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At 73, Francisco Franco Bahamonde has mellowed considerably. The years, and a strict low-calorie diet, have whittled away his girth but not, apparently, his strength. Always an avid sportsman, he now spends almost as much time hunting and fishing as he does in the Pardo, his 16th century palace just north of Madrid. His stamina is remarkable. He can still bound up hillsides after mountain goats, shoot 300 partridges a day, and wade for hours hip-deep in the icy mountain streams of Asturias.
Cabinet Candy. On a normal day, he rises at 7, breakfasts lightly on fruit juice, tea and dry toast, then retires to his private chapel for morning prayers. By 9 he is in his study, reading the Madrid newspapers and the official reports stacked high on his large mahogany desk. The calm does not last long. At midmorning the palace is invaded by Franco's seven grandchildren (ages one to 14). Trailed by their English nanny, they race down the Pardo's wide granite corridors, past six-foot honor guards and enormous Goya tapestries, and burst into his study. Franco idolizes his grandchildren, spends as much time with them as the press of official business permits.
Franco's busiest day is Friday, when he meets his Cabinet. The sessions have become legendary. They begin at 9 a.m., usually last well past midnight, with an hour's break for lunch. No smoking is permitted, no water provided. The only concession to mortal weakness is a small silver tray of fruit candy at each place around the long oak conference table. But as the day wears on, one minister after another will catch Franco's eye, get his nodded permission to be excused, and tiptoe out of the room for a cigarette or a trip to the men's room. Franco himself never stirs.
He seldom even speaks. Seated in his high-backed chair at the head of the table, the Caudillo allows his ministers to do most of the talking, cuts in only to ask a question, change the subject—or announce his decision. There is no nonsense about majority rule in Franco's Cabinet. The only vote that counts is Franco's.
Nevertheless, he leans heavily on the advice of the 18 men at the table. Among the most influential:
≫ Captain General Agustin Muñoz Grandes, 69, Franco's oldest comrade in arms and the man who, as Vice President of the Spanish state, will take over interim power at Franco's death. Commander of Spain's Blue Division, which fought against the Russians on Hitler's eastern front, Armed Forces Chief Muñoz Grandes is now ailing, lives quietly with his wife in a small apartment in Madrid, avoids publicity.
≫ Lieut. General Camilo Alonso Vega, 76, Minister of the Interior and police boss. Known as "Don Ca-mulo" because of his mulish resistance to change, the white-haired former commander of the Guardia Civil is Franco's strong right arm. He can be counted on to put down trouble wherever it breaks out.
≫ José Solis Ruiz, 52, Minister of the Movimiento Nacional, Spain's bureaucracy-clogged official party, and boss of its labor syndicates. His jowls are heavy and blue, his head is bald, and his speech is thick with the accents of Andalusia, but Pepe Solis is probably the sharpest practicing politician in the land. The father of