M i interest in journalism was born a beautiful summer afternoon on the beach at Penco. Children were enjoying the sunshine, yellow sand and gentle breeze coming from the sea, a unique phenomenon of Penco. Surely it was a Sunday because the resort was full of sunbathers, umbrellas, towels with the environment flooded with music that came from the casinos (now absent). But what was the seed?. My mother planted that day in my childish soul. She said, looking at a photographer who took pictures with his camera: "I want you to be like him, who works for the newspaper." I concentrated on the man: black pants, white shirt short sleeves and tie. I watched as he took pictures and wrote in a notebook. My mother grabbed me by the hand, was quiet and both continue to look like the camera man moved to the public until he lost sight of. The other children in the group of swimmers did not notice the situation and yelled at me to run out and a dip in the cold sea of \u200b\u200bPenco.
Weeks after the beach episode, I had the idea of \u200b\u200bmaking my own newspaper, had an enthusiastic partner in the plan was me, Victor Aqueveque. I gave him encouragement and he felt that the newspaper would have a new formula to keep playing. And we started to do reporting. The first day, when we made the deal, we go out separately to get news. I stood dumbfounded for a taco wagon that was formed in the rise of the cemetery. Cars and buses were advancing to a meter per hour, otherwise embarrassing situation on the slope. I ran to see what was the reason for the block, a very rare situation for the time. Today that revistirÃa not any interest. I ran and reached the source of the problem. A huge truck dragging a very heavy burden snorting like a mad bull to beat the rise in first gear and moved closer to the turn of the wheel. The driver was sweating and looking forward instruments. Occasionally missed a look in the mirror, no doubt worried about the huge taco that was causing. The problem ended when the vehicle reached the peak load. That fact seemed to me a story that deserved fun because there was never a traffic jam so big and so foreboding that I began to write.
That night we got together with my partner and talk things we had seen. Victor strongly agreed that the taco should be the first news of the day. He went instead discovered that many dogs loose on the streets. I gave the book and I wrote the story, the fun of it was that Victor knew the names of all the neighborhood dogs. The because of the frequent news was fighting dogs "could be the cause of hydrophobia? Good story. Both
met six short stories. And how do we publish?, Victor asked me and I showed him my notebook back. I must have taken about ten pages. I set out to write in one of the leaflets and newspaper filled with the composition on both sides. It occurred to me remove the stories with a horizontal line. Over the first issue, Victor and I got a copy with manuscritra and calligraphic letter (so that all understand) the other copies. The good thing was that we had patience. Ten copies of the newspaper were finished and ready for distribution within half an hour.
restless Victor asked me what it was called the newspaper. I smiled because the name of my diary was spinning in my head. The Planet, I said. My partner