Chapter 1:From War to Wisdom: A Filipino Life Across Two Worlds
I was born in 1934 in the Philippines, during a time when our islands were still under American Commonwealth rule and the world itself stood on the edge of catastrophe. My childhood unfolded in a simpler era of provincial life, where families lived close to the land, neighbors knew one another by name, and education was considered the highest aspiration a typical Filipino family could offer its children. But history intervened early in my life.
When the Japanese invaded the Philippines in 1941, I was only seven years old. Childhood ended abruptly for my generation. We learned quickly that war was not something distant written in newspapers; it was hunger, fear, uncertainty, and survival. I still remember the tension that hung over towns and barrios, the whispers about soldiers, disappearances, bombings, and the constant anxiety that tomorrow might bring more suffering. For five long years, from 1941 to 1946, the Philippines became one of the brutal battlegrounds of the Pacific War.
Like many Filipino children of that era, I grew up too fast.
The liberation of the Philippines by American and Filipino forces in 1945 brought relief, but the country that emerged from war was devastated. Cities were in ruins, schools had been disrupted, and families struggled to rebuild their lives. Yet there was also hope. The war taught us resilience. We had survived.
I entered my high school years from 1947 to 1951, during the fragile rebuilding years of the newly independent Republic of the Philippines. Those were difficult but inspiring times. Resources were scarce, but education was treasured. My generation believed deeply that learning was the pathway not only to personal advancement but also to rebuilding our wounded nation.
In 1951, I entered the University of the Philippines campus in Iloilo. For a young man who had experienced war and deprivation, attending the premier university of the country felt like stepping into a larger world. Those years opened my mind to science, scholarship, and the possibilities beyond provincial life. I studied there from 1951 to 1953 before continuing my education at the University of the Philippines Diliman, where I completed my Bachelor’s Degree in Chemistry in 1955.
Chemistry fascinated me because it revealed the hidden order behind the physical world. In a nation struggling toward modernization, science represented progress, discipline, and hope for the future. After graduation, I remained at the College of Arts and Sciences as a chemistry instructor until 1959. Teaching young Filipinos during those years became one of the formative experiences of my life. The classrooms were modest by today’s standards, but the students were eager and idealistic. We believed education could transform lives.
Yet I also knew that if I wished to grow further as a scientist, I needed advanced training abroad. America, which had once entered my childhood through war, would now enter my life through education.
In late 1959, I left the Philippines to pursue doctoral studies in Pharmaceutical Chemistry at the University of Illinois Medical Center in Chicago. For a young Filipino scholar arriving in the United States during that era, the transition was profound. Chicago was a world away from the tropical islands of my youth - colder in climate, faster in pace, and vastly different in culture. But science became a universal language that bridged continents and backgrounds.
Graduate school was demanding. Long hours in laboratories, research, teaching responsibilities, and the pressures of academic competition tested my endurance. But the hardships of wartime childhood had already taught me perseverance. Compared to surviving war, the challenges of research seemed conquerable.
In 1964, I completed my Ph.D. in Pharmaceutical Chemistry. I was offered an Assistant Professorship at the College of Pharmacy, UP Diliman. I asked for transportation money to return to the Philippines. I was refused, so I decided to look for a job here in the US.
Looking back now, I sometimes marvel at the distance traveled in a single lifetime: from a Filipino boy hiding from the uncertainties of war to a scientist earning a doctorate in America. My journey was not extraordinary because of personal brilliance alone. It was made possible by parents who valued education, teachers who encouraged me, institutions that opened doors, and a generation of Filipinos determined to rise from the ashes of war.
Today, younger generations live in a world of smartphones, artificial intelligence, and instant global communication. It is difficult for them to imagine a childhood shaped by occupation, rationed food, handwritten letters, kerosene lamps, and classrooms recovering from wartime destruction. Yet those experiences formed the values that guided my life: discipline, gratitude, resilience, and faith in education.
My story is only one among many Filipinos of my generation. We were children of war who became builders of peace. We crossed oceans not merely to seek personal success, but to prove that a young boy from the Philippines could stand shoulder to shoulder with the scholars of the world.
And perhaps that remains the greatest lesson of my life: history may shape the circumstances of our birth, but education and perseverance can shape the destiny of our lives.
Chapter 2: Building a Life in America: Laboratories, Family, and New Beginnings
When I received my Ph.D. in Pharmaceutical Chemistry from the University of Illinois Medical Center in 1964, I stood at the threshold of a new chapter in my life. I had arrived in America as a young Filipino graduate student carrying ambition, determination, and the hopes of my family back home. Now, armed with a doctorate and advanced scientific training, I was ready to begin my professional career.
