Ateneo’s Iconic Wooden Building Falls Silent

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For more than eight decades, the wooden two-story right and left wings of the Ateneo de Naga University Main Building stood as a steadfast guardian of teen-aged Bikolanos who wanted to be educated by the bodacious Jesuits. The building featured wide classrooms to accommodate up to forty students, as well as large strategically placed windows that allowed enough light and fresh air to circulate during the summer months.

As a young first year high school student in 1962, I did not find the wooden building architecturally imposing. In fact, the building, raised a little higher above the ground, stood on land that became mildly flooded during rainfall, and the students could hear frogs echoing in unison. Few adventurous students would even try their luck catching fish beneath the flooded structure.

Notwithstanding these considerations, the building’s wide hallways provided ample space for students to congregate and exchange pleasantries with teachers before and after classes. It was the kind of place where lasting memories were made: the staircases where students sat to review their notes before a test; the classroom where after-school discipline, known as Jug and Post, meant writing “The Our Father” several hundred times; the faculty room where students could speak with their teachers in a more relaxed manner; the dreaded principal’s office, where being summoned was a true day of reckoning; and the chapel where students would proceed to fulfill their penance after going to confession from priests stationed in the assembly hall.

Last December 18, the Ateneo de Naga University community gathered for what was described as the Wooden Building Farewell Rites, fittingly titled “Looking Back, Moving Forward.” I understood the theme of ‘moving forward’ as a new administration building will rise in place of the one being demolished. The new building, according to university president Fr. Aristotle ‘Ari’ Dy, SJ, will “house classrooms, administrative offices, a heritage hall, and university bookshop, among other facilities.”

Progress has its rightful place in every community. Yet what struck me most profoundly was the theme of ‘looking back.’ I felt as though I was about to lose something that had quietly shaped a part of my life.

When the news about the demolition of the building spread on social media, a wave of nostalgia swept over me. After all, I grew up within the walls of this building. I started to reminisce about the building. I wanted to hold onto the feeling of what it once meant to me.

In this building, I encountered both lay and Jesuit mentors who approached their vocation with profound seriousness. They taught me that the mere acquisition of knowledge is insufficient; one must use that knowledge in the service especially of the marginalized sectors in society, always guided by a commitment to the greater good.

In this building, I came to understand that religion is not merely a set of rituals to be blindly followed, but a personal relationship with God – one that must be nurtured through prayers.

In this building, I learned the importance of discipline in building character. I realized early that if I misbehaved or acted inappropriately, there would be consequences for my actions. Although the teachers’ methods of discipline were strict, there was never any sense of vindictiveness. Their purpose was to build character and instill a clear understanding of right and wrong. The prevailing belief was that if I were out of order, I would be accountable for it.

In this building, I was introduced to the social teachings of the Catholic Church, foundational principles that would shape my conscience and propel me toward the pursuit of social justice in my adult life.

In this building, I learned how to find God in all things. I learned that I could encounter God in my relationships with people, in my parents, in my family, in my friends, in my antagonists, in my academic pursuits, in my moments of despair, in moments of silence, in suffering, in nature, and in my everyday life. I just have to prayerfully reflect on the events and people that I encounter every day.

Finally, in this building, I learned that it was okay to have some fun. We were encouraged to play sports and strive for excellence in athletics, attend dance parties, and build healthy friendships with girls our age. And if those relationships drifted beyond the bounds of friendship and began to unsettle our emotional well-being, we had access to a Jesuit counselor that we could confide in fully and guide us to the right path.

Progress, of course, has its reasons. The new, modern administration building that will rise in place of the old wooden structure, is poised to serve and inspire future generations of Ateneans. I am one of those Ateneans who is looking forward to it. But even as I am excited and supportive about the new building, there is undeniable sadness in letting go. Losing the building feels a bit like losing a mother or a father – one who patiently and lovingly shaped me to be the person that I am.

In the coming months, the ground where the building once stood proudly will feel eerily empty. But that hallowed ground is a reminder that the spirit of an educational institution like the Ateneo de Naga is built not only on what it will create, but on what it chooses to remember. Thus, the memory of the building will live on in the thousands of students who playfully jostled one another in the hallways, in the lasting friendships forged among the students, in the lessons learned, in the meaningful relationships cultivated between students and their teachers, and the simple, everyday moments that have become lifelong memories.

Fr. Ari Dy, in his address to the community during the ‘Farewell Rites,’ spoke with unmistakable clarity about the central role the old wooden building played in the existential formation of those students who passed through its halls. He said, “Our gathering today is an acknowledgement that the spaces we inhabit become part of us, part of our collective being and memory. We will make new memories as we inhabit new spaces, but we express our gratitude today for the wooden structures that nurtured the community for more than eight decades.”

Yes, the building will soon be gone. But its enduring imprint will never fade in the hearts of countless Ateneans.