Last Tuesday we received the sad news of the death of Raúl del Pozo, and I want to say that I was not surprised at all, because lately I saw him with that much fatigue that predicts the worst.
Raúl and I knew each other long before what is considered to be the Transition. From the times when radio and press columns were a source of information and debate for ordinary mortals. And also a living expression of the thoughts of journalists and thinkers, who wanted to summarize the main point of a topic in a short time, and if with a little pepper, then much better.
For me, the universal king of columnists has been Art Buchwald in The Washington Post, always instructive. He took notes of everyday life, and developed them in no more than 300 words. Always ending with a question to the reader, who was left doubting whether he was serious or not. But always with the ability to entertain and make you think at the same time.
Raúl was the most worthy heir of another columnist. Because, although he already had a life of his own, his writing art was to become an emulator of Paco Umbral, who had formidable days, like when he invented the pelopincho thing for a PP minister, or he also let himself be carried away by his readings that he boasted a lot about having done; specifically the enigmatic and tedious Proust.
Raúl has always been more traditional, more Spanishist than anyone, and also the most cultured in literary, political and historical knowledge, which he handled with all the ease in the world.
May my friend, the great writer, rest in peace, now with his Italian wife Natalia, always so kind. Rest in peace, in Parnassus if you can now freely enter it. May it go even better than it did down here. A hug, dear Raúl.