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99 years ago, the Manila carnival commercial and industrial fair, would run from February 12th to 27th, 1927.

Representing Marinduque at the carnival was Mercedes de Jesus, as Miss Marinduque. Some of the photos below have been shared before however today I have added three more, with all the other contestants overlayed on a flag, her wedding day photo and later in life. Also, I’m sharing the wonderful story of her life written by her granddaughter Kathleen Burkhalter.

September 24, 2009 by Kathleen Burkhalter

My grandmother, Mercedes Verdote de Jesus Joaquin was born on the Feast of Our Lady of Mercy, Nuestra Senora de Los Mercedes. September 24, 1911 and died on January 11, 1966.

She married my grandfather when she was 18, and I have read in my grandfather’s letters that when they were engaged, they went to give thanksgiving and devote themselves to the new beloved saint of that era, St. Therese of Lisieux, who was proclaimed Patroness of the Missions.

Lola grew up in Gasan, Marinduque. Her mother, Gavina Verdote was the daughter of a Spaniard who married into coconut land. In the Philippines, coconuts are life. You can eat them, build houses with them, drink their sweet milk. Her father, Mariano de Jesus was a landowner from the province of Batangas, famous for cattle and coffee.

(my note here: The Verdote above was the wife of the “Berdote” mentioned as a guide to the famous anthropologist Alfred Marche when he was in Gasan and was Mercedes’ great great grandfather)

I am the current custodian of an ancient cloisonne Chinese pot that came from my grandmother’s home in Marinduque. In the period after the War ended, Lolo and Lola brought my mother and her brothers and sisters to Marinduque to wait for things to normalize as the country’s infrastructure was in shambles. Marinduque was an island far from the devastation of Baguio and Manila, which was second only to Dresden in destruction.

My Lola’s ancestral home had floors made of wide planks of narra wood (Philippines mahogany) and faced the ocean. Deep in a Massachusetts winter I think about how the sun must have come through the coconut trees, and the deep tropical quiet that sings of deep peace that arrived every afternoon. Which brings me back to the pot. My mother said that Lola was peeling moss off a pot that was on the steps of the old house. She found enamel under it that revealed a cloisonne pattern with the face of a dog. We have surmised that it came from the China trade and slept on the stairs of the old house for years until Lola woke it from its slumber.

Lola was an elegant and beautiful lady with an extreme gifts of hospitality. She could provide abundance for guests, and her parties were legendary. She was educated in Manila under Spanish nuns. Etiquette was more formal in her era, and she learned how to host formal dinner parties for dignitaries. All of Baguio looked forward to the parties she gave. I take pride and comfort in the fact that she was a real beauty queen, and for good reason. Just look at her picture. How can someone emerge from World War II, with all its horror, losing a baby, going through carpet bombings and have a face as radiant as that? I admire her deeply. It must have been supernatural grace. Although she died young, she and my grandfather left a legacy of real religious faith and devotion. The family was consecrated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus before the war, and the promises of the Sacred Heart have held true.

She had a backbone of steel. Her jewelry and culinary abilities fed her family in the starving days of the war. She bartered jewelry for food and went into the catering business wherever she landed. She knew how to make cheese, cream and butter. She knew how to influence people and used her immense social ability to save lives and sway authority in her favor. She thought on her feet and never caved in, conquered by circumstance, no matter how cruel. My Auntie Mary Anne was born during the war and at the war’s end had the diagnosis of extreme malnutrition without hope of recovery. Lola’s sheer will fed milk into that baby drop by drop even though the American doctors said the child was too far gone. I hope I have some of that steel.

I remember her as being electric, full of excitement and motion. I was a timid watcher of a child, preferring to take things in and observe them. She was always planning a new project that would benefit her family. She died so young.

I was nine years old the day she died. My Daddy came into my bedroom to tell us that “God has taken your Lola home to heaven.” Then he led us to Mama to hug her and Mama was looking stricken at her chair on the screened in porch. I could not imagine what it would be to lose a mother. I couldn’t imagine Lolo without Lola. They loved each other forever.

After the sad announcement, the Filipino customs and traditions went into motion and we prepared to go to Manila for the funeral.

I had never been to a funeral before, had never seen a dead person. I was afraid. The entire memory is poetic now. The family in black, my mother and aunties draped in the old fashioned mourning veils. Lolo not leaving the side of the coffin. The masses, the incense. The gravity of goodbye. I was taking it all in. My Daddy took me aside and asked me if I wanted to say goodbye. I said no. I was scared. He told me Lola looked like she was sleeping. I still shook my head. Then Daddy suddenly lifted me up and I saw Lola’s hands holding her rosary and I was not scared anymore. So I tiptoed up to the coffin and indeed, she looked like she was sleeping, except she was completely, utterly, still. I looked at her pretty face and saw the little freckles that scattered across her nose. She was lovely. Goodbye, Lola. Then I took my place back in the pew and the prayers went on. At the time the coffin was to be closed there was a heartbreaking tsunami of sorrow that came from Lolo and Lola’s sister, Aunty Cely. I was swept away by the drama. My heart cracked when I saw Lolo looking like a broken man, and my mother and aunties and uncles collapsing into each other in huge sobs. Remember this, I told my nine year old self. Remember this no matter what. And I have.

Then came the burial in a niche in the garden of an old Spanish Church. The entire family retreated to the house of my Aunty Lynne’s family for the reception and there were nine days of prayer as is the Filipino custom. Cards and flowers and spiritual bouquets arrived from all over.

At the time Lola died, her great project, Cresta Ola Beach Resort was is full motion. Just the previous Christmas, we all had gone to the beach for the holidays and we had witnessed a grand lady in her grand home preparing for a grand party. To me she was Lola, but I was always aware that the sea parted when she walked into a room. She was beautiful without being arrogant, she was regal without being haughty, she was friendly but not familiar. She spoke Spanish and Tagalog and English. There isn’t much left of a record of her in terms of her own letters, but there are a few in the collections left by my grandfather. They are sweet, always planning a new project, thinking of her five children. She was an unfettered dreamer and optimist.

When my sister was sick with cancer, we’d often talk about how Lolo and Lola prayed for everything. At the time we were praying nonstop for Lizzie’s cancer recovery. There were some business issues in my own family that needed supernatural help. “Why don’t you pray about them?” Lizzie said, “That is what Lola would do.” And so we have since then, to our benefit.

When my first child was born, a daughter, the obvious name was Mercy. Which is interesting because there is a Puritan tradition of naming children after virtues, hence, Faith, Hope, Prudence in New England family trees. But Mercy to us is always Lola – Mercedes. Named after Our Lady of Mercy. The order of Our Lady of Mercy – the Mercederians- was started by St. Peter Nolasco whose charism was extreme charity. They offered themselves as ransom to the Moors in exchange for Christian captives.

On the island of Marinduque, the cathedral is named after Our Lady of Mercy in the name of Our Lady of Biglang Awa, which means Sudden Mercy. I love this title because it captures the essence of a maternal heart. It reminds me of Lola, who only said yes if she had the means, and could find a way to the means with her creativity and deep faith. She would say yes with gusto. How wonderful to have a mother like that. I try to remember that as I sit in midlife with children growing up every year. Say yes if you can, try to find a way to help if you can’t. Be like Lola.