My first industrial position in the United States was with the agricultural research facility of Chemagro Corporation in Kansas City, Missouri, a subsidiary of the German pharmaceutical giant Bayer, Corp. There, I worked as a laboratory chemist developing analytical methods for detecting pesticide residues in plant and animal tissues. In the 1960s, agricultural science was rapidly evolving, and the need for precise chemical analysis was becoming increasingly important for food safety and environmental monitoring.
For a scientist trained in chemistry and pharmaceutical research, the work was intellectually stimulating. Long hours in the laboratory became part of daily life as we refined analytical techniques and contributed to the growing field of agricultural chemistry. Yet outside the laboratory, life in the American Midwest presented challenges I had not fully anticipated.
By then, my wife and I were raising four young children. We were building not merely careers, but an immigrant family’s future in America. Kansas City offered opportunity, stability, and a good livelihood, but it was also a place where racial attitudes during that era could still be painfully narrow. Because of my brown skin and Filipino heritage, our family experienced subtle but unmistakable forms of discrimination. It was not always open hostility; often it came through exclusion, suspicious glances, or the quiet reminder that we were viewed as outsiders.
I later described one particular incident in detail in one of my blogs because it revealed an important truth about immigrant life in America during the 1960s. Even highly educated professionals could not fully escape prejudice. Degrees and professional titles sometimes mattered less than the color of one’s skin. Still, my wife and I endured those experiences with dignity. We had survived war, crossed oceans, and rebuilt our lives from modest beginnings. We were not about to surrender to ignorance.
After five years in Kansas City, I longed for a warmer climate and a different environment for my growing family. California, with its diversity and expanding scientific industries, seemed full of promise. We relocated to Modesto, California, where I joined Shell Development Company Agricultural Research.
Those years in Modesto became some of the happiest and most socially fulfilling years of our family life. Unlike the harsher social climate we sometimes felt in Missouri, Modesto offered a more relaxed and welcoming atmosphere. The town still retained its small-community charm in the late 1960s. Our family embraced the amenities of country-club life- playing tennis, enjoying bridge games with friends, and sharing dinners with colleagues and neighbors. For immigrants who had worked hard for every step forward, these moments felt like small victories of belonging.
My wife and I also recognized the importance of community among Filipino immigrants. At that time, the Filipino-American population in the Central Valley was still relatively small, and many families longed for cultural connection. Together, we founded the first Filipino-American Association of Stanislaus County, helping create a social and cultural network for fellow Filipinos adjusting to life in America. Looking back, I realize those efforts were about more than social gatherings. We were building identity, solidarity, and visibility for Filipino-Americans in a rapidly changing California. In 1972, we become US citizens.
One memorable highlight of our Modesto years was meeting the Gallo family, founders of the legendary E. & J. Gallo Winery. In those days, the Gallos were already symbols of California entrepreneurship and success. Encounters like that reminded me how America, despite its imperfections, remained a land where ambition and hard work could still create remarkable achievements.
But corporate America is often shaped by forces beyond the control of individual workers. In 1970, when the Shell research facility relocated to Texas, our family once again faced a major transition. Rather than uproot ourselves to another unfamiliar region, we decided to remain in California and move to the East Bay area.
We settled in Pinole, California, at a time when the Bay Area itself was undergoing tremendous social and economic transformation. My first position there was with Stauffer Chemical Company in Richmond, where I continued working as a chemist specializing in analytical research on pesticide residues. The work was familiar territory by then. Years of experience had made me an expert in a highly specialized scientific field. My title was Principal Research Chemist-the highest research title one can attained without supervisory duties.
For twelve years, Stauffer Chemicals provided professional stability for my family. Our children continued to grow, adapt, and flourish as Americans while still retaining their Filipino roots. Yet once again, the unpredictability of industrial research reshaped my career. The Richmond facility eventually closed, another reminder that even dedicated employees are vulnerable to corporate restructuring and economic change.
Fortunately, I was able to secure a similar position at Chevron Corporation Agricultural Research, continuing the same analytical work I had performed throughout much of my professional life. By then, I had spent decades studying the detection and behavior of pesticide residues in agricultural systems. Science had become not merely my profession but my lifelong discipline.
Then history repeated itself yet again.
After nearly five years, the Chevron research facility also closed. Once more, I found myself searching for employment, confronting the uncertainty that so many older workers eventually face. By then, I had already weathered war, immigration, racial prejudice, corporate closures, and repeated geographic upheavals. Reinvention had become part of my life story.
Looking back now, I realize that my American journey was never a straight line upward. It was a series of adjustments, disappointments, achievements, and new beginnings. Each move from Chicago to Kansas City, from Missouri to Modesto, from Modesto to the East Bay represented not only a career transition but also another chapter in the story of an immigrant family trying to build permanence in a constantly changing world.
