Lorenzo Diaz
I write this column out of sadness. I cannot avoid tears as a voice, her voice, the one that so many and so many of us have heard for years on Carlos Herrera's program, tells me not to do it. But I cannot obey.
The memories pile up and although I look for the brush to draw the smile on my face, I can hardly find it. Lorenzo Díaz, the journalist, the sociologist, the writer, the lecturer, the lover of gastronomy (he won the National Prize twice), the Favorite Son of Castilla-La Mancha, the man of the radio, of all of them, is gone.
When I write these lines, on Tuesday afternoon, the news is still not found in Google. I know this because I do not believe it and I search with the desire not to find it, but it is true. From the car, a friend, Josete Carcasés, called me to tell me. Onda Cero has cut his live to announce it. There is silence. We both feel this goodbye; we both remember moments lived with him in El Escorial, where he participated as a speaker and where he also directed interesting courses on television, radio and gastronomy. His great passions.
They were glorious summers, of exchanging ideas, of gatherings at the Felipe II, of tastings of incredible wines that we refused to spit out, of laughter and learning. I close my eyes and there he is.... He has arrived by bus with his backpack. Time stands still.
The images pass by... Lorenzo talking, Lorenzo laughing, Lorenzo with the students, Lorenzo at the oil tasting, Lorenzo with the journalist Pepe Ribagorda and the actor Juan Echanove, Lorenzo with the rector Berzosa, with General Ballesteros... And Lorenzo calling me to take care of his partner, Magdalena Valerio, former Minister of Labor. One day, when I was with both of them, I heard him say I love you. I was overwhelmed by the tenderness of the moment, also because it had been a long time since I had heard those two words.
I am sad and I cry from my heart, because when you love, just like that, the pain is great. There is no explanation, it is not necessary. I loved Lorenzo Diaz for many reasons. Perhaps because, without being aware of it, he influenced my decision to become a journalist and I followed in his footsteps, because when we met I felt his warmth, because I liked him talking to me about his yesterday... And I feel again his voice telling me: "Toñeta, please don't cry".
I was told that as a young man he was restless, intelligent, rebellious, funny and sarcastic and that as soon as he could he flew to Madrid. Some of his books remain in my house, such as La televisión en España, La Caja sucia. Telebasura en España, La cocina del Quijote, in which he quotes my uncle Paco, or the biography Luis del Olmo, protagonist, with his dedications. Now, those moments also come to my mind.
He has gone peacefully and surrounded by love: his three children, Magdalena, his siblings. I feel cold as I read that message. I go to the window and look out. They say that when someone dies and it rains it is because his soul goes straight to heaven. I don't know why, but I visualize Solana del Pino, her town, and I feel peace.