The Years of Living Dangerously
When a Greek engineer named Steve Psinakis accepted an offer to build a power plant in Manila, he had no idea his life would change forever. In the three decades that followed, Psinakis became a central figure in an underground war against a powerful dictator, risking his and his family’s lives for years. Jose Mari Ugarte talks history with the 76-year-old Psinakis and his family and excerpts his brand-new tell-all autobiographical book, A Country Not Even His Own, to find out how they stuck together through death threats, F.B.I. harassment, and a brutal criminal trial—while living the story of one of our nation’s bravest fighters of freedom.
History is not a written book, rather it is a living and ever-evolving story. The end is always rewritten by the most recent events and people are continuously forging a perception of the past. The Filipino people are a very gregarious, cheerful, forgiving people. They focus on the good, they aspire for the hopeful, and they look to the future rather than the past. They see the glass half-full. So, although on one day they may revolt and demonstrate by the hundreds of thousands to topple a regime, given time they may (forgive and) elect the very person they tried to oust back into office. Then that person has a chance to rewrite history—justify the wrongs done, legitimize theft, pardon corrupt officials, release convicted murderers, make heroes out of executioners, make villains out of freedom fighters, ridicule sacrifice. Rewrite history.
— Steve Psinakis, in an excerpt from his new book, A Country Not Even His Own
Presy Lopez Psinakis is a strong woman, but something happened on October 15, 1979, that filled her heart with real fear. Her husband, Steve Psinakis, was driving to the Pita Pocket—their Mediterranean restaurant on Bush and Montgomery in the financial district of downtown San Francisco—at 5:30 one fog-dark morning when a jet-black ’79 Cadillac Seville pulled up next to him at a stoplight. There was an African-American man behind the wheel and a Caucasian in the passenger seat who motioned to Psinakis to roll down his window. Assuming they were lost, Psinakis rolled down his window and found himself staring point-blank down the barrel of a black pistol silencer. The man holding the gun said, “Psinakis, you son of a bitch—you don’t seem to believe we mean business; this is your last warning, you understand me? Wise up or you’re a dead man.” They sped away. Psinakis froze but took note of the license plate—433 DGH. “It’s a funny feeling,” he says, “but your life really does flash before your eyes in a couple of seconds.” It was at that precise moment that Psinakis suddenly realized that he or any member of his family could be killed at any moment.
Prologue: The Lopez Connection
It all began on a fairly even keel. A native of Athens, Greece, Steve Psinakis came to America in 1949 on a college scholarship at the University of Pittsburgh, where he graduated with an engineering degree in 1955. In June of 1958, when Psinakis was working for Gilbert Associates—an engineering consulting firm in Reading, Pennsylvania that specialized in the design of power plants—he was assigned to the position of project engineer for Meralco, the biggest company in the Philippines at the time.
The company was originally American-owned, and then later acquired and operated by the powerful Lopez family led by its revered patriarch, Don Eugenio, whose brother Fernando was Marcos’s vice-president. “Don Eugenio was a very exceptional man,” says Psinakis, who I have been spending hours talking to at his Rockwell penthouse with his gracious wife, Presy, and their smart and impeccably raised daughter, Geni.
During his years with Meralco, Psinakis became close friends with Don Eugenio’s son Geny. “Geny and his father were very similar,” he begins in a deep and low rumble of a voice, “Geny was a sharp businessman whose batting average was pretty good in decision-making. In very difficult and risky situations, he would call the shots and call them right. Both Geny and his father were bold risk-takers with good instincts, and they were always very decisive.” Psinakis eventually became a trusted figure in the Lopez organization, and Don Eugenio oftentimes surprised him with rewards like a thin gold Piaget and a leather briefcase full of cash.
Presy was Don Eugenio’s only daughter—“his crown jewel,” as Psinakis describes her. “She was a stunningly beautiful young woman who moved gracefully and always seemed at ease, while effortlessly making everyone around her feel the same.”
