He had come to be regarded not so much as a man but as an enduring symbol of authoritarianism. At 82, Francisco Franco y Bahamonde, the Caudillo of Spain, had become increasingly secluded, aloof from the people, distant even from his own subordinates. The olive-colored flesh sagged in folds from his face, his palsied right hand trembled continuously, and the speech—once shrill and demanding—was slurred and frequently unintelligible. The figure, barely 5 ft. 3 in. tall, had never been especially heroic, even in a general's uniform decorated with medals, sash and sword; in recent years it seemed smaller and withered. But until last week, Franco never relaxed the hard control he wielded over Spain for almost 40 years—not even in 1974, when he temporarily turned over his powers to Prince Juan Carlos after an attack of phlebitis. A stern, indomitable autocrat, he had outlived such contemporary dictators as Hitler and Mussolini, ancient foes like Stalin, and his old neighbor and fellow dictator, Portugal's Antonio de Oliveira Salazar.
The grand scheme that Franco devised for an orderly transfer of power to Juan Carlos was frustrated two years ago. While he had long wanted the Prince to have the title of head of state, el Caudillo also intended that the regime's authoritarian rule should be carried on by his closest friend, the ultraconservative Admiral Luis Carrero Blanco, who for seven years had served as Franco's subservient Vice President. Thus in 1973 Franco transferred his titles of President and head of government to Carrero Blanco, 70, who presumably would have become the real power behind Juan Carlos after Franco's death. That plan died along with Carrero Blanco in December 1973 when Basque terrorists set off an explosive charge as the admiral drove from morning Mass at Madrid's San Francisco de Borja Church.
After the death of Carrero Blanco, Franco spent most of his time behind the walls of El Pardo Palace, a luxurious retreat on the fringes of Madrid built by King Charles V in 1543. Except for occasional fishing trips aboard his yacht the Azor or official visits to the Valley of the Fallen, a monumental Civil War Memorial that was at one time intended to serve as his tomb, Franco rarely emerged from his palace. Even the fishing trips must have become a dispiriting confirmation of the mortality he hated to acknowledge, a further assault on the pride he took in past feats of skill and stamina. In 1957 he had been named national amateur fishing champion for catching a 712-lb. tuna with rod and reel, the largest ever landed by rod in Spanish waters. He also boasted of shooting 8,420 partridges in one year.