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Art by Jason Eckhardtby John F. DobbynThere’s one moment that causes my breath to freeze every single time. If I might explain. The corrida, the bullfight, in my native Spain, has been my life since I was able to sit in my grandfather’s arms in the row behind the toreros every Sunday afternoon and hear his whispered words—words that would never be heard, much less understood, by the American tourists who call it a “sport” and cheer for the bull.My grandfather began before his teens as cape and sword handler for the incomparable Belmondo. When he was tall enough, he was taught to place the banderillas, short barbed sticks, into the high back muscle of the bull by running in front and reaching over the charging horns.
When he was old enough, he served the best matadors in Spain as picador, weakening the head-tossing muscle between the shoulders with a lance while seated on a horse, padded to blunt the charge of the bull.He learned from the bravest and the best in all of Spain. When his time finally came, in his early twenties, he wore the “suit of lights” to face his first bull as matador in the bullring of Seville. I was not yet born, but I’ve read the old newspaper reports by those who knew. They said his first bull told it all. His skill with the cape had been honed to a peak. His grace in every movement was flawless.
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But that which a matador cannot acquire unless God has placed it in his soul—unflinching bravery despite the fear of death on the horns—that was truly the rarest of his gifts.On the Sunday following his debut in Seville, he was to appear in the great plaza in Madrid, La Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas. The stands on the sunny side of the arena were filled with old men who understood what they hoped to be seeing. They came to glimpse one more time before they passed what they had seen in a scant handful of those who faced the bulls over the decades of their lives.They received what they came for. With his first bull of the afternoon, my grandfather brought them to their feet. I’ve heard that there were actually tears in the eyes of some old enough to remember the incomparable Bello, whose equal they thought they would never experience again.My grandfather’s second bull that afternoon had an inconsistent habit of hooking with both right and left horns. In spite of the danger, my grandfather worked the bull with the cape so closely that the sweat and blood on its flanks were smeared on his suit like a medal.Then, on the third pass, my grandfather’s feet were so firmly planted that an unexpected hooking of the right horn caught him under the rib cage.
He was gored and trampled until his body could never again perform the lithe movements that his courage demanded. He never wore the suit of lights again.But the corrida was in his blood. He worked with rising toreros to help them perfect their physical techniques.
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Queen Fan Club Magazines(1980 - 1984)This section includes detailsof magazines produced by the Official International Queen FanClub, and includes details of the contents of each magazine, plusfront cover scans and scans of extras. The contents includereviews of events, collectors articles, technical features,concert lists, band interviews and other articles of interest,but news items, pictures and letters are all excluded as they areso numerous.The Queen Fan Club can be contacted through their website,.There are two magazines missing from this section, as they arequite hard to find.