Two witnesses of old Barcelona

The city transforms itself following the historical law of change, and of its people and atmosphere, we often only have the relatively fleeting memory of those who knew and lived there. In recent days, two great witnesses of a Barcelona that largely no longer exists have left us. I had some contact with them and appreciated them.

Chufo Lloréns, who died last Thursday, had been a childhood friend of my parents, with whom I used to spend summer vacations in Arenys de Mar. His sister, known as Chufa, a close friend of my mother, was considered one of the beauties of her time.

Due to family circumstances, Chufo had to drop out of university and go to work. He was a friendly and generous man, with a knack for memorizing jokes and a gift for telling them. He began a career as a nightclub entertainer that earned him recognition at El Papagayo, a small venue on Balmes Street, and from there he went on to create the Don Chufo nightclub in Plaza Llongueras. This nightclub was frequented by teenagers on Saturday afternoons and featured drinks, dancing, and performances by comedians such as Pedro Ruiz and Moncho Borrajo at night.

⁄When Don Chufo closed in 1991, its founder began a new career as a historical novel writer

When Don Chufo closed in 1991, its founder embarked on a new career as a writer. He developed a lengthy historical novel, with serialized twists, working with iron discipline and complicated plots indicating the turn of events.

After several titles of medium circulation, in 2008 he published Te daré la tierra , a new novel set in medieval Barcelona, ​​but now sponsored by Ana Liarás, the editor of Ildefonso Falcones, and published by a large group (then Random House Mondadori).

Chufo asked me to participate in the presentation, along with the medievalist José Enrique Ruiz-Domènec, who had helped him research his work. And he achieved that always unexpected magic of connecting with readers. It was a smash hit, with more than 100,000 copies sold, and Chufo, well into his 70s, found himself a bestselling author: you could say it was to his own surprise, but in reality, he was always convinced that something like this would eventually happen to him, and he remained so, a tireless worker, until his death. He did, however, maintain the habit of interspersing a few jokes into his presentations.

Sagarra was the master of ceremonies at the 50th birthdays of Barral, Goytisolo, Castellet, Senillosa and Gil de Biedma

At first, Joan de Sagarra, a sharp columnist with a reputation for lively genius, seemed a bit overwhelming. Terenci Moix introduced me to him one afternoon in 1977 at Parelladeta, the now-defunct restaurant on Casanova Street where the writer had his headquarters. I met him again as master of ceremonies at the famous 50th birthday party for Carlos Barral, José Agustín Goytisolo, Josep Maria Castellet, Antonio de Senillosa, and Jaime Gil de Biedma, in Bocaccio.

And I saw him again once, at Pedro Zarraluki's Salambó bar. To dramatize an argument, he took off his jacket and abruptly opened his shirt, revealing his chest; a button flew off.

When he returned to La Vanguardia in 2004 after a long stint at El País, it was agreed that he would publish a "terrace" piece every Saturday in the Living section, and that he would write "El mes de Joan de Sagarra" for Cultura/s , discussing whatever topics caught his eye and recounting his travels with that brilliant, and characteristically characteristic, mix of cultural chronicle and autobiographical narrative.

He traveled frequently to France and Italy, his cultural references. He explained his plans at the Sandor to me, also referring to his early years as a theater critic, when he met my grandfather Pablo Vila San-Juan, who wrote for ABC and had been a classmate of his father's, and whom he referred to with a fondness that contradicted his aggressive reputation and revealed a tender Sagarra.

I once met Chufo at Casa Pepe in Plaza Bonanova. As with Sagarra, we revisited old chapters of the city's brief history, journalistic controversies, social and family events that painted a rich and literary tale of urban life, in which both of us, from different perspectives, were experts.

Sagarra established himself as a notary of the influential Gauche Divine of the 1960s and 1970s, an innovator in culture and customs, with his legendary book of Rumbas , recently recovered by Libros de Vanguardia. Chufo, for his part, was the nocturnal entertainer of the Droite Divine , the hedonistic bourgeoisie with more classical tastes, which also appears in his novel Nada sucede la ayer (Nothing Happens on the Eve) , recently recovered by Grijalbo.

Their environments, which were undoubtedly different, shared some common ground: certain squares and streets, certain venues, bohemian journalists who circulated from one to the other, mysterious women who snuck into their texts at some point.

Twentieth-century Barcelona, ​​and those of us who occasionally miss it, has lost two complementary protagonists who helped make it a warmer and more interesting place. And who, in the third stage of their lives, were able to adapt to the 21st century.