Ireneo "Eric" Olavides
He never relished the recognition as Grandmaster in the book The Masters of Arnis, Kali and Eskrima by the late Edgar G. Sulite. In the deference to the spirit of the founder of Lameco Eskrima International, he cannot accept this title not for lack of credentials but due to the apparent absence of standardized and rigid criteria in the selection of the title Grandmaster. As a college instructor, he prefers to be called simply Teacher Eric Olavides. The heir apparent of GM Jose D. Caballero's De Campo 1-2-3 Orihinal (now renamed simply as De Campo JDC-IO) has always maintained that he is not a Grandmaster of Eskrima.
A co-employee once revised his wedding invitation for omitting CPA (Certified Public Accountant) before the name of one of the godfathers who was among the list of principal sponsors consisting of Doctors, Engineers and Attorneys. Could this be the reason why some CPAs are also lawyers at same time? Just imagine how ludicrous it would sound if someone is introduced as: "CPA Pacuribut, I would like you to meet Dr. Sumalpong"! We Filipinos developed a fondness for titles attached to our names. It is a status symbol; it gives prestige and pride to our families. It is our ticket to power and a privileged life in a country where these licensed profession can assure us of the continued exploitation of the poor and the ignorant. In this country, nobody wants to be called Farmer Pedro.
We go to great lengths just to acquire these licenses even if it means going beyond the bounds of decency and fair play. We cheat and bribe PRC officials to pass the Board and Bar exams. Consequently, our country has remained backwards because of the abundance of Attorneys, Doctors, and Generals. Sadly, the state of the Filipino Martial Arts today is a reflection of the crab mentality of the Filipino and there is an urgent need for it to be exorcised from title hungry self-styled experts. A more apt description of this atrocious misuse of the highest rank in FMA can be found in the home page of one of the Balintawak Cuentada websites, to quote: "If the grandmasters fought to their deaths, then why are there still so many alive today!"
Kendo's highest rank of Hachi-dan is one of the most difficult to attain in any martial arts discipline, and for those exemplary candidates that hurdled the grueling tests, it took a lifetime. To be elevated to this highly revered rank in the Kendo hierarchy requires the discipline and patience of a monk and the mental and physical prowess that only a few extraordinary individuals can cultivate to perfection. The Filipino Martial Arts can never closely emulate this sophisticated and highly developed selection process because of the diversity of styles. Moreover, the quixotic endeavor of unifying the more than a hundred systems could only be more detrimental to the Filipino Martial Arts in general. However, it is worthy of consideration that an umbrella organization with an altruistic agenda would draft a canon that will be applicable to all disciplines, a selection process that is beyond reproach and an evaluation committee composed of highly esteemed figures in the Filipino Martial Arts.
Notwithstanding his personal conviction on this issue, Olavides recognizes that there are a few icons of FMA living and dead that deserve the title Grandmaster and to name a few, his mentor Jose D. Caballero, Antonio Ilustrisimo, Floro Villabrille, Venancio "Anciong" Bacon, Ciriaco "Cacoy" Canete, Leo Giron, Felicisimo Dizon, Angel Cabales, Leo Gaje, Johnny Chiuten, Timoteo Maranga and Filemon Caburnay. He is just a teacher and scholar of the Filipino Martial Arts, no more no less.
Eric as people close to him fondly call, is the antithesis of the eskrimador stereotype. Until this day he remains opposed to being called a Grandmaster. A very amiable, humble and a God-fearing person, Eric has remained reclusive for the past ten years and shared his art to only a handful of close acquaintances, among them was the late Edgar G. Sulite. His long hibernation from the martial arts scene was not a matter of choice but rather due to other personal commitments, occupational constraints and the environment that was not conducive to propagating De Campo 1-2-3 Orihinal. He has already retired from teaching Law Enforcement Subjects and Defensive Tactics at the College of Criminology of Misamis University.
He was only 13 years old in 1957 when he took his first eskrima lessons from his Uncle Martiniano Lumacang. In 1964 he continued his studies under Billy C. Baaclo . His long hard apprenticeship with Grandmaster Jose D. Caballero began in 1968. Curious for knowledge of other eskrima styles, he took an extensive one on one course in Doce Pares under Fernando Candawan. While studying Doce Pares, he spent endless hours developing long-range techniques to counter the "bull-charging" close quarters fighting style of Candawan. Eric described sparring with Candawan: "He was a brawler and focused with only one thing once you cross sticks: that is to charge close quarters at the expense of absorbing blows and immediately execute a disarm." Eric also holds a 1st Dan Blackbelt in Shorin-Ryu, and for a while also studied Kok Sut with former college classmate and confidante Antonio R. Ching. A consummate martial artist with an open mind, he tirelessly researched and studied other fighting disciplines and philosophies.
