By Manuel V. Pangilinan
We lost George Ty only days ago, but we will miss him for a long time. We will miss his kind person, his large presence, and the long and happy life we had wished for him.
I cannot recall exactly when I first met Mr. Ty, or the circumstances. It must have been in the ’90s, when I was still based in Hong Kong.
I do know that I first me Mr. Ty in an “official capacity” in the year 2000. That was five years after Metro Pacific had won the bid to develop Fort Bonifacio. It was bad timing, as you know. The Asian financial crisis hit Asia in 1997, and all of a sudden, we were saddled with debts, which we started to pay down largely by way of dacion. I recall we went to see Mr. Ty at his office at Metrobank Plaza to offer our Fort Bonifacio properties for the unsecured loans extended by Metrobank to Metro Pacific, aggregating about P2 billion. We proposed to settle this by way of real estate — 55% of the 11.5 hectares in the northern part of Fort Bonifacio plus a number of Pacific Plaza Tower units we owned. We gave up our last holding in Fort Bonifacio in exchange for finally wiping our slate clean with Metrobank.
If you’re doing the math: Metrobank got the Fort Bonifacio property for P20,000 per square meter, after netting out the value of the Pacific Plaza units. Just five years earlier, we had paid P33,000 per square meter for the same piece of land.
I’m sharing this story not to highlight how astute a businessman Mr. Ty was — although he was that. I’m telling this story to tell you that throughout this process of finding our way out of paralyzing debt, there was never rancor or resentment. And we never looked at him only as a lender, or as a collector. Indeed, we — and I personally — looked to him as a friend and savior. The meeting went beyond business — there was genuine empathy. Ultimately, he helped us back on our feet. I remember him admonishing us: You got caught in a perfect storm, and who wouldn’t be hurting after that. He added: Tomorrow you could dust yourselves off, wisened and humbled, and you will remain proud and dignified, and ready for a new day.
My regard for Mr. Ty rose immensely on that day, and it hasn’t dwindled to this day. To bookend this first encounter account — the last time I met Mr. Ty was at the lobby of the Grand Hyatt, that magnificent hotel standing right there at the land we used to own. It was his hotel, on the place that will forever mark an important chapter in Metro Pacific’s story. On my birthday this year, he waited at the hotel lobby to greet me. I was so touched by the gesture, yet felt deep empathy for him because he looked weak that evening — to the point where I respectfully suggested that he shouldn’t be here — but at home resting. Being the vintage Mr. Ty, he insisted on joining me at the ballroom, where he stayed to have tea for 20 minutes. When he left, I fought hard to control my tears, because Mr. Ty’s birthday gift of friendship was priceless — and memorable. That the only gift I received that day or ever — which I will remember for the rest of my life was his caring presence.
In between these two memorable private encounters with Mr. Ty, I remember as well the many lunches and dinners he hosted, here and in Hong Kong, over the two decades I’ve known him. But more than the food were the advice he would give.
When the future of PLDT was at a crossroads in 2002, between being sold to the Gokongweis or staying with First Pacific, the debates and passions were very public. Mr. Ty was not an invested stakeholder in any of the groups involved, and yet, because he was friends with all, he provided the calming figure and sober voice. I took his counsel for the wisdom and weight it carried.
He asked me to see him three times about this episode in my life. I particularly remember how he reminded me to value the relationships I’ve built with Anthoni Salim, and the histories between people that should count for something. He valued people and relationships, and showed it.
And this mentor often preached prudence. “Be prudent,” he would say to me. “This calls for prudence.” This line is so etched in my mind — he preached prudence so often in my presence — that I began to ask others around me: Bakit sa akin siya nakatingin? Aggressive daw kasi ako.
We all know Mr. Ty goes through every detail of every operation and every deal. I probably have some of that quality in me as well. I do know I share his work ethic, and his emphasis on integrity. The conventional admonition — relax and enjoy life — does not belong to both our vocabularies.
He never missed sending gifts for my birthdays or on Christmas. I can only imagine how he expressed his love to his family. He told me once: Please take care of Alfred. Which I took to mean, be a mentor to him, even though, Alfred already had the best mentor in his life. He also told me to continue working with Arthur, and, specifically, he said — forget that he is my son — by which I took to mean — You could trust my son because I raised him well. Arthur, your father saw in you as he saw in Alfred, not just the professionalism the rest of us only glimpsed and heard of with reverence, but the lessons he personally imparted.
I heard Mr. Ty was a man of faith, and for all that he did and for all whom he helped, that explains a lot. But it is Mrs. Ty whom I regularly see at San Antonio Church. Mrs. Ty, I am reluctant to approach you in any of those Sunday mornings, because I do not want to encroach on your personal, spiritual space. But clearly God smiles on your family, Mrs. Ty.
In business, strong passions are the norm. Mr. Ty was a strong man. He was shrewd. He was decisive. I have seen him make decisions that could determine the fortunes of a business — as in our case 18 years ago. Those were his finest hours.
Where did that confidence come from? Where was that strength acquired? It is the courage of a boy who left China when he was young. It is the courage of a young man who dared to dream big things and act on them — Metrobank being the outstanding example. It is the courage of a man who waited on the Lord to finally call him home.
When the sun sets on our shores this Monday, December 3rd, a great success story will close.
I heard it said that people die twice — once, with their last breath, and once more, later on, when people say their name for the last time. I’d like to think that Mr. Ty made sure that his second death does not happen — that indeed we will remember him for a long time.
So in these final days, we say our formal goodbyes. It is a fond salute to a man we cherish. It is a grateful salute to a man whose exceptional life was devoted to service. It is a respectful salute to a man who by any standard was one of the giants of our time.
Finally, let me recall what the Romans of Antiquity said as they bade goodbye to their beloved departed — which I say now — Ave atque vale — hail and farewell, Mr. Ty.
