Backstage at the Bullfights
By Don Adams © Don Adams 2003

Gringo. Some look upon the appellation as an insult. Pobrecitos! Unless the speaker who is addressing me as such is gripping the neck of a broken beer bottle or waving a machete in my direction I normally accept it as a logical form of identification when I'm the only Norteamericano in the assembly. And as an honor when it's scrawled across the front of a coveted and difficult to obtain Pase Eventual de Callejon---the temporary pass which allows the wearer to enter the "alley", or area of the bullring behind the wooden barrier which forms the perimeter of the fighting area.

On June 8th of this year I was offered the opportunity to enter into a new world of appreciation of bullfighting which offered intimate access to all phases of the corrida. (See sidebar for definitions of bull ring terms) My guide was Memo Martinez, an Ajijic storekeeper; but a man with a dual life. Memo is also a respected banderillero; a bullfighter in silver.

Through the back gates we walked into the workspace of a number of professionals. Bull raisers - ranchers - hacendados - ganaderos. Horse and mule wranglers. Business managers. Magazine and newspaper writers and photographers. Stock handlers. Radio and TV reporters. Arena administrators. And the myriad of craftsmen and laborers who are the backbone of the enterprise. I have always been well-received in these areas, in Guadalajara as well as other locales, but that may be in part because I'm aware that I'm not in a tourist attraction. Anyone in those areas needs to stay out of the way as much as possible, but common sense will tell you when becoming personally involved is acceptable.

On that day the official drawing for bulls was held as scheduled but a ceremonial sorteo was held at 1:30 to allow the ring management team, family, and friends to honor David Silveti, el Rey; King David, at a memorial service. We watched as a lectern and benches were arranged in front of the small chapel, and as coronas of flowers were set up near poster size pictures of Sñr. Silveti. This was a sad and painful ceremony-to-be, in part because the matador, at age 48 and tormented by bi-polar disorder took his own life. We considered the memorial observance to be a family matter, and since we were not family we left the mourners to their business, and went about our own.

Our first chore was to climb the stairs to the rooftop overlooking the stock pens. There, in three of the eight large stone-walled enclosures were pairs of angry and perplexed fighting bulls; each duo accompanied by a field bull whose job was to calm and reassure them by his presence. That job wasn't successfully carried out in a couple of pens. We watched as the bulls were sorted and herded into the covered stalls from which they would later be released into the ring. Long metal poles wielded by handlers on the rooftops were used to prod the animals from pen to pen; a stressful job for both man and beast.

After that we wandered back to the patio area and watched the first phase of the dressing of the horses. The mounts of the picadores were bathed, then tethered to rings on the walls so the sun could dry them. This is the same area in which a triple-hitch of mules would later be harnessed and prepared for their job of dragging the dead bulls from the arena at the conclusion of each fight. The butchers had not yet set up shop, but later they would be standing by to hang and halve the animals.

Things slowed a bit so we headed down to take a tour of the ring. The grounds crew hadn't begun their work yet but before a torero set foot on the sand of the ring many tasks would be done. The ring in Guadalajara is relatively large. I haven't stepped it off but the smaller Petatera set up each February in Villa de Alvarez, Colima, is forty-eight long paces across; about 145 feet. I have stepped off that one. In Mazatlan it seems as though you could spit from wall to wall in their very intimate ring.

The sand would be raked and smoothed then lightly wet down before the benchmark in the exact center was uncovered to allow the groundsmen to use long ropes looped over a temporary post to scribe the two chalked circles defining the traditional zones of activity within the ring. This important function defines the terrains of both toro and torero and provides a physical touchstone for both fans and fighters. The picadores rely on the markings to tell them where to position themselves when they enter to perform their job.

Dirt is interesting for only short periods so after circling the ring in the callejon we headed back up the long sloped corridor to the patio. The memorial service was completed and things were slow and boring so we took a lunch break. There were a number of eateries set up under tents on the concrete in front of the arena and many offered sit-down meals and a good selection of cervezas and hard liquor, but we hailed a cab and headed for Plaza Libertad and one of the nicer restaurants in that area. We really are gringos from time to time.

