Saturday, May 5, 2007

Magdalena Vidal Crosby Strong

On the EWTN interview Doug Keck asked me the reason for using a pen name and I replied it was in honor of my grandmother. Her birthday is coming up this month, so I am reviving this old post about her. As a child I used to say to her, "Grandma, tell me about your life." Maria Magdalena Vidal was born on May 25, 1904 on the island of Cebu in the Philippines. Her great- grandfather, Kiamko, was Chinese. She always told us that he was a merchant from Shanghai, but we found out many years later that actually he was a notorious pirate. After amassing a fortune through pillage, Kiamko eventually settled down on vast estates in the Philippines. He married a lady of Spanish-Malaysian blood, descended from one of Magellan's comrades who had settled in the islands in the sixteenth century. Kiamko's son, Alejandro Kiamko, inherited what had become an empire of fishing and sugar cane which he ruled like an oriental despot. His daughter, my grandmother's mother, was Mamerta Philomena Kiamko, an exotic beauty with dark skin and chiselled features. Mamerta and her sisters would assist at Mass in their floor-length mantillas made of pineapple fiber. In the Philippines, the women sat on one side of the church and the men on the other. In spite of the segregation, Mamerta once caught the glance of a poor young Spaniard, Jaime Vidal. Jaime was from Barcelona in Catalonia, and was working as an accountant in his uncle's cigarette factory. He was a descendant of the Sephardic Jews of Aragon, the conversos. When his eyes met Mamerta's they both fell in love. Jaime came to her home and serenaded her under her window with his guitar. Alejandro disapproved of him as a suitor due to his lack of fortune, and he and his sons would pour buckets of water on Jaime's head. Jaime and Mamerta eloped. She incurred her father's wrath; he crossed her out of the family Bible. It was as if she had never been born, although she and Jaime were united in holy wedlock and had nothing to be ashamed of. I found out later that the Chinese side of her family did not approve of their daughters marrying non-Chinese. Years later, when she was a widow and in need of assistance, her family would not help her. They really treated her as if she had died. Mamerta and Jaime had a son, Francisco. When she was pregnant a second time there were political problems in the islands and they decided to relocate to Spain. Jaime went first to Spain to prepare a home for them, but he was killed in a riding accident. Mamerta, abandoned by her family, was at a total loss. She gave birth to my grandmother in May 1904. Unprotected, she was kidnapped and forced to marry a Filipino man whose name we do not know. He was cruel and beat Mamerta, and baby Magdalena as well. By the time Magdalena was three years old she was ill, and Mamerta feared for her life. She heard of an orphanage for mixed race children called the House of the Holy Child run by American missionaries. She took her little girl there and begged them to take care of her. The House of the Holy Child was operated by the Anglican Church under the auspices of a former Boston socialite, Frances Crosby. She was a maiden-lady with no children of her own. She was enchanted by Magdalena and raised her as her own daughter, giving her the last name of "Crosby." Magdalena was baptized a Catholic but her "godmother," as she called Miss Frances, raised her as a high Anglican. Frances later married an Anglican clergyman, Father Barter. They were both devoted to my grandmother, raising her as a proper young lady. Magdalena was a bright and precocious child and wanted to be a teacher. She began teaching as early as age fourteen, and by age twenty had her teaching certificate. It was then she met my grandfather, Herman Strong, from Alabama. He had a fiancée back in the States but when he became enamored of my grandmother he broke his engagement. Her foster mother did not approve of Herman because he was a Baptist, so Herman and Magdalena eloped. They had four children and the youngest was my mother. When the Japanese invaded the Philippines in 1942 my grandfather, being an American citizen, was sent to Santo Tomas concentration camp in Manila. My grandmother made ends meet by tutoring the daughters of the future president of the Philippines, Manuel Quezon. My grandmother hid Filipino guerrilla soldiers in her attic, risking death since the Japanese made frequent house searches. When the Americans came to liberate the Philippines, there were massacres in the streets of Manila. My grandmother knew they had to escape. She crawled through the mud with her children, trying to avoid land mines, to hide in a burnt out house in a district where the Japanese had already been. They almost starved to death, but were eventually reunited with my grandfather and returned to his family home in Alabama. The strain of the war had so taken its toll upon my grandparents. Their marriage failed and they divorced in the late forties. My grandmother returned to teaching. She was always a devoted Anglican and never married again. She eventually moved to Seattle, Washington which she said reminded her of Baguio. She would spend the summers with us in Maryland, and as she crocheted, she would tell me about her life. A stroke destroyed her health and she had to move to a nursing home. She died on November 12, 1987. She is one of the most beloved people of my life, whose influence upon me has no measure. Share

6 comments:

Ann Murray said...

A very beautiful face indeed, quite enchanting. I'm sure Elena, you feel blessed that you were able to sit at her knee so to speak. Her stories must have fascinated your imagination and I'm sure in no small way helped to shape your literary style.

elena maria vidal said...

Thank you, Veritas. She had a lot of sparkle, indeed. She was a voracious reader and quite eloquent. (She said she had some Irish blood, too.) Yes, her manner of story-telling certainly shaped my literary style.

Ann Murray said...

I knew there was Irish blood there somewhere, I just knew it!

elena maria vidal said...

Oh, yes, and of course my other grandmother was pure Irish. I will have an article about her soon.

Rachi said...

wow. thankyou for sharing that with us.
it's good to be reminded of the struggles many before us faced through war and other atrocities. sometimes we can take what we have for granted...

my great-grandma died only a few months ago, I have been thinking of posting some of her story, but it wont be for a while....

thanks also for your prayers
God Bless

elena maria vidal said...

You are welcome, Rachi, and thanks to you, dear. I think that family history is important and should be recorded since it is all part of the pattern of our own lives....