Although he has modified and improved a large bulk of the striking mechanics of GM Caballero's method, Eric, in all humility, despite clamor from followers, refused to adopt another name and brand it as his own invention. With all due respects to the spirit GM Caballero, Fernando Candawan and Doce Pares, he is against putting any label to his style of eskrima. Eventually, Eric agreed to change the name of De Campo on one condition: it will only be named after the inventor. Thus as his ultimate tribute to the Grandmaster, the method is now renamed simply as De Campo JDC-IO. With great hesitation he finally relented to have his initials attached to the acronym JDC-IO which means Jose D. Caballero and Ireneo Olavides. For him, "style" is a unique individual character, and it can never be institutionalized or standardized. The vicious cycle has to end somewhere and giving due recognition, perpetuating and developing the original methods of the old grandmasters is the greatest achievement of a mature martial artist and gentleman. Until now he maintains that he is not worthy of the title Grandmaster. It is bestowed only to a few icons of the Filipino Martial Arts like and the other great champions and innovators of our ancestors warrior arts. For all his humility and principles he is truly a great eskrimador and scholar of the Filipino Martial Arts.
Manong Eric Olavides: His Story in His Own Words
I am Ireneo Olavides, the current head of the Eskrima de Campo system which I learned from my mentor, Manong Jose D. Caballero. Don’t call me master. My students just call me Manong Eric.
I was introduced to eskrima by my uncle, Martiniano Lumacang, in 1957. I was 13 yrs old then. My uncle was a farmer from barrio Buenavista near Oroquita City, Misamis in Mindanao. During my initiation period, my uncle probed if I were virtuous enough to qualify as a student. I had to display humility, courage, endurance, patience, perseverance and other virtues.
Our training was usually at night, inside his house that was lighted by a kerosene lamp. I was his only student. My uncle emphasized “natural” movements. He would simulate an attack and I had to respond with a "natural" reaction. If my counter did not appear natural to him, he would demonstrate how it should have been done. Our training can be described as a series of offensive-defensive maneuvers. It consisted of blocks and strikes, counterblocks and counterstrikes, and evasion techniques. We practiced slowly at first, then gradually built up speed until I began to move instinctively. My uncle called this method “depensa natural”.
I was trained to treat each training session as a simulated combat. His style, which was blade-oriented, was found in Bohol, Eastern Visayas. I trained with him for three summers. Then he died in 1960 due to an illness. Although I was too young to grasp the full meaning of the art, my experience with uncle opened a door for me to the world of eskrima.
Sometime in 1965, a friend introduced me to Billy Baaclo. I went to his house and asked him to teach me. And he did. We trained inside his house and nobody was allowed to watch. He was an exacting teacher.
He lived in the pier area in Ozamis City. Billy Baaclo was a World War II veteran whose USAFFE unit was attached to the US marine division in Bukidnon. During the Japanese occupation, he was a member of the guerilla force under Colonel Fertig. After the war, he worked in different trades; as a carpenter, police detective, clerk, bodyguard and finally a defense tactics instructor at the College of Criminology, Misamis university. He also gave private lessons in eskrima.
Billy Baaclo was a very humble man. He never talked about his exploits during the war. I only heard stories about him from the others. He was friendly and kind, but when provoked, he would simply say, “Try me if you will.” He was a good role model for the martial arts. He taught me for more than two years in the blade and stick art. He died about three years ago.
In 1968, a friend told me that I should check out another eskrima expert named Jose Caballero. My friend urged me to learn the man’s style, De Campo 1-2-3 Orihinal. Naturally, I inquired around before I sought him out. I got two conflicting stories about the man. People who knew him well in his younger years said he was an exceptionally skillful eskrimador who had beaten a dozen well-known masters in juego todo matches. However, the feedback from his former students was negative. They advised me to learn from other teachers.
