In The Shoes Of The General -- Tim Cordova Emerging As A Filipino Community Leader Here

Tim Cordova was zigzagging all over the South End in a ramshackle van looking for shoes. Old, black shoes. The older the better, maybe even a hundred years old. They were for his hero, General Emilio Aguinaldo, who'd been dead about that long, but whom Cordova had resurrected for his latest play.

His budget: under $10.

First stop: Goodwill.

No one viewing the 39-year-old Cordova that afternoon could have denied his earnestness. At the same time, few would have guessed that the wiry brown man in jeans and black leather jacket picking through boxes of secondhand footwear was an emerging leader in his community.

"Emerging leader. Right, right," he said ironically, tossing a brown wingtip and looking amused. "Is that what I am?"

Ask anyone who's anyone in the Filipino community and they'd say it with conviction. Cordova, a teacher, outreach worker and activist, with his 60s-vintage coolcat way of talking - he says "man" a lot - is a voice that his people are listening to.

And although he plays many roles, he's most alive and dynamic, and has contributed most, as a playwright.

He has written and produced three plays in the last three years, has toured Washington, Oregon and California with his performing-arts group, Sining KuLUSAn (rough translation: Filipino-American arts movement), and has, by some estimations, done more to unite and uplift the local Filipino community than anyone since, well, his Mom and Dad.

Fred and Dorothy Cordova for decades have been the unofficial patriarch and matriarch of the largest Asian group in the state, numbering about 45,000 statewide and about 25,000 in King County. The Cordovas founded two of the oldest and most respected Filipino organizations in the state, the Filipino American National Historical Society and Filipino Youth Activities, a social-service and recreational center in Seattle's Central Area.

Now it seems that Tim, their third child out of eight, the black sheep of the family, the loner, the thinker, the beatnik poet, the Marlboro-smoking, stubbled, leather-jacketed maverick, is continuing, and perhaps bringing to a new level, the work his parents began. If his parents created the outline for a Filipino-American identity, Cordova is bringing the outline to life.

All three of his plays have dealt with a splinter of the Filipino experience. The first, "Crossing Oceans of Dreams," pays homage to Filipino immigrants. The second, "Barkada SinDrome," shines a scrutinizing and unglamorous light on Filipino youth gangs.

His third and latest, "Heart of the Son," (which is finishing a seven-day run at the Langston Hughes Cultural Arts Center) tells the story of Aguinaldo, the man who led the Philippines in the fight against 3 1/2 centuries of Spanish colonial rule and who is one of the true heroes of Philippine history.

He is to Filipinos a combination of John Brown and George Washington: rebel, general, first president of an emerging nation.

He is to Tim Cordova the embodiment of the qualities that drive and define him. In one part of the script, a rebel leader, Andres Bonifacio, is questioning the young Aguinaldo's qualifications for joining the rebel forces:

Bonifacio: Sino Ka? (Who are you?)

Aguinaldo: A dreamer.

Bonifacio: Sino Ka?

Aguinaldo: An idealist.

Bonifacio: Sino Ka?!?!

Aguinaldo: A Filipino.

Cordova, according to those who know him best, could have given the same answers.

Leah Wilson, a teacher who has known Cordova since high school, called him "a very serious-minded young man" who was always "very deep and very heavy into talking about the problems of the world and how to solve them."

His mother, besides calling him Timmy, also calls him an idealist: "He's basically a romantic who's driven by the romantic notions of right and wrong."

One difference was that Aguinaldo - or the young man playing Aguinaldo in "Heart of the Son," Tony Colinares - had bigger feet than Cordova, a 9 1/2 compared to Cordova's compact 7.

And at one point that afternoon, Cordova thought he'd found the perfect shoe for Aguinaldo but, alas, no mate.

"Where's the mate? I can't find the mate! Somebody took the mate!?!?"

Aguinaldo needed shoes that looked turn-of-the-century, and that he could also dance in - the play is a musical, after all.

Besides being writer, producer, director and percussionist, Cordova was also the main gofer and financier. He and choreographer Bengie Santos pay for much of the expenses of the troupe's productions, expenses later reimbursed by patrons and arts grants.

Operating on a shoestring, being free-spirited and answering to no one - these are things Cordova has valued since he was a bright but restless teenager who got himself kicked out of O'Dea High School in the early 1970s, and who went on to graduate as class valedictorian at Project Interchange, Seattle's first alternative school.

After graduating, he went through a dark period with cocaine. But it was also during this time that he met his wife of the last 17 years, Gigi. It wasn't until they had their first son, Max, now 13, that Cordova began to gain direction.

Since then, they've had two more kids, and Cordova has compiled a list of job titles: educator, planner and gang outreach worker for Filipino Youth Activities (FYA), the Boys & Girls Club of King County, Central Area Youth Association and, a year and a half ago, back to FYA.

Throughout, writing has been his main passion.

"I just want to progress and advance as an artist," Cordova said. "I hate it when people start believing what they hear. When people start telling me what I've done is good, it scares me. I want to keep getting better."

He eventually wants to write about his Central Area upbringing, which created within him and his siblings a distinctive intertwining of Filipino and African American cultures, a melding that has prompted people all his life to make statements like, "You look Filipino, but you talk and act black."

There's a story there. A future play, he said.

But first things first. Aguinaldo's shoes. The last stop that afternoon was Value Village. There it was, way in the back, along the wall, a pair of old black shoes with the proper look of antiquity, and - praise be to God - they were the right size. Cost: $7. Perfect.

Cordova was happy, and soon, General Aguinaldo, patriot that he was, would be ready to dance his heart out.

-------------------- "HEART OF THE SON" -------------------- An original play written and directed by Tim Cordova and choreographed by Bengie Santos, is playing tonight and Friday night at the Langston Hughes Cultural Arts Center on 17th Avenue and Yesler Way in Seattle. Tickets, available at Langston Hughes, are $16 for adults, $11 for students and seniors. Both shows begin at 7:30 p.m.