Through it all, science gave me purpose, family gave me strength, and resilience carried me forward.
Chapter 3: From Corporate Uncertainty to Public Service and Purpose
When I lost my job at Chevron in 1990, I made one of the most important decisions of my life. I decided that I would never again work in private industry. After experiencing firsthand the instability of corporate employment, I longed for something more secure and meaningful. At that stage of my life, the Federal Civil Service system offered exactly that- stability, purpose, and the opportunity to continue using my scientific training in service to the public.
Fortunately, I was hired almost immediately by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration as a GS-13 Review Chemist at the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research, Office of New Drugs Chemistry, Division of Anti-Infective Drug Products. Looking back now, those 12 years from 1990 to 2002 became the most challenging and rewarding period of my professional career.
I was fortunate to have an excellent mentor at the FDA, someone who recognized my abilities and guided my advancement. In only four years, I was promoted to GS-14 Review Chemist with specialization in anti-malarial, anti-fungal, and anti-parasitic drug products. My scientific background in analytical chemistry and pharmaceutical manufacturing became invaluable in evaluating the Chemistry, Manufacturing, and Control (CMC) requirements for complex drug applications.
By 1998, I was promoted again to Chemistry Team Leader, supervising six Ph.D. review chemists. I carried the responsibility for overseeing the chemistry and manufacturing evaluation of anti-infective drug products - antibiotics, antifungals, and related therapies before they could receive approval for the American market. It was work that required both scientific rigor and a deep sense of public responsibility. Every decision potentially affected the lives of thousands, sometimes millions, of patients.
One of the defining moments of my FDA career came during the tragic terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the destruction of the World Trade Center. Amid the national crisis, two drug products under my area of responsibility - Sulfamylon cream and silver sulfadiazine ointment became urgently needed for the treatment of burn victims injured during the attacks. I still remember the intensity and urgency of those days. Scientific work suddenly became very personal and immediate. In moments of national tragedy, one realizes that behind every pharmaceutical product are real human lives depending upon them. I later described this experience in detail in one of my earlier blog posts.
In 2002, when I turned 68 years old, I retired and returned to California. After decades of professional work, I entered a completely new chapter of life. Today, I live in an active senior community, where I have now resided for nearly three years. Life has slowed in some ways, but it has also deepened.
Since my beloved wife, Macrine, for more than 63 years passed away in 2020, and my youngest son David E. passing at a young age in 2022, I have lived alone, although I am blessed with visits from my three children. Their presence reminds me that while careers eventually end, family remains the true anchor of our lives.
Retirement for me has never meant inactivity. Since 2009, I have continued writing my daily blogs, reflecting on science, aging, culture, family, and the changing world around us. Writing keeps my mind active and gives meaning to my days. It allows me to leave behind small pieces of wisdom and memory for future generations.
My weekly routine today would probably surprise many younger people who assume old age means decline and isolation. I play bridge and Mahjong five days a week. These games sharpen the mind and sustain social connections. I receive a weekly whole-body massage, something I deeply appreciate at this stage of life. Most importantly, I wake up every morning grateful simply to still be alive.
At my age, one learns that happiness is not found in wealth, titles, or prestige alone. Real contentment comes from resilience, purpose, relationships, and attitude. I have experienced discrimination, job loss, professional pressure, national tragedy, personal grief, and the inevitable losses that come with aging. Yet through all of it, I have tried to maintain a positive outlook.
Life has not always been easy. But it has been meaningful. And for that, I remain profoundly grateful.
Meanwhile, My Reel Of the Day: A Typical Provincial Wedding in the Philippines. The Venue was Our ( Macrine and I) Chateau Du Mer Beach Resort and Conference Center, Boac, Marinduque. This beach house was our proudest accomplishment during our married life for over 63 years. This was also our Vacation and retirement home, we built after our retirement. Tears of joy and pleasant memories, as I viewed this 6 minute wedding ceremony in Tagalog.
https://www.facebook.com/reel/2322644764691231
Wedding Ceremony in Our Front Yard- Amoingon Beach, Boac
My Life story will not be Complete without Photos of "Dave and Macrine's Folly"- Our Chateau Du Mer Beach Resort
Finally, Photos of Chateau Du Mer, Boac, Marinduque, Philippines
The Beach House
The Main House, Driveway, Front Gate /Sign and Main House Front Yard
The Conference Hall and Center
Advertising Brochure and Logo
The Main House, the Conference Hall and the Beach House-Chateau Du Mer Beach Resort and Conference Center- 1996. The Beach House is gone but the Main House and Conference Hall are still standing and maintained by my caretaker in Marinduque as of this writing date.
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