Ruby Kelley Mangahas

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[From an e-mail dated Feb 5, 2006 12:18 AM]
Dear friends,

I am writing you because you knew my grandmother or at least have known how important she is in my life. I am sorry if for some of you this is sudden! Some of you have asked about her and I may have been vague--"she's well, in that she's herself." Herself to the very end. For a long time she fought the cancer fiercely. But when she went, she went like a lady.

This is what I'm told; at the time I was on a plane between Houston and Sacramento. I was trying to sleep, but at some point opened my eyes to see below me Arizona's red rocks and ridges clear in the morning sun. The pilot alerted us to the Grand Canyon in the distance, and there it was, being grand! I couldn't stop watching the landscape, and remember for a moment a feeling of great freedom. This is a story I'd tell her if I could, but maybe I wouldn't need to; maybe it was a tiny glimmer of her own big moment.

Grandmo loved to read obituaries, and think about lives gone by. Now hers is below, not perfect, but I hope adequate. She also loved, and felt guilty pleasure in, bragging about me. Please allow me to turn the tables and brag a little about her, in particular to outline the things that she might have felt too much to include in the local paper.

Grandmo met and married my grandfather during the Japanese occupation of the Philippines. She had a baby son by the time the young family with her mother, my greatgrandmother, were fleeing fighting in their neighborhood during the liberation of Manila. "If you can hear the bombs, they're not coming for you," she once told me. So they didn't hear the one that caused her left leg to be, as my mind phrased it, "slammed stiff by shrapnel." That's a misleading representation of time. In fact she was immobile in a pulley-contraption for a year to stretch her leg so it didn't heal shorter than the other. That wasn't the end of it; her knee was an open wound she re-bandaged daily for eight years.

But in the interim she had two more sons, the last one being my father. Encouraged by my grandfather, she looked for work in the University of Philippines as a piano teacher. While working there, she finished her B.A ., which had been interrupted by the war, and went on, with the help of Fulbright funding, to U. Chicago but eventually transferring to U. Mich. for masters in music libriarianship, and went on, with the help of Rockefeller, to University of London for doctorate in musicology for which she added Sanskrit literacy to her fluency in French and German (besides the Spanish, English, and Tagalog for any educated Filipino of her time). All this with three growing sons and a funny stiff-leg gait (she always remembered her first slip in Chicago snow!)

As much as to her, this is a testament to her network of support in the Philippines, particularly my grandfather who was in many ways her mentor. But the focus here is Grandmo, so along that angle I'll continue. After returning to the Philippines, she eventually became Dean of the College of Music and did lots of great administrative things. Then she retired. Her retirement activities included translating a German dictionary of musical instruments into English--I remember this project, her notes on index cards--and many other things I didn't know about. Once she told me about a project she gave up: translating an essay on music by Adorno. Wendy, Cecilia: that's -our- Adorno of post-structuralist hoo-ha! Probably wise to give up! :)

The obit we're sending to the Stockton Record mentions what she considers her greatest accomplishment. It doesn't mention that she wrote her autobiography (mostly using MS Word!), its last chapter written by hand less than three weeks ago. As vibrant as her own story is, she told me more than once that, getting old, she enjoyed living vicariously through the rest of us. Although you may have never met her, you have been characters in my stories to her, and she loved to hear about you, and sometimes even asked about you. So thank you for being a part of her life, at least in this way.

My eyes passed along the contours of Arizona for some time before I found sleep. When next I opened my eyes, there was Lake Tahoe sparkling beautifully below, framed by the snowy slopes! Not a cloud in my way, it was in perfect display. As we began descent to Sacramento, I felt no fear or foreboding. I only felt immensely blessed. The feeling stuck to me while the other passengers were pulling their bags from the overhead bins, and I heard the news from my dad on the phone. The feeling welled today when my hand was on hers, the hand she liked to tuck under my chin, now cool and ivory in her lap where she lay in the funeral parlor, looking asleep without the familiar rise and fall of breathing. You may be sad to hear this news, but I hope I also convey this feeling: appreciation for all that we have and know now and have had and known before; the blessedness of life for the living.

I'm sure Grandmo sends her love. The obit is below. Also attached is a picture from this last Christmas: Grandmo with my cousin Minette, my sister Martha, and myself.

Love,
Johanna




Ruby Kelley Mangahas—"Mo" to three sons and "Grandmo" to nine grandchildren—lives now in our loving memory.

Born in Manila, Philippines, on 27 May 1916, to Marta Gatbonton and Auther Kelley, she passed away Friday morning, 3 February 2006, at home in Stockton, CA.

She was preceded in death by her sister, Bessie Kelley Poe, and her husband, Philippine writer Federico Mangahas, whose columns of the 1930s-40s she compiled into a posthumous book, considering this her proudest achievement.

In her life, music scholarship and world travel came as dual adventures. Having studied in the US, Europe, and India, she became vital to the University of the Philippines College of Music, leading the creation and expansion of its music library, and bringing classical Asian and Philippine music to the traditionally Western repertoire. One also remembers the night, only two years ago, that she was front-and-center guest of honor at a performance of her grandson's rock band: characteristic of the depth of her support for music and the reach of her inspiration.

She is survived by sons Mahar, Rabel, and Fred Bonami; grandchildren Maria, Kelley, Fabian, Mahar, Angelica, Minette, Robin, Johanna, and Martha; and numerous other family who surrounded her with love all her life, up to her last days.

She spent her retirement years in Stockton but never retired her active mind. She enjoyed crossword puzzles, crime shows, and keeping in touch with family and friends, especially via e-mail.

As she wrote only weeks ago, "it... dawned on me that I had actually lived a rather exciting life"; we know she felt lucky and grateful for this, as we feel lucky and grateful for her.



Christmas 2005