The homes and heart of Amalia Fuentes

The homes and heart of Amalia Fuentes | Daily Tribune

Born Amalia Margarita Muhlach on 27 August 1940, her parents actually had a relatively comfortable life in Manila early in their marriage. Her father, Alvaro, was the only child of Spanish immigrants Alejandro and Amalia (her namesake) Muhlach.

The Muhlachs arrived in the Philippines in the early 1900s — at a time when the archipelago was already under American rule. Ms. Fuentes’ paternal grandparents were originally from Barcelona. In Manila, they set up a caritela (carriage) business.

Alvaro was trained to be a prized fighter and went by the stage name Tony Tapia in the ring. Tapia in the Castilian language means wall.

It can only be surmised that he was given that moniker because his opponents must have felt like they were punching on hard concrete during boxing matches with him. He must have been a formidable opponent.

When his time as a pugilist was over, Alvaro worked at the Manila office of United Artists, which saw the distribution of Hollywood films in the Philippines. Not long after, he married Concepcion Amador, a Bicolana of Chinese descent. Amalia was their first-born.

Nicknamed Nena (Spanish for baby girl), Amalia was only a year old when the Pacific War broke out. Life changed not only for the Muhlachs, but for everyone else caught in the war. During the Japanese interlude, Alvaro and Concepcion had two more children: Alejandro (Niño Muhlach’s dad) and Alvaro Jr. (the father of Aga Muhlach).

Like most city folk during the war, the Muhlachs evacuated to various provinces that were deemed safe — away from the brutalities of the Japanese soldiers. During the Battle for Manila (yes, it’s for and not of), Alvaro had decided to bring his family to Spain once the Americans had decimated the Japanese.

On their way back to a liberated Manila, a freak accident happened. In the absence of automobiles during the war, everyone went around with a “carriton” (pushcart). The pushcarts were always made of wood and ran on wheels salvaged from cars that had become junk when the Pandacan oil depot went up in flames during the war years. Gasoline was reserved only for the Japanese officials and military trucks.

As they were about to reach the safety of an already freed city, the rubber wheels of the Muhlach “carriton” exploded and hit Alvaro so hard, nothing much was left of his body. Amalia was only five when her father died.

When she was nine, her mother remarried — to a pastor named Isagani Fuentes. That union gave Amalia four half-siblings: Jose, Ruben, David and Isagani Jr.

As a preacher, her stepfather had to spread the Word of God all over the country — mostly in Mindanao. They were constantly traveling, moving from place to place — depending on Isagani Sr.’s assignment as a pastor. Since they were a large bunch (seven children in all), Amalia grew up deprived of material trappings.

From the beginning, Amalia resented her stepfather, who tended to be a religious bigot. He was also overly strict with the children and took to heart the biblical saying: “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Even as a teen, Amalia was still being subjected to corporal punishment.

When she reached 15, the family finally settled in Manila for good — in Pasay, which had already become a city by then and no longer part of Rizal province. She resumed her secondary education at the Union High (now Philippine Christian University) where actress Marita Zobel was a schoolmate (lower batch).

Classmates remember her to be a bright student, even if she kept missing school. Since she was mother’s little helper, she had to skip classes whenever her half-siblings fell ill.

Amalia was already beautiful even then. However, even a woman of her great beauty still needed accessories. Those were luxuries she didn’t enjoy in her early youth.

Too poor to buy new dresses, she showed up in campus on school days in clothes several sizes bigger, obviously hand-me-downs from more prosperous relations. Although she was no fashion plate, she never lacked in suitors, who were so persistent in their courtship, she needed to shoo them away.

All she wanted in life was to succeed. And the only way to do that was through education. In her senior year in high school, she applied for a scholarship in the United States.

While waiting for the results, she and her mother went to the Sampaguita Pictures compound where there was an open house for fans. That was where she was discovered for the movies.

She wasn’t keen on joining show business though. Amalia wanted to pursue college. But at P500 per picture and a weekly allowance of P50, she began to consider the offer — just to be able to help her family. Amalia had just signed the build-up contract when she received news that she had been granted the US scholarship. But fate had already decided for her.

After seven years in the movies, she realized that she didn’t even have a house of her own. The young movie queen rented an apartment — at P80 a month — in Valencia Street, less than a hundred steps away from the studio.

And so, she borrowed money from the bank and built a split-level house in a gated section of New Manila in Quezon City. Already a good box-office draw by then, she received P8,000 per picture. But that wasn’t enough to pay off her loans.

In 1962, an independent film outfit offered her P75,000 to do just one movie. She accepted the offer, but got sued for breach of contract. In the end, she was released by Sampaguita and after doing freelance work for years, she studied the ropes of producing movies and put up AM Productions.

She married actor Romeo Vasquez in Hong Kong in 1966 and they had one child, Anna Lisa or Liezl, who later also joined show business. Amalia and Romeo lived in that split-level house with her family, until she spotted a corner lot down the road. She purchased the property and built a second home that she painted yellow.

Her life could have been blissful at this point, except for the discovery that Romeo had been previously married — although already separated. Since there was no annulment yet in the Philippines, Amalia went to Rome to have her marriage to Romeo voided.

In the early 1980s, she built her final home — in the same street where the yellow house stood. She never sold her previous residences — choosing to lease the properties instead.

After Liezl lost her battle with cancer in 2015, Amalia tried to put up a brave front, but friends knew she was never going to recover from the death of her only child. She distracted herself by traveling, but had a stroke while in Korea.

Transported back to Manila, it was discovered that her cognitive abilities had been reduced to pre-kindergarten levels. Among friends who visited her in her sickbed, she only recognized Helen Gamboa. On better days, she would have conversations with her caregivers, but could only manage baby talk.

While bedridden, the two men she married, Romeo and second husband, Joey Stevens, both passed away. She had been separated from Joey even before she got ill.

Amalia and Joey had an adopted child — Jeric — but even that son met an early death — only in his 30s while living in the US. He went ahead of Amalia by some 10 months.

When Amalia died, she left behind three houses in New Manila, one in Magallanes Village, a beach house in Batangas, a home in San Francisco in California, a huge lot in Blue Ridge, plus several other properties in Bicol and Pampanga. And we’re not even counting the cash in the bank and stocks she invested in several big corporations.

But in an ironic twist, everyone in the household was scrounging for cash at the start of her wake — at nearby Mt. Carmel minor basilica along Broadway Street. Of all people, it was the despised son-in-law, actor Albert Martinez and Liezl’s widower, who came to the rescue — making sure his mother-in-law was given a funeral fit for a movie queen.

If her wake was orderly, it was bedlam after she was buried —at Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina. Amalia had died intestate. She actually had a will prepared, but changed it before leaving for Korea. Her plan was to write a new one upon her return, but the stroke happened. To make matters worse, the key to her safety deposit box was missing.

Amalia had to go at a time when strict banking rules had already been enforced by Bangko Sentral. And her bank account was bursting at the seams prior to her illness: She had just sold the Dasmariñas Village house then (another investment) and once casually stated among friends during one of her regular treats that “I am awash with cash.”

Her heirs, grandchildren Alyssa, Alfonso and Alyanna, couldn’t easily get their hands on their grandmother’s bank account though. Not that they were itching to (they’re good kids). But the assets Amalia left behind couldn’t just be left in disarray.

The Magallanes house, at least, was income-generating since it had a tenant. But among all three New Manila properties, only the swimming pool of the third one was useful: it had been turned into a fishpond for tilapia culture.

By the time the pandemic ended, most of her assets were already in order. It was Alfonso who was granted by the court to act as his late grandmother’s administrator.