She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

- Lord Byron

I remember your signature walk as you clutch your bag holding teaching accoutrements, including the ever-present bottle of coke.

I can still hear your voice … like a rockstar, you belt out tunes accompanied by the guitar.

And of course your graceful moves! -so infectious - napapasayaw pati ako.

And oh,  how I remember your stories! Your vivid description of walking in Coney Island with your kind Jewish friends always comes to my mind whenever I go to Brooklyn.

I appreciate your advocacy and passion for worthy causes.

Mommy O - you truly light up the room! When I grow up, I want to be like you. Thank you for being in my life. You can bet that I will tell my daughters and students about this powerhouse of a human being that is Vivian Climaco Ocampo. I love you dearly -  for always. 

forever your fan, 
Jo-Ann Grande

 

Back in high school, Mrs. Ocampo would regularly hand us some vocabulary homework wherein she would give us a list of unusual words, such as 'arsenic", to use in sentences, to be submitted the following day. I found it tedious, uninteresting and I hardly ever complied.

I spent most of those days sketching and drawing on LPs and scratch paper, instead of paying attention. I never really thought of myself as a writer considering I was in a class filled with students who were more articulate, wittier and had a far superior command of the language. Heck, I even remember being embarrassed once after I was unable to explain the word “arrogant” which I used during recitation thinking,  ironically, that I fully understood what it meant. 

 

Towards the end of the quarter, I realized that I had not yet submitted a single shred of homework. So to make up for it, I took all of the words she had assigned that year and put them together in a short story about, oddly enough, a man chasing a serial killer in old London. It was a Hail Mary play to get past having slacked off for months. I handed it to her and sheepishly apologized for not having complied sooner.

 

The following day, Mrs. Ocampo started the class by pulling out the material I wrote and proceeded to announce that someone had tried a desperate move after failing to submit any homework that quarter. 

 

Naturally, I thought I’d be shamed once again so I prepared myself for the humiliation. 

Instead she read the story out loud, gleefully acting every line of every character. I can still see her gritting her teeth and sneering as she cackled the part that went, "'How about arsenic?' he told the bartender, 'that's better than the stuff you usually serve us.'" 

Mrs. Ocampo ended the reading by praising both the story and its crafting, calling it a delightfully creative solution to the assignment. At that moment, for the first time ever, I felt validated as a writer. 

She later took me aside, exclaimed that she really enjoyed the story, and suggested that I should try writing some more, before rewarding me with an A+. (Quite a rare grade for a slacker of a student like myself.)

 

Know that she didn’t even have to accept that submission as it was months overdue. But instead she chose to give me a chance and read it. In that moment she also taught me that it’s okay to take risks, and not to let limitations and rules limit one's creativity.

This story remains my earliest and strongest memory of positive reinforcement for anything I wrote. 

(Not-so-humblebrag warning. Skip to next paragraph if too unbearable) Her words would put me on the path to becoming a. multi-awarded copywriter and advertising Creative. It covers a twenty plus year career that includes an evening when I literally won the Gold, Silver and Bronze awards for copywriting at the Philippine Ad Congress. This was followed by multiple international  writing honors.  I sincerely apologize for the flex but it was necessary to demonstrate the level of impact Mrs. Ocampo had on the trajectory of a young, below-average student who didn’t even believe he could write. 

Throughout my professional life, there were times when that memory would still energize me when I was faced with a blank page. Or whenever I found myself doubting my abilities.  It's fairly accurate to say that every script I ever put together, every line I ever spun, every article I ever got published, every copy ad I ever churned out, every single award I ever lucked into, can be traced back to that one teacher. 

 

It’s a cliche to say that hearing someone believe in you can make a huge difference in your life. But there it is.

 

I won’t pretend to be close with her or her family, as I unfortunately lost touch with her shortly after. I deeply regret that I never took the time to even track her down to thank her in person, considering how much that one moment literally helped define the course of my life. I wanted her to know how she helped make me the person I am today.
 

Thank you, Mrs. Ocampo. I have never forgotten you, and I never will. May you find the peace you sought in life.

- Joe Dy, substandard student, above-average writer (thanks to Mrs. Ocampo)  

Mrs. Ocampo wasn't just my English teacher, she was also involved with our school production of Camelot, which was what my comic "Cast" is based on. Mrs. Ocampo worked on costumes and on choreography. But more than that, she was one of my biggest cheerleaders in the play. She was always encouraging me, the newbie in the play among a cast who had worked together before. Even years later when I would see her at times at Xavier after I graduated, she would gush about our times at Camelot and always praise my performance. I remember her not only as a teacher but more as a supportive teammate from this wonderful theater production.

I was so moved by her I based one of the characters in my comic on her (designed by Elbert Or, illustrated by Stephen Segovia in the actual comic). 

Rest in peace, Mrs. Ocampo. Know that I'll always remember you and you will always live on in these stories which your teaching helped empower me to write. Thank you for being a big part of that one brief shining moment in my life that was Camelot.

-Jaime Bautista XS '95

I am grateful for all of these and more! She has been on my prayer list for some time. I thought and hoped she would beat CoVid. I will continue to pray for her. I believe she is now an angel looking after all of us. 

May eternal rest grant unto her O Lord and may perpetual light shine on her.

 

I first met her as a high school freshman in Xavier, when my friends and I joined the English Drama Guild.   I still remember vividly our first day together, when she transfixed all of us with her dramatic personal life story.   I can still visualize her expressive eyes, her perpetually hoarse voice, her hands waving in the air.    My interest in theater and the arts became a passion because of Vivian’s inspiration.   

 

Over the years, I have had the blessing to be taught by many truly excellent teachers, but Vivian is definitely one of the most memorable, the most unique, and the most captivating among them.  I was never actually a student in one of her English classes, but there is no doubt that she was a teacher, mentor, and friend to me.

 

Photos were so rare in the days we were in Xavier--- in the days before the telephone camera and the omnipresent selfies.   But I don’t need photos or even videos to remember Vivian.   I only need to close my eyes to remember the many sounds and images that I associate with her--- her singing and guitar playing of course (when I competed in the high school songfest, she played the guitar for me!), the clickety clack of her shoes as she walked down the corridor, her horn-rimmed glasses, her curly locks.  But more important than sounds and images are the emotions: and although there are many emotions that I associate with Vivian, there is one that rises above all:  love.  Her love for her work, her love for her family and for her students, and of course, our love for her.

Rudy Ang, XS '79