Spain Under Franco

pictures:  First pic shows  Janey with the Matador Jose Luis Galloso in his home. Next First picture was made in 1995 when we returned from our Embassy in Africa as diplomats.  We were surprisingly offered a private tour of the King's Palace "El Pardo" (King was not there). This pic shows Janey in the Royal Dining Room. 3rd picture is Janey with Matador in local bar. History:  7 years into our Marrige, 1972, Janie and I were assigned to Spain. With our two young sons, 6 and 10, we boarded the long chartered flight directly to the Spanish Naval Base at Rota Spain. Landing on the military air strip, we were met by our sponsor and driven 15 miles to our temporary quarters in the small Spanish Town of Puerto de Santa Maria (Gateway of the Santa Maria...Columbus's ship). This is where Christopher Columbus went to the castle (Still there) and got money from Queen Isabella to make his voyage to the Americas. The old prison, where he selected his crew from among the prisoners is also still there.

Completely exhausted, we entered our assigned apartment, second floor and found a clean but very different type of housing. No rugs, no drapes, and the masonry construction received all the strange sounds and music from the courtyard, and just sort of reverberated with it. You'd be amazed how awful this sound and strangeness was after a 16 hour flight (Planes were slow in those days). This was my family's first overseas assignment (Except for Canada) and I knew it was especially strange for them. I told Janie..there are two things which will happen here...YOU'LL BE HERE FOR 3 YEARS AND HATE IT, OR YOU'LL BE HERE FOR 3 YEARS AND LOVE IT...EITHER WAY, YOU'LL BE HERE FOR 3 YEARS!

Puerto, as everyone calls it is on the bay of Cadiz which is the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea. The bottle neck between Gibraltar and Morocco (Africa) is the squeeze point where the U.S. Navy monitors the soviet boomer's (Submarines) because they must pass this choke point to enter/exit the Med. The region is called Andalusia, sort of Spain's Dixieland. I'm told that in Spanish I speak with an Andalusian Accent. All that southern part of Spain is called "Costa Del Sol" (Sun coast).

Rota, the village, we don't know much about because we seldom went there since it is mostly military, and Americanized. We decided we would live and know Spain. Puerto, however is a very ancient city. I took 5 semesters of Spanish and the Spanish People loved us. We could not feel Franco's presence, but they could. Almost everyone we knew were very poor but proud and they treated us as if we were Royalty. Each town or city, had local police, but they were very low level. Franco ruled Spain with his personal police called Guadia Civil (Civil Guard). They wore a very unusual uniform, all light green, with black boots, belt and a funny shiny black celluloid hat. After becoming used to it, you realize that it was quiet elegant, because it also had a long cape, sort of like superman. What made them most elegant however was the Absolute Power. None ever had as much as a cruiser, or even a bicycle. If they wished to go somewhere, they would just hold up their hand and when you stopped, they would unceremoniously get in your car and say, "Take me to...wherever). They wouldn't ask you..just tell you where you were going to take them.

I said most of the people I knew were poor. There were the rich, of course. Janie and I spent several nights per week socializing with poor people we know in a small, stand-up bar. One of the regulars was an uncle of the most famous Matador in the region, Jose Luis Galloso. This uncle was sort of an outcast because he had been injured by a bull in his youth and was somewhat mentally retarded. One day his Father died, which would have been the Grandfather of the Matador. I went to the funeral (Women were not permitted), and afterwards the family formed a receiving line to thank all the guests for coming. When I approached the uncle, he bypassed the normal hand clasp and embraced me. A few nights later, the secretary of the Matador came to the bar and asked me if I would like to meet the Matador. Obviously he had seen his uncle embrace me and wondered who this foreigner was who was so close to one of his family. We got into the secretary's car, drove to the mansion of the Matador, but he was not there. The secretary was furious because he said he would wait there for our arrival. So he asked me..."When do you want to meet him"? I said..anytime..but he was still furious and said..You pick the date and I will bring him to your home on the military base. So on the selected date..by then all the neighbors had heard that the Matador was coming to my house and they were all outside their houses waiting and watching...and sure enough...the parade of white Mercedes came down the street and overwhelmed my driveway. We became personal friends with Luis and often traveled with him.