I was intrigued. How could Jose Caballero be so renowned as a fighter but none of his students were? There was only one way to find out. I went to Manong Jose and asked to be accepted as a student. He agreed to teach me the “whole course” for P150.00. I paid, and he immediately brought me to his backyard and started giving me lessons in the basics.
Seven months passed. Then Manong Jose told me that I was done. He told me I was already a De Campo eskrimador. Inwardly, I was bothered. I felt that I had not learned as much as I could have. In a real fight, I thought that my previous lessons from my other teachers would have served me better than the techniques of De Campo. I concluded that Manong Jose was holding back his best fighting techniques from his students. I became determined to ferret out his secrets.
I became a regular visitor of Manong Jose on weekends. I brought bread, tsokolate bars for sikwate and other food to share with Manong Jose and his family. Our conversations inevitably steered towards the subject of eskrima. Manang Amparo, Manong Jose’s wife, would proudly relate his exploits during these times. Sometimes, he would conduct review lessons.
One day, he suddenly told me that he could teach me the “specialization course” of De Campo for P300. This was what I was waiting for. The course lasted six months. In the end, I still felt that Manong Jose kept important techniques from me. When I commented that his strikes seemed different and fast, he simply told me that with practise I would also be able to achieve his skill level. I kept my feelings to myself and never lost hope that one day, I might learn the real secrets. I decided to continue my regular visits to his home.
One early morning in 1974, Manong Jose came to my place asking for help. He needed some money to bail out his son who had been arrested by the police. The amount was substantial but I offered it gladly. The son was released and eventually freed from the charges.
The next time I visited him, he asked me if I was really serious about becoming an eskrimador. He said he considered me like a son and had decided to teach him his secrets, under one condition. I had to be willing to represent De Campo in any juego todo contest in the future. A shiver ran up my spine. It was a frightening condition. It never crossed my mind to participate in any organized jeugo todo competition.
I asked, “Manong, do you really think I can become a good juego todo fighter like you?” Deep within me, I felt I was way out of his league. Manong Jose said, “I will prepare you for that.”
It was a great feeling to learn the closely-guarded techniques of Manong Jose and become a fighter like him, yet at the same time daunting. I just put back negative thoughts about the future behind and plunged into the terrific training of a juego todo fighter.
During training, Manong Jose’s personality transformed like he was in another dimension. I was carried with him into that place where my training felt like I was in actual mortal combat. Every training session was an ordeal lasting two or more hours. Each session took me a little beyond my perceived limits. There were lots of repetitions. Manong Jose’s training motto was: “You train to live, not die. Suffer during training, not during a fight.” After three years of intensive training, he announced that I was already fit and ready to fight.
One day, Manong Jose told me that I had to prepare myself because in two years, we were going to his hometown in Ibo, Toledo, Cebu. He would arrange some of his eskrima comrades to test my skills. He said that if I passed, he was confident that I could face any juego todo fighter anytime, anywhere.
The old dread returned to me. I was in a dilemma. I only agreed to his condition to fight for him because I wanted to learn his secret techniques. I never thought it would actually come to this. Yet, I could not go back on my word. I had to fight I did the only thing I could think of. I prayed for deliverance. It came to pass.
In 1979, I heard that the well-known Doce Pares master, Fernando Candawan had moved to barrio Burgos, Aloran, Misamis Occidental, which was 30 kilometers from my place in Ozamis City. For some undefined reason, I wanted to learn his style too.
I sought the permission of Manong Jose. Immediately, I knew he was displeased. Finally, he responded, “All right, give me a good reason why
and maybe I will let you.” I had a ready answer at hand. I told him that my De Campo would be better if I understood how other
stylist fought. I gave a brief lecture that was straight out of Sun Tzu’s military classic about knowing yourself.
I trained with the mutli-talented Candawan for over a year. Master Fernando Candawan was awarded the "Eskrimador of the Year" award by the Doce Pares headquarters in 1964. He was an amateur boxer and wrestler, and had black belts in Karate and Judo. Training with him was also arduous and I always was drained at the end of each session.
Fernando Candawan noticed that the way I moved revealed I had prior experience in eskrima. He asked me about my background and I told him about my uncle and Billy Baaclo, but I never revealed my association with Manong Jose. I was very careful not to show the techniques of Manong Jose to anyone. I learned to be courageous and persevering because Master Candawan was very strong. One day, he told me that I was already an eskrimador. I took that as a compliment.
Narrated to:
Mon Rivera
20 September 2005