The Fountains of Silence(98)

—CURTIS C. CUTTER, U.S. political officer, Madrid (1970–1972)

Oral History Interview Excerpt, February 1992

Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection

Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training

Arlington, VA www.adst.org





PART TWO


    1975


    DALLAS, TEXAS


    1976





MADRID, SPAIN





130



Born in Valencia in 1863, Sorolla was orphaned at two years old. He met his wife and lifelong muse, Clotilde, when he was just a teenager. Together in Madrid they—

The museum director appears, pulling Daniel’s gaze from the plaque on the wall. “Thanks for coming, Dan. The family appreciates your support.”

“My pleasure.”

“How’s your sister?”

“She’s well. Nearly eighteen,” he replies. “Hard to believe.”

Daniel stands amidst a charity reception in the Spanish gallery of the Meadows Museum. “Quite a collection of Spanish art to have here in Dallas,” he comments.

“Yes.” The director nods. “I know your mother was Spanish. Didn’t you spend some time in Spain?”

Daniel stares at the painting on the wall. “Yes,” he says softly. “Like the Meadows family, we had oil business in Madrid. My sister was born there.”

The museum director notes Daniel’s enchantment with the painting. “You’re a fan of Sorolla?”

Daniel sees Ana’s glowing face shining with excitement over the Sorolla book he bought her. He sees her walk into the flowered garden of the museum toward the fountain.

“Dan?”

“Sorry. Yes, a fan of Sorolla,” he replies.

“I’d like a Tom Collins, please.”

Daniel turns toward the voice. A gray-haired woman stands at the bar. She puts an affected hand to her pearls, greeting a friend. “Bless your heart. You’ve lost more weight than Patty Hearst. Have a drink.”

“Excuse me,” says Daniel to the museum director.

He walks through the gallery, exchanging quick pleasantries with those who recognize him.

“Great year for your company,” says a man in a turtleneck with thick sideburns. “Your father must be proud to have you on board.”

“Thank you,” nods Daniel.

“But still the elusive bachelor,” says the man’s wife disapprovingly. “I hear Laura Beth is divorced. Didn’t you two date in high school?”

“What a strong memory you have. Excuse me, ma’am.”

He can’t exit the museum fast enough. Thunder rumbles in the distance as he jogs to his truck. The angry clouds are the stock of childhood nightmares, like villains descending from the sky. He grabs his camera from the floorboard and looks at the smoky, churning formations. Uninspired, he doesn’t press the shutter.

Drops fall against his windshield as he heads toward Preston Hollow. He turns on the radio, hoping to catch a forecast and hoping the horses are in the stable. Instead of a weather bulletin, the station offers a promotion for Foster Grant sunglasses. He turns it off.

Eighteen years. It’s been eighteen years and seeing a Sorolla painting or hearing the words Tom Collins still throws him into a spiral of memory.

Pathetic.

The storm swells past midnight with threats of tornadoes. Daniel spends the night in the stable with the horses, trying to calm the animals and stay on top of the weather. At 3:00 a.m. the breaking news tone sounds from the radio. He turns the volume dial, listening for the storm bulletin.

“CBS News reports that Generalísimo Francisco Franco, dictator of Spain, has died in Madrid. Despite his team of thirty-two doctors, the end was a struggle for Franco. The dictator came to power thirty-six years ago during the Spanish Civil War, with support from Hitler and Mussolini. Franco ruled his country with an iron hand. Recently, Spain has enjoyed relative stability, especially after reforms introduced in 1959. Leaders of European countries have been guarded in their reaction to the dictator’s death and express hope for modern democracy in Spain. No Western nations will be sending a head of state to the funeral apart from Monaco. Flags around Spain are at half-mast and the general’s body is now lying in state at El Pardo Palace. Franco will be buried next week at the Valley of the Fallen. Official mourning will last thirty days.”





A haggard and grief-stricken Carlos Arias Navarro, the Prime Minister, speaking to the nation at 10:00 a.m., said in a breaking voice:

“Spaniards. Franco has died. The exceptional man who before God and history assumed the immense responsibility of demanding and sacrificial service to Spain, has given up his life, burned up day by day, hour by hour, in the fulfillment of a transcendental misssion.”

Then with tears, welling up, he read the message General Franco is believed to have written a few days after he fell ill on Oct. 14. The general spoke of his love for Spain and implored his countrymen “to continue in peace and unity” and to “extend the same affection and support you have given me to the future King of Spain, Don Juan Carlos de Borbón.”

“Do not forget that the enemies of Spain and Christian civilization are watching,” he added.