream, with the right mentor, can go a long way. Nothing was impossible. 

When I graduated to wearing pointe shoes, my toes bled something awful. Being a ballerina was the worse thing I could ever want. Remarkably, my first stint as a ballet dancer was in Tony Fabs’ piece, Prince of the Pagodas. Nestled comfortably at the back of the corps de ballet, I remember cheating. When I happened to land in a dim corner of the stage, I did not go on pointes. My feet were just too painful and I had to stay alive for the succeeding shows. When I confessed that to Tony years later, he guffawed.

Next hurdle, choreography. During one summer workshop, I did my first major ballet, Pagsamba. In the same program, Tony did a brilliant piece called Batuque, an all male ensemble that dumbfounded the audience. I was touchy about debuting as a choreographer with his work on the same stage but he gave me valuable tips and congratulated me profusely. I was humbled that my mentor was gracious enough to welcome me to his category.

When Alice decided to present Pagsamba as part of the season, something that meant the piece would be part of the company’s repertoire, she casted herself and Tony Fabs in the lead. Omigosh! “Ton,” I apologized during rehearsals, “the steps are… one, two, three, four. I’m so sorry to tell you what to do. Please forgive me!”

And Alice? Well, of course I had to address her as Ate. “Ate, do this, then run there. Don’t get mad at me, okay?” 

The bacterium had mutated into an amoeba at least. Alice and Tony performed Pagsamba a hundred times and I could not be more honored as choreographer. The empress dowager and her prime minister were my lead dancers. And I? I was in the corps for a long time and had to work my way up to being the lead in my own piece. That’s how fair everything is at the ballet. 

I  felt lost when Tony Fabs decided to embark on a career outside of the company, but by then he had plated my armor with enough gold. I was not the only one he groomed to stand alone. There were many dancers and choreographers who metamorphosed into superb artists under his tutelage. Tony made us believe in ourselves without saying too much. He whispered a lot; that’s why we listened to him intently.

Among others, his proteges are Enrico Labayen, Benjie Toledo, Nina Anonas de Santos, me and my other sister, Denisa Reyes, and Luther Perez, the one who would be his most steadfast colleague to this day. 

Tony and Luther have lived in the same apartment with Eddie Elejar for the past three decades.

They transform underprivileged children of the Quezon City Performing Arts and the Hiyas ng Maynila Dance Company into artists, just like Tony transformed many of us a long time ago. The children are such good dancers they brought tears to my eyes when I saw them perform. They dance with such joy that is so Tony Fabella, and with the perfect discipline that Luther instills.

Please watch “Dance Can Make Them Dream Again” on YouTube. It’s a documentary on the Quezon City children and how Tony and Luther have given them a new lease in life through dance.

Tony has not stopped being my mentor. Whenever I succumb to my ‘loser’ mode I run to him and he props me up with the most encouraging words. When I finally metamorphosed from amoeba to ballerina he was on my mind in every ballet I danced. I would never have become anything if not for him; and these children, thanks to Tony and Luther, can become anything in the future. 

Tony was diagnosed with cancer of the colon late last year. He had major surgery, after which he valiantly continued to choreograph for Lisa Macuja Elizalde and Ballet Manila. Many colleagues offered financial, moral and spiritual aid. Fundraising concerts were held, masses were heard, and thankfully, prayers were answered.

Recently, he attended our rehearsals at Ballet Philippines. My husband Nonoy and I are restaging Alice’s Amada for a concert called “Neo Filipino” at the CCP on March 13 to 15.

Tony sat there with eyes gleaming as he viewed the same steps he danced when it was first staged in Manila in 1969. He then eagerly asked artistic directors Max Luna and Alan Hineline if an excerpt of Amada can be shown in another coming CCP show “Rubies: Gems of Philippine Art” on Feb. 27. Tony was putting together the dance portion of the show. 

That night, he told us that he wasn’t altogether in the pink. The pain he was feeling was something close to having a toothache all over his body. I cannot imagine how agonizing that is. He prefers to stand because the pain is lessened and sometimes he sleeps with his body upright. Then the laughter that is like machine gun fire comes on – the joy is still there. “Ganyan naman tayong mga dancer, di ba? Sanay sa sakit ng katawan (That’s how we dancers are, we’re used to pain).” I wanted to tell him, okay the Leukoplast goes all over your body now! 

Last month he again had surgery to get a tissue sample from a tumor they found in his body. Because of this operation, I was asked to take his place in Rubies – again, an honor for me. I will do anything for Tony.

So, my mentor is lying in the hospital right now in need of prayer for a speedy recovery. He will undergo six sessions of chemotherapy with each session lasting four days. There is a possibility of him undergoing radiation treatment as well. Medical bills add to his anguish. Each chemotherapy session will cost him P30,000. An artist of his caliber would earn the cost of six chemotherapies in many, many months of arduous work.

I’m going to ask Tony Fabs if he really believed in me. This is one question I keep forgetting to ask him these past three decades. How could he possibly have seen a dancer in the awkward girl who constantly played hookey from class?

Now that I am a teacher, I always tell my students that nothing is impossible. All one needs is the passion, dedication, will power, a lot of prayer and one generous mentor like Tony Fabs. With a teacher like him, even bacteria can become an artist.