He was four years too young to run for President, in 1969—finding his youth (people had called him Wonder Boy) a liability, for once. He’d had to wait, another skill he didn’t have in spades. And by the time the wait was over, the Philippines was under martial law—a welcome reprieve, thought the old girl at first, from campaigns altogether. “We’ll find a way,” the old girl’s husband tells her cheerfully. He thinks like a Manila politician, still. As if they can bribe someone at the BAA. “We’ll grease the wheel somehow.”
