Socorro Ramos at 101: The Nanay we know
At 101 years old, Socorro Ramos—everyone’s “Nanay”—continues to amaze all of us. The mother we know is much more than the much-revered and publicized businesswoman. She raised all three of us (Fred, Ben and me) with the same energy she applied to growing her National Book Store business. There was no demarcation between home and the retail store. Dinners were always about what sold, what got shoplifted, and which publisher was coming to town.
Tatay and Nanay did not take vacations. They just watched movies in the theaters on Rizal Avenue, after the store closed. My father was shy and not sociable. He unfailingly went to the store at 6 a.m. every day, and enjoyed buying fruits from Aranque Market. He then let the staff come in to clean up before opening hours.
Nanay is the complete opposite. She has always been—still is—a night person. She stayed awake until almost sunrise and worked on orders, invoices, and her famous taped messages played on the store speakers (“Umakyat po kayo. Marami pang bestsellers sa second floor…”). She’s quite proud to say that she never liked playing mahjong or going to parties. Actually, all her friends were work friends: sales people, suppliers, book reps. She has outlived all of the people she worked with.
She may have been the disciplinarian. I felt the sharp whack of a feather duster on my butt just once; my brothers, Fred and Ben, more often. Even during the busy back-to-school season, she plastic-cover-wrapped our textbooks and notebooks with meticulous care. Needless to say, our school bags were always complete with supplies. She attended every school event and graduation that we had. And yes, she also went to the principal’s office when my brothers misbehaved.
Our family lived in a modest home on Makata Street, in Sta. Cruz, Manila. The woodworking shop next door had a distinct, earthy smell and the sawdust caused the canal water to turn blue. We could see the inside of our neighbors’ house, and they probably could see ours. We had a tiny azotea on the second floor, which, I swear, had a cigar-smoking kapre. Every Christmas, Nanay set up a large Belen (two plywoods long) that occupied approximately one-fourth of the sala.
The “bodega cum garage” behind the house served the small National Book Store at the corner of Rizal Avenue and Soler.
When we moved to a 6,000-square-meter property in Manga Avenue, with an imposing white house whose entrance had four Greek pillars, it wasn’t because Nanay wanted to impress her friends and business associates. The house had the potential for a warehouse. Actually, the house became a veritable warehouse—every inch of it.
Books were stocked on the ground floor until the garage. The winding Spanish-style staircase led to narra floors covered with greeting cards and envelope racks. We only had a narrow corridor to go to the bedrooms and kitchen.
It was only when we moved to another property on the same street that we had a proper residence, with a three-story warehouse at the back. For easy access, the warehouse was connected to the house. She laid out the Philippine-view greeting cards and postcards that she planned to produce on the round dining table. The basement was used for Hallmark cards.
Nanay will talk to anyone who happens to be beside her. She will zero in on whatever nice feature the person has: “Ang ganda ng ngipin mo!” And will follow with a sincere smile, “Totoo ba yan?” Of course, she may also comment on someone’s nice complexion (“Ang ganda ng kutis mo!”) or jewelry. (Ah, she can spot nice jewelry, but more about that later.)
Her comments always put the other person at ease. Then she proceeds to subtly interview them. After a while, the person has already told her life story or what the competition was planning to do. Her mantra: keep your friends close, your enemies closer.
“Don’t ever be shy. Speak, ask, bargain—no harm trying, ‘laway lang yan.’” Everyone is the same, rich or poor. Everyone’s gas stinks (her words are more graphic in Pilipino). Except for Fred—and only because he had to—we did not inherit her friendly genes.
She wasn’t interested in clothes or shoes or bags. In the early years, she would forever wear a plain black skirt and a plain color top, even when the American publishers came a-visiting. She dressed more like a businesswoman when Virgie, Ben’s wife, gave her better clothes.
Nanay, probably because she bought merchandise for the store, preferred to buy by the dozen, or, as a practice, at wholesale. She applied this also to things that she enjoyed collecting. She did not buy one antique jar or painting or piece of jewelry; she would buy quite a bit and ask for a wholesale price. “I will also sell these!”
The one time that she went to Europe, she bought two dozen watches from Bucherer and several Spanish swords as pasalubong; then she worried that the Bureau of Customs might confiscate her loot.
