I was destined to complete my entire education in public institutions, but that was not to be. My three children, however, were able to attend public schools throughout—from primary and secondary education through *bachillerato* (pre-university studies) and university. The only exception was preschool—what we now call *escoleta*—for ages 0 to 3, which was private.
I began my *bachillerato* studies at the *escuela graduada* (public primary/intermediate school) in Felanitx under the teacher Jaume Tomàs, and completed the first year of *bachillerato* at the *Institut de Felanitx*. Just as I was about to begin the second year, my father was transferred to Palma; the whole family—at that time, there were five of us siblings—moved there with him. My father wanted to enroll me at the *Institut Ramon Llull*, which was the only all-male *institut* (secondary school) in Palma at the time. However, the administration told him: "No, that’s impossible. We cannot enroll any new students in the second year; between those moving up from the first year and those repeating the second, the classes are completely full. If it were for the first year, there might be a chance, but for the second, it’s impossible." My father was forced to look into a number of private schools—back then, in 1957, all private schools were religious institutions (schools like Lluis Vives, CIDE, Liceu Balear, and Aula Balear did not yet exist).
The school chosen was San Francisco. My father enrolled both me and my second-eldest brother there.
We lived in the "Vinos de Oro" building on the Plaza de las Columnas. On the same city block—at the corner of Calle Patronat Obrer and Calle Nuredduna, in a building that housed the "Can Bota" drugstore on the ground floor—lived the Serra brothers, who also attended San Francisco. The eldest of them was in the same grade as me, so every day, the four of us—my second-eldest brother, the two older Serra brothers, and I—would walk to school together. We followed the entire length of Nuredduna Street until we reached the Gate of San Antonio, then continued along Socors Street and turned onto a side street that led us to Plaza Quadrado and, finally, to Plaza de San Francisco, where the church and school of San Francisco were located.
And so it went, every school day from the second to the sixth year, plus an additional year—the "Pre-university Program."
I was the oldest of the four of us. Furthermore, I was in the same grade as the eldest of the Serra brothers, Pedro; then came the second Serra brother, Enrique; and finally, my own younger brother, who is four years my junior. The four of us were friends and used to play together along Uetam Street and on the vacant lot belonging to the Miret factory on Aragó Street. However, I was closest to Pedro, as we were the most similar in age and were classmates.
Nevertheless, it was Enrique who—when I was in my sixth year of *bachillerato* (or perhaps the pre-university year; I don’t recall exactly)—invited me to a party at a house in the Santa Catalina neighborhood. He had been invited himself, and I imagine he was told he could bring a friend along. He kept insisting: "Look, Toni, there’ll be savory and sweet pastries, soft drinks... and lots of pretty girls." I accepted. We would go together.
Back then, I was extremely shy. At the end of each school year—except for the final ones—I would receive a "Laureada" (the highest honor) for conduct; though it wasn't really for "good conduct," but rather for my shyness. I also received a "Medal of Merit" for academic application (awarded to students who maintained an average grade of "notable"—or "good"—across all their subjects). My father, who was always very critical and demanding of me, used to say he wished I’d swapped the awards: that the "Laureada" had been for academic performance (an "excellent" average or top marks) and the Medal of Merit for conduct. On another occasion, he asked me, "This 'MM' [Medal of Merit]—what’s it supposed to mean? 'Mucho mierda' [a load of crap]?"
When the appointed day arrived, we showed up—all of us wearing suits and ties, or blazers and ties, under our overcoats—while the girls arrived in fancy party dresses. A lady welcomed us, took our coats, and showed us into a large room where almost all the other guests had already arrived. I didn’t know anyone except Enrique, and, naturally, I had no idea which of the girls was the daughter of the house. In one corner stood a large, tablecloth-covered table laden with food and drinks, along with glasses. Nearby, next to the table, was a record player with a stack of 45-rpm records. Arranged around the room—forming a little more than a semicircle—were as many chairs as there were young women. It was understood that we young people would remain standing the entire time.
Like most people, I stood by the table, eating and drinking discreetly. Shortly after, the first record was put on, and all the young men—except for me—rushed to ask the girls they liked best to dance. Before long, everyone was dancing (a slow song, of course), while I remained standing by the table, next to a girl—likely the least attractive one—who was sitting down. This went on for most of the afternoon, until the door opened and the woman who had let us in and taken our coats walked back in, clapped her hands twice, and announced, "Keep going—the photographer is on his way!" At that moment, I quickly approached the girl who was sitting and asked her to dance. I couldn't bear the thought of being the only person not dancing in the photographs. In the final picture, it actually looks as though I know how to dance—as if I’d been dancing the entire afternoon.
The distress I felt that afternoon triggered a shift in me; my previous shyness gave way to a completely opposite attitude—boldness. The following year, I enrolled in my first year of science studies at the University (Central) of Barcelona. It was a common, selective introductory year for anyone planning to pursue one of five scientific disciplines—mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, or geology—meaning we all followed the same curriculum. I was invited to a couple of parties there; interestingly, they weren't called "guatecas" (house parties), but rather "dances" or simply "parties," and—curiously enough—they were held on the rooftops of apartment buildings. By then, I was no longer shy; I would start dancing as soon as everyone else did, and I made a point of dancing with the girls I liked the most. I also traveled four or five times between Palma and Barcelona—and vice versa, from Barcelona to Palma. Back then, the ships that sailed to Barcelona were motor vessels—the *Ciudad de Burgos*, *Ciudad de Salamanca*, and *Ciudad de Barcelona*. They would depart at 10:00 p.m. sharp and arrive around 7:00 a.m. the following morning. At that time, there were very few radio networks in the Balearic Islands—specifically three: Radio Mallorca (part of the SER network, for instance), Radio Popular (a church-affiliated station), and Radio Joventut—which was based first in Felanitx, then in Inca, and later operated without a specific home city, though it broadcast from Palma. There was no "Radio Nacional de España" (National Radio of Spain) broadcasting continuously; instead, the other stations—Radio Mallorca, Radio Popular, and Radio Joventut—would interrupt their own programming twice a day, at 2:30 p.m. and 10:00 p.m., to connect to Radio Nacional, which primarily aired news. Consequently, on a ship traveling between Palma and Barcelona, the crew would have either Radio Mallorca or Radio Barcelona playing; as soon as the signature music signaling the switch to Radio Nacional began—marking 10:00 p.m. sharp—the ship would cast off its moorings and set sail for its destination.
I would walk all over the deck—port, starboard, aft, and bow—and almost invariably, I’d come across one or more young women also traveling alone, usually leaning against the ship’s railing and gazing at the illuminated harbor as we pulled away. I’d approach them and ask, "Hi, are you headed to Barcelona?" They would burst out laughing and reply, "Where do you think this ship is going?" I’d say, "Well, sure—it was just an excuse to strike up a conversation with you." If things went well, we’d talk about what we were planning to do in Barcelona, whether we were from Mallorca or Barcelona, whether we smoked, and so on. Around 11:00 PM, we’d say our goodbyes and head off to our respective cabins—as I recall, they had four bunks, two on the bottom and two on top, and they were all single-sex.
This habit of mine actually helped me arrive just in time at the sports complex in Pamplona for the selection trials—the gateway to the training course for physical education and sports instructors. But I’ll share more on that in the next installment of "Looking Back at the Past."
Palma, November 4, 2026
