I was born to Antonio Zumel and Basilisa (Bessie) de Leon in Laoag City, Ilocos Norte on Aug. 10, 1932. My father was a lawyer while my mother used to be a schoolteacher. I am the second of their six children — three boys and three girls. My father had a relatively good law practice and could afford to send us to a private school, the Holy Ghost Academy in Laoag.

My father, having come from a family of modest means, had to work his way through law school in Manila. Early in our lives, our parents taught us the virtues of honesty and integrity. They were also against extravagance of any kind. "Don't allow other people to oppress you, but don't oppress other people either," was a solemn exhortation we often heard at home. Beneath my father's stern countenance was a kind heart. Traveling along a barrio road in his car on his way to town, he would pack up old peasants hiking to the market with their heavy load of vegetables and fowl.

Both my parents were disciplinarians, true believers in the maxim that to spare the rod is to spoil the child. When we were kids, I used to be administered the belt whenever my younger brother Yob (Jose Maria Carlos) and I played hookey from our violin lessons for some length of time. (My eldest sister Nena [Maria Luisa] studied the piano). Sa ilog kami naglalagi ng utol kong si Yob at mga kabarkada namin. Siyanga pala, si Yob ay naging "Jim" nang pumasok siya sa PMA. Ngayo'y isang heneral siya sa AFP. (My brother Yob and I would hang out with friends at the river. By the way, Yob became "Jim" when he entered the Philippine Military Academy. He is now a general of the Armed Forces of the Philippines.)

Days of hardhip

The family's livelihood plummeted when my father died in 1945. Talagang bumagsak. (Really plummeted.) My widowed mother had a trying and desperate time raising the six of us. She had to sell the few pieces of jewelry she had, and soon was disposing of the few pieces of land my father had bought out of his earnings as a lawyer.

My sister Nena who had studied at St. Scholastica's College now had to go to work as a clerk to support her studies. Another sister, Charito (Rosario Angeles), was just a little girl when she went to stay with a childless aunt and uncle in Baguio City. They cherished her as their own. In 1947, when I was not quite 15, I went to stay with a spinster aunt who ran a boarding house in Manila. I was her pet. I matriculated at the Far Eastern University high school. Later, my mother's load was lightened when Yob passed the PMA entrance examination. Despite the adversities — or probably because of them — my brother and two sisters studied hard. Yob graduated first captain or "baron" of PMA Class '59. Both my sisters graduated magna cum laude, Nena at the University of Sto. Tomas in Manila and Charito at the St. Louis University in Baguio. I cannot say the same of myself, my youngest brother Danding (Eduardo) and our bunso Bobbie (Ma. Consuelo); we were average. Danding, known as Eddie among his friends in Manila, did manage to become a CPA, while Bobbie and I just settled for the "university of hard knocks."

Life continued to be difficult for me in Manila. Rarely did I have baon going to school, and I absolutely rejoiced whenever a favorite uncle of mine called at the house now and then and slipped P5 or P10 into my pocket. This uncle of mine was patron, or pilot, of the water taxi — a launch shuttling from shore to ship and from ship to shore — near the Manila Hotel.

I soon had the satisfaction of earning money of my own as a "semi-proletariat," as we say it in the movement. At one time, I worked as a casual laborer at a dump for war surplus equipment near UP in Diliman. At another time, my uncle took me in as his assistant in his water taxi. Mahirap din ang buhay sa pier. (Life at the pier was also hard.) I would work all of 24 hours in one day, take a break the following day, then work 24 hours again. Magulo sa pier. Madalas ang away sa pagitan ng mga lasing na marino. Kung minsan ang kaaway nila ay mga taga-Philippine Navy na tumatambay doon. Nagtatago ako sa lantsa kapag nagliliparan ang mga bote. (Troubles abounded at the pier. Drinking sessions by the marines always ended up with fights. Sometimes they would battle it out with members of the Philippine Navy stationed there. The boats were my hiding place every time bottles started flying.)

Joining a newspaper

My aunt's boarding house was not doing well by 1949. I was about to stop schooling and return to the province when I got a lucky break. As it turned out, my uncle Salvador Peña was the personnel manager of the Philippines Herald which was about to resume publication (it had been closed by the Japanese occupation forces for the duration of World War II). The paper was owned by Don Vicente Madrigal, a senator.

My uncle had me called and said he had a job for me. Halos mapalundag ako sa tuwa. (I almost jumped for joy.) There was an opening for a copyboy, or "printer's devil" (gofer), in the newsroom. Not quite 17, I hurried to the City Hall, lied about my age and got a cedula. I worked in the day and went to school in the evening, at the Lyceum of the Philippines which was within spitting distance from the office.

I considered myself a lucky boy indeed, and went about my work with unbounded enthusiasm. I was working — and learning — under such crackerjack editors, copyreaders and reporters as Joe Lansang, Osi Abad Santos, Caring Nuguid, "Tec" Tecechian, "Judge" Felix Gonzalez, Charlie Nivera, Nitoy Quesada, Doroy Valencia, Mac Vicencio, Teddy Benigno, Larry Vibal, Henry Quema, Chitang Nakpil, Consuelo Grau Abaya, Naning Querol, and many others. Our publisher was Modesto Farolan, a respected newsman even in prewar days.

I learned a lot about newspapering right at the newsroom, and from avidly reading a couple of books on journalism that I bought. Most supportive of me were Caring Nuguid and "Tec" who regaled me with stories about former copyboys who had gone on to become good journalists.