Her bargaining skills made publishers and suppliers shed tears, before surrendering and giving the discount she asked for. She liked a ring from a jewelry store in Greece. She begged and pleaded and stated that she only had a small amount of money, but that she loved the ring so much. The owner said, ”You have no money, but you have expensive taste!” She didn’t mind the barb and actually stood up to leave. Of course he caved and gave it to her.
Gigi Carlos and Nanay went to the Greenhills tiangge together. Nanay liked a ceramic jar. She bargained until the salesperson agreed, but Nanay probably changed her mind. She said “Ay, wala pala akong pera.” She enjoyed practicing her bargaining skills, more than the shopping exercise.
She gambled—certainly not in the casino or on mahjong—but only on items that her gut told her would sell or have a potential to increase in value. It’s her retailer mentality. She hesitated to pay for experiences—no Baguio for summer, no travels abroad, no parties. She couldn’t turn around and sell these for a higher price.
Once, we asked a group of roller skaters to entertain guests for our son’s birthday. This was supposed to be done on the driveway, but it rained. Instead, she graciously offered the sala for the show. One of the performer’s roller skates slipped off his foot, landed squarely onto a large blue and white jar and smashed it into a hundred little pieces. Silence filled the room. No one breathed. She said, “Accidents happen. Go on with the show.” My husband painstakingly glued the pieces together. The battle-scarred jar is whole again—a remembrance of what happened on that fateful day.
She is meticulous. There is no middle ground for her. Her retail-is-detail sense is applied to the home, as well. Whatever the job or display, it can never be just “puwede na,” but must be done as best as possible. In fact, even today, after she eats, she still arranges the seeds of any fruit (atis, orange, even watermelon) in a straight line on the plate.
When it comes to fixing her home, Nanay loves balance. If a vase is placed on the right, a similar vase must be placed on the left. She enjoys arranging and rearranging her blue-and-white plates and celadon jars, whether they come from antique stores or the tiangge in Greenhills.
While she has more skills than most people, baking is not one of them. The doughnuts she once attempted to make were slingshot-useful. The old cook served us fried chicken and scrambled eggs quite often. Since she, herself, did not like to cook, she didn’t complain. Our special treat on birthdays and special occasions was Max’s Chicken on Dewey (now Roxas) Boulevard.
She feared boat rides and heights. She hired a boat on Manila Bay for a staff excursion. A few meters away from shore, she told the boatman to bring her back. She didn’t particularly like being on the Tagaytay ridge, but she brought her foreign visitors there because, as a host, she must show them Taal Volcano and entertain them with the native dances in Taal Vista Lodge. And the Baguio zigzag made her nervous. A Japanese publisher brought her to Seryna restaurant on the 54th floor of the Sumitomo building; she went down and said she couldn’t eat there. It took many years before she agreed to ride in an airplane.
But Nanay conquered her fears. She flew to Kansas City to sign the contract with Hallmark and survived the transatlantic flight to Europe. When she went to Monaco for the Entrepreneur of the Year Award, she rode a helicopter.
Nanay is 101. Quieter now, but she can still be feisty, when she wants to be. Mila, her caregiver of many years, knows how to ride her moods better than anyone.
Mila recalls that she insisted on praying the rosary before bedtime, even if she came home very late at night. The entire household (including the driver and the gardener) was called to join her in the room that is full of large (some almost life-size) crucifixes, Santo Niños, and saints. Everyone took turns in leading the rosary, so each of them had to memorize the mysteries.
Every Holy Thursday, they all went to 14 churches, without fail. Christmas dinners included her staff and those of Virgie’s house next door.
When she wanted to distribute her “santos” to the family, we told her that, due to their sizes, the statues belonged to churches.
She hasn’t forgotten her beauty habit: Until now, she religiously applies Ponds Cream by herself, every night. Before her photo is taken, she must always apply lipstick, “para maganda.” A true pro, she can turn on an immediate smile, when she sees a camera.
Ben and I bore her, because we just talk. She pretends to be sleepy and “wakes up” after we leave.
She likes to be entertained, as in “song and dance” entertained. She enjoys visits from Fred’s son Anton and his twins, Isa and Ava, and their pet puppy. They dance and sing for her. She smiles when Virgie’s friend, Rowell Santiago, is present because he is patient with her, sings with her. She sang with Martin Nievera, who was sweet enough to drop by during her 101st birthday dinner. Their duet: It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie. As she said, if she did not become a “tindera,” she could have auditioned and become a singer. No wonder she likes showbiz!
We look forward to many more stories about Nanay on her 102nd birthday.