Lunch and a short stroll around the plaza recharged our batteries and we headed back to the arena for the next act of the show. When we arrived the horses were being saddled and padded for their upcoming ring appearances and the mules were being harnessed. Picadores in street clothes watched as wranglers mounted the fully dressed horses to trot them about to work off pent up energy and anxieties and to calm them for the job ahead.

It wasn't long before each picador disappeared for a while, soon to emerge from the dressing rooms in full working dress, including armored boots, to retrieve his rejones, or lances and attach to the end of them the sharp metal points with which he would later weaken the bull. As they were engaged in that task a laborer carried into the callejon a box of banderillas, normally brightly colored barbed lances about three feet long which are placed into the hump of the bull's back by the banderilleros, or sometimes by the matador himself. On this day, to honor of the memory of el Rey, all the banderillas were dressed in white.

And others were also busy. The groundsmen raked the sand and scribed and chalked the two circles of the zones of the ring floor. Managers instructed laborers where and how to arrange the large first-used pink and yellow working capes, the smaller bright red muletas - the capes used to position the bull for the kill - the swords, and the bottles of water for both drinking and for sprinkling overheated toreros. Seven men would carry into the arena their own tools. The six picadores, two of whom would enter the ring for each fight would come on horseback, each with lance in hand. The puntillero would enter afoot and carry a sheath containing two short and very sharp knives with which to deliver the killing cut to the spinal cord after the matador administered the sword thrust to drop the bull. At the same time radio and TV announcers and cameramen, print reporters and photographers, doctors, veterinarians, and assorted ring workers worked quickly to prepare for all the events yet to be played out.

While this was happening we visited Cesar Guzman and Jesus Martinez Ruiz who were preparing brightly colored rosettes of ribbon and wiring them to short wooden stakes tipped with strong metal barbs. Every ranch that supplies bulls to the ring has distinctive colors. Cesar and Jesus were preparing two sets that day; yellow and white for the ganaderia of Federico de la Mora, and black, red, and yellow for el rancho Santo Domingo. After they were completed Cesar would use a long lance he called a devisador to reach into the stalls holding the bulls and stab an identifying rosette into the left shoulder of each to show which ranch supplied him. We were most definitely not allowed to accompany him on that mission. Those two were also charged with wrapping a ceremonial brass key in the colors of the rancher who would later be honored in the ring by the presentation of the key, thus allowing him to symbolically unlock the heavy gate behind which waited the bulls.

In case you're wondering, the bulls that day ranged in weight from 920 pounds on up to 1,144 pounds.

And soon came the other stars of the show - los matadores. They emerged one by one to face the cameras, the tape recorders, the reporters with microphones, and the fans. All gracious, all accommodating; stopping to pose for all - professional photographers, adoring young ladies, and even old gringos. In lavishly colored and intricately embroidered stiff jackets, tight pants, pink stockings, and black slippers they caught the attention of each and every person in the vicinity. Earlier the less brilliantly attired picadores, the banderilleros, and the puntillero made their way to the small chapel to offer their prayers and personal requests, but now that space of solitude and solace was left to each matador as he entered to kneel on the tiny prayer bench to offer his own petition.

Then came the time. The corrida always begins on schedule. All the players assembled in their places. A traditionally attired vaquero reined his mount to the head of the rapidly forming assembly, ready to lead the procession into the ring. The three matadores formed a wall of blazing shimmering color behind him, and behind them the six banderilleros set up in two columns. The puntillero found his place, and the mounted picadores urged their blindfolded horses into twin lines of three animals each. The hitch of mules in red and yellow trimmed harness almost pranced to their allotted spot. Their handlers, along with the groundsmen, were all dressed in matching red shirts, white trousers accented by a broad yellow sash at the waist, and the pink stockings and black slippers of the toreros. They topped off their working dress with red caps, and colorfully formed up at the rear of the procession.

The minute hand tagged six as its partner lay on four. The band high at the top level of the stands struck up a discordant but enthusiastic tune as the gates swung open. The main participants adjusted the intricately hand-stitched decorative silk capes wrapped around their shoulders, and crossed themselves one last time before marching ceremoniously into the arena to the cheers of the aficionados.

Much more happened that day but those stories will wait. This tale is but a preface.