ANOTHER colleague has passed away, further diminishing my circle of contemporary struggling young professionals during the fifties. He was Neptali A. Gonzales, lawyer, law professor, lawmaker, and – above all — my cherished friend.
I used to call him Nep (he was Tali to others) until I asked him to stand as sponsor at the baptism of my son Claro in 1955. Thereafter, we addressed each other as “compadre,’ but that did not make our relationship more formal. There were some ideas and beliefs we did not share but they did not stand in the way of our friendship. We both became bar reviewers and wrote textbooks on the same subject, but we never considered ourselves rival.
We first met in 1954 at the fledgling Lyceum of the Philippines, where we cut our teeth at teaching in its law school. His first assignment was Statutory Construction; mine was Roman Law I, which was then part of the law curriculum. Both of us were assigned to the freshman year because we were novices who needed some experience.
The president of the Lyceum then was Jose P. Laurel and the dean of the college of law was Claro M. Recto. Sotero H. Laurel was the executive secretary. The premier professor in Remedial Law was Pedro Sabido. Civil Law was handled by Arturo M. Tolentino and Desiderio P. Jurado, Criminal Law by Ambrosio Padilla. Jovito R. Salonga and Leon Ma. Guerrero taught International Law. Among the professors of Political Law were J. B. Laurel, Jr. and Felixberto Serrano.
Nep and I were obscure persons in the impressive faculty roster that, not surprisingly, attracted a record enrollment. The offices alone most of the members occupied in the government were enough to persuade many students to stake their future in the Lyceum. There were some unknown names like ours, but these did not deter them. All we had at the time was our academic credentials, such as they were, and some professional experience.
Little did we then imagine that Nep would in time hold the top position in the Senate and I would become senior associate justice of the Supreme Court, the second highest official in the judiciary. There was a difference between us, though. I attained my seniority, or capillarity if you will, only because of the successive retirements of colleagues ahead of me. My compadre Nep reached his summit by virtue of his outstanding legislative record and his personal affability.
Early in his teaching career, Nep decided to specialize in Political Law. Before long, he had branched out to other law colleges and developed a reputation as an authority on the subject. The books he had written on the various branches of the field – Philippine Political Law, Constitutional Law, Local Governments, Administrative Law, Public Officers and Election Law — made him pre-eminent among the bar reviewers during his time.
I had also decided to specialize in Political Law and prescribed Nep’s books in all my subjects. I often deferred to him as my senior, but there were many interesting debates we had on the subject that, I am happy to recall, never deteriorated into bitter quarrels. We had occasional disagreements, and they were sometimes sharp, but they did not impair but in fact strengthened our mutual respect.
Once I dedicated a book to him on his birthday, describing him as my mentor “at whose feet I sit.” He was so discomfited and said it gave him goose pimples. He repaid that tribute when, on the occasion of my retirement from the Supreme Court in 1994, he delivered a privilege speech in the Senate where he described me as “one of the greatest jurists in the world.” It was my turn to be embarrassed. My compliment was private, but his was public. I don’t believe what he said, of course, and neither should you, but I’m sure Nep did. He was never malicious.
Already noted as a professor and practitioner, Nep eventually, and I think inevitably, drifted to politics. After serving briefly as dean of the FEU college of law, he was elected vice governor of Rizal and then congressman for the first district of that province. He was an outstanding member of the opposition in the Batasang Pambansa and, after Edsa I erupted, was appointed secretary of justice. He ended his political career after finishing two terms in the Senate, where he was elected president before retiring in 1998.
Nep had a wonderful sense of humor, which is one reason many people liked him. When he ran for the House of Representatives in 1969, he was considered the underdog because he was fighting two formidable rivals with much political and financial clout. He was not daunted. He used the familiar example of The Sandwich to exploit his situation. Describing his adversaries as the two slices in the sandwich, he compared himself to the “paningit” in between. “That’s the best part of the sandwich,” he said, “and that’s me!” The audience howled at his metaphor and sent him to Congress.
My wife and I were having merienda at a restaurant one afternoon and we saw Nep with some persons at a table some distance away. We waved to each other. When we finished, I scooped up the money on the tray the waiter brought us and then waved Nep goodbye. He waved back. On the way home, I realized I had not paid our bill and that the change I got was not for me. It turned out that Nep had paid for us and that the waiter had mistakenly given us his change. I made amends later and we both had a good laugh.
Nep belongs to that remembered past in my life when he and I, and many others like us, were forging our future as young lawyers with still untarnished ideals and indomitable ambitions. As his friend, I was happy to see him rise from an obscure municipal employee to a prestigious position in the academe as a constitutionalist. in the Philippine bar as an active and successful practitioner, and in the political arena, as a statesman of unblemished integrity and proven patriotism.
The nobility of Neptali A. Gonzales lay not in the high offices he held but simply in the humble virtues he offered during a lifetime of selfless service to his family, his country, and his God. What better words can I say of my departed friend? His life is his best eulogy.
Justice Isagani A. Cruz 