She was also a “Blue Lady”—a very close friend and confidante of the First Lady Imelda Marcos. Psinakis always assumed she would end up marrying into royalty and disappear in some castle in Europe, “but I had no idea,” he says, “that her polished exterior hid a depth and strength of personality unparalleled to anything I had encountered in my life so far.”
Because Presy was the boss’ daughter and his best friend’s baby sister, Psinakis stayed away from her for many years, until they both attended an industry dinner for travel agencies and ended up sitting together the whole night. “I discovered she could do much more than smile and look pretty,” he says, “from the little time I spent with her that evening, she seemed caring, perceptive, and intelligent. That made her even more beautiful.”
Their next accidental date was in Tokyo, when Presy accompanied her father and Psinakis on a business trip to meet with their Japanese partners Marubeni. Don Eugenio was invited to have dinner at the home of the president of Marubeni one evening, so Psinakis “had arranged with Ben Guingona, his wife, and another close friend of hers to get Presy a little drunk. But it was the others who got drunk, and we stayed up talking for hours, not wanting the night to end.” Presy and Steve fell in love that night.
“Geny was a sharp businessman whose batting average was pretty good. In very difficult and risky situations he would call the shots and call them right.”
Presy’s parents did not take this news too well. Whenever Psinakis would greet her mother, Doña Pacita, she would grunt and give him the cold shoulder. And although Don Eugenio never attempted to force a break-up, he always had two armed men closely follow them whenever they went out.
Despite this, their love for each other—and each others’ sons from previous marriages, Rogy, Lee and Yuri—blossomed, and Psinakis eventually proposed marriage. Don Eugenio was outraged. He wanted his daughter to marry a Spanish prince but she was in love with a Greek engineer—so he forced him to quit and threatened to disown Presy if she pushed through with the marriage. They discussed it and Presy said, “My dad doesn’t want us to be together, and because of who he is, he can make our life very difficult in the Philippines. . . . I love him dearly and I know he’s only thinking of my happiness, but I will not allow him to become an obstacle. So until he sees how happy I really am, we’ll just have to live somewhere else. Let’s leave the Philippines.”
That was the beginning of a relationship that has lasted 39 years. “39 years of happiness,” he says, “every day of which I am grateful for.”
The relationship with Don Eugenio did not go quite as smoothly, and the problems began immediately after Japan. It is useful to point out here that nobody argued with Don Eugenio except Presy. “I made life a little hard for him because I was always defiant and he was so absolute,” says Presy, while serving me a slice of pizza she had ordered for us. “When he said something, he wanted everyone to agree.”
Don Eugenio was livid over their marriage. “He saw it as a crime,” says Psinakis, “because he could not imagine his daughter marrying someone like me. I never had any hatred for him, but I wouldn’t give him an inch.” Psinakis’s secretary, Josefino, who had been loyal to the company for many years, was fired and this triggered a series of nasty telexes between Psinakis and Don Eugenio
So the Psinakises eloped to Greece, and in less than six months friends were already visiting. “I was about to hang a ‘no vacancy’ sign,” says Presy, laughing. After two years, Don Eugenio sent another letter offering to reconcile if they asked for forgiveness. Psinakis, the equally proud alpha-male, answered back by saying, “If you ask Presy for forgiveness, we might consider it.”
Tensions were very high, and according to Presy, Don Eugenio “even went to the extent of tricking me by saying he was very ill so I would come back to Manila.” Finally, Don Eugenio decided to come to Greece with an entourage of friends and relatives, and upon his arrival, Steve told his wife, “I will give your dad my hand in friendship, but if he so much as turns away—that’s it. Presy answered “OK” but her heart quaked inside. “I was not sure what was going to happen, so I told the housekeepers to prepare the food but not to cook it until I called them.” When Don Eugenio walked slowly out of the departure terminal, followed by several other recognizable faces, he approached his daughter and hugged her, and then extended his hand to Steve. They shook firmly and smiled. Presy called home and said, “Sige na, magluto na kayo.”
