Raúl del Pozo has been in journalism for 60 years.
At eighty and few he has legend made with something of Buardo, solely of the species.
He is superstitious, like gypsies.
And he distrust praise as Buddhists.
In the eighties he frequented this same disco where now, with the pandemic somewhat further, presents an eccentric title book, disconcerting: ‘Do not give him more whiskey to the dog’ (the sphere of books), his biography unauthorized ”
But consented, written by journalists Julio Valdeon and Jesús F. Úbeda assembling interviews with more than half a hundred friends, enemies and surroundings.
The result is a lasted story, happily messy, compulsive and exciting.
It’s hard to believe that so much adventure burns in a single life.
Journalism, literature, travel, poker, casinos, coffee Gijón, friends … The existence of Raúl del Pozo unfolds as a map where the tracks are the treasure.
An instruction manual on what accumulated a man with Jungle courage that now lives in a garden.
At the Pachá nightclub, the well was peeked in other decades when some festivities of a lot of lentejuela imantated famous from very different fur.
He took out from there, the temple of his friend pedro trapote, chronic with his dose of audacity and the evil’s grammage.
Street journalism in, which in Raúl is also the best.
This Friday, shy, was like so many other nights but now the persecuted was him.
“This of the tributes is now horrible, they only give them to the Etars,” he said.
“The authors made me a bitch: they only talked to my friends because my enemies are dead.”
Pachá remembered a bazaar where no one sold anything, but much merchandise was exhibited.
Several generations linked to the shadow of the well.
Journalists, entrepreneurs, politicians, adjourned for reputations as solid as dubious.
Everything together and at the same time.
They were Margarita Robles, Andrea Levy, Begoña Villacís, José María García, Rosa Villacastín, Pilar Cernuda, Marta Flich, Edu Galán, Manuel Jabois, Jorge Bustos and Patricia Reyes, Lita Trujillo … and it made sense, because Raul’s life is
Something of that: a geyser released steam in all directions and summarized in the newspapers with extreme precision, with contagious enthusiasm, with audacity.
He began to make a living as a school teacher in a town of Cuenca and in Madrid, he joined at the top of the trade as a reporter of the ‘Town’ newspaper.
It belonged to the PCE, went through some of the most important newspapers, was on the radios, was in Russia before the Perestroika, in London with the ‘squads’, in Cabo Cañaveral when the man went to the moon, in the Portuguese revolution of
The carnations, he published five novels … He has lived the second half of the twentieth century without missing what he mattered.
And he has had an intransferable journalism, strong, direct, reminiscent.
Raúl still remains rope.
Every day he creaked his fingers before writing, he plays with his dog, listens, he calls, plays and throws himself into the spine, on the back cover of the world, as when as a young man tried to extract from the words that with which to say things about
another way.
And so he continues to officiate.
Only half of what he has seen many others would not have given them time to tell him.