One day Luis (the Matador) called me and asked me if I would like to meet some movie stars. Of course. Again with about 4 Mercedes, we drove to the castle of Pedro Domeq. His castle flies its own flag from the tower and is called "Frias". His Sister, the Contessa Osborne has an adjoining driveway (about half mile long) to her estate. The deal was that they were making a full length movie, concerning bullfighting and these scenes were to be shot at the castle. At lunchtime, a long table was set for about 100 guests, outside. The Matador and movie stars were at one end of the table, and my place setting was at the opposite end, with bushes almost in my face...I WAS LIVID! I came with the Matador, why am I being treated so poorly. The poor old sap across the table from me, appeared likewise uncomfortable and I thought he was the picadore on the Matador's quadrilla. He's the guy who puts the big spear in the bulls haunches from horseback, and he picadore himself is always a social outcast..nobody eats with him, nobody sits with him etc. I spoke to him and offered him a cigarette. The Spanish loved American Cigarettes. He refused and said he smokes the black cigarettes. I thought, this poor slob has never even had a good cigarette. Then I offered him a cigar and he accepted. I asked him.."Hace cuanto tiempo ha trabajado usted como el picadore" (How long have you been a picadore). He gave me my first surprise...called me by my name.."Sr. .... yo no soy el picadore". Iam not the Picadore..."Yo soy el Marque Domeq, esta me castillo, tu eres mi invitado". (I am the Marque Domeq, this is my castle, you are my guest). Hence my philosophy that almost everything in life is just the opposite of what it appears to be. We became personal friends with one of he worlds biggest billionaires. He said that we could come any time and "Toca la puerta" (Knock on the door), and we did so.
Most of the time he would not be there, but by then the servants knew us and if we wished, we would be seated at the table at mealtime.

Meanwhile the Spanish people did not talk about Franco at all...if you mentioned him...they would be silent. They feared him and his Guardia Civil...ABSOLUTELY! For us as foreigner's it was beautiful because we were spending dollars and considered to be rich. One day we heard that Franco had died. Since he was in Madrid, and we were 600 miles south, we didn't see much of the hoopla. We knew that he had spent billions building his tomb, called "Valle del los fallicidos" (Valley of he fallen) his actual resting place would be below a cross that reaches right up into the clouds in a hollowed out mountain. Just a few days afterwards, I walked into the stars n' stripes bookstore on the base and saw Mad Magazine on the shelf and the front cover said "Franco dies and goes to Hell". I asked the manager if he had seen the new Mad, and he said he had not..and when I showed him, he said, "Oh My", and immediately removed them.

There no room on my blog to describe the change when Franco died, but I'll give you just one example. Just a couple of months after he died, Janie and I flew to London for some down-time. We went to the Theater every night, customary for tourists in London, and the last night we went to see "Oh Calcutta". We knew it was a nude revue
but knew that Jackie Kennedy and other dignitaries had raved about it. We sat in the 4th row back. Immediately in front of us was 3 Spanish Couples, on the front row. We had seen them on the plane and were shocked at their behavior because it was totally unlike the Spanish People we knew so well. They were obviously celebrating, loudly. When the actors came out on stage they were wearing Japanese "Happy Coats" and after a brief introduction, they, about 5 men and 5 women, turned their backs to us, and dropped the coats, then turned to face us, completely nude. I had expected that for example they would have chosen women with small breasts, but no..not this show. My point is that the Spanish couples were going wild, laughing and pointing. The show/music was beautiful but the entire time the Spanish were making spectles of themselves. What we were witnessing was the explosion of the Spanish after so many years of Franco. Under franco, never mind Playboy...there were no romance magazines, no tabloid's no nothing except the church approved reading. After all those years of holding it in...these couples were now letting it all hang out.

We loved Spain and extended my tour there to 5 years until I was forced to take another assignment. When we left, one deaf mute girl whom we had helped through a special school, clung to me and had to be pried loose by her mother so I could board the plane. That was 1976. We returned in 1995 from our assignment in Gaborone Botswana for some R&R. While in Madrid, we wanted to see the Palace where Franco Lived, and which is the current official palace for the King. When we asked at a bar how to get there...the barman says, "Why would you want to see that place"? He tried to talk us out of it, told us of the many other tourist sites etc. They still hate Franco. As it turns out, as Diplomats, we got a private tour of the Palace. The King, Juan Carlos says that his country can't afford such an expensive, elaborate palace, so he lives in a smaller palace called Zarsuelo. He only opens the main palace "El Pardo" when foreign heads of State visit.

As we were shown completely through :El Pardo", the furniture is all covered with huge white sheets. There are fresco's and other priceless paintings all over the walls and ceilings of every room. One covered courtyard, as big as a football field is covered with a single rug..enormous. Our biggest surprise came when we were shown into Franco's private bedroom where his military uniforms still hang. Beside the bed was a small, well worn, altar. We could not imagine Franco on his knees. One thing the public never knew is that he had a Daughter who was severely retarded. Just to the right side of Franco's bed, is a small secret panel (door) which he could open and go into her room because she was completely hidden from the public.

I am posting this blog but it is not finished.