My parents had him as their professor in civil law, and they sang his praises very highly. He was a sought-after professor, they said, not only because when he spoke the otherwise dreary words of the Civil Code came alive. He was striking in appearance and always commanded respect by simply being at the professor’s rostrum. When he announced to his MLQ class—in my parents’ days, one of the country’s premier law schools—that he would no longer be able to teach day classes, there was a migration to the night classes where he would still be professor. And even when my father was already a justice of the Court of Appeals and, my mother, a law dean, the fondness never faded: they remained very fond of him, and very deferential, and apparently, he was fond of them too. I am lucky, because that fondness passed to me. He would always preface his lectures, when I was around, by announcing to all and sundry that it was he who made me possible—because he claims to have been match-maker to my parents.
Very few in the Philippines are professors of civil law in the best traditions of the Spanish “civilistas” and are more than compilers of Supreme Court decisions. After all, in the civil law tradition, “doctrine” referred not to the pronouncements of courts but to the disquisitions of professors and profound thinkers. Ricardo Puno Sr. belonged to that tradition, and when once he was asked whether the justices of the Supreme Court were wont to agree with his positions, he quipped half in jest but also half in utmost seriousness: “More than a half of them were my students, and they have been properly instructed.”
His lectures were never tedious. They were a pleasure to listen to, a privilege to be part of, and an incalculable treasure trove of wisdom—not only knowledge of the law, but an understanding of the human person. His lectures in family law would invariably commence with a recital of his credentials—not academic degrees or professional distinctions, but the number of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren who, he asserted, gave him the right to discourse on the often meandering ways of families and their members! But it was no walk in the park to be in his classes. As dean of San Beda’s Graduate School of Law, I requested him to be among the pioneer professors, and he accepted—and stayed on for quite some time as professor. The questions he asked, even of graduate students—lawyers, prosecutors, judges, law professors—were gut-wrenching. I remember a judge enrolled in his class who had no ready answer for what was rather a paltry question: The difference between a public document and a private document. All it took was Justice Ricardo Puno’s steady gaze and the question: “How long have you been a judge?”—to send His Honor, a student in a graduate school class, plummeting into the depths of remorseful self-examination.
He served in all three branches of government. He was Minister of Justice, he was Member of the Parliament that the 1973 Constitution created and was a justice of the Court of Appeals. He was the most eminent member the Supreme Court never had the honor to have! His philosophical leanings were scholastic, and his method of teaching as well as his dichotomy between acts of intellect and of will all made this evident.
It was my distinct honor to have been invited into his family’s life. When he and Mrs. Puno celebrated 60 years of married life, he asked me to preach the homily—but only after he had given me both an oral narrative as well as some reading materials on his life. Thankfully, he loved the homily I delivered which was a paean to him as much as it was to the God of all faithfulness—and he had copies of my homily printed and distributed to prominent guests who were in attendance. He kept telling me afterwards that he was still being asked for copies of the homily. I knew, of course, that he was merely being kind.
He was not one to share sparingly. Beyond the usual lecture at the Philippine Judicial Academy where he was founding chairman of the Department of Civil Law, he conducted mock trials for new judges, giving them tips even on the littlest of details, such as the way the witness’ chairman should be orientated so as to give the judge the full opportunity to observe the proverbial “conduct and demeanor” of the witness.
I will miss Justice Ricardo C. Puno Sr., but I shall forever be grateful that I had the privilege to walk in his company, even if I would have been content only to stand in his shadow!
rannie_aquino@csu.edu.ph
rannie_aquino@sanbeda.edu.ph
rannie_aquino@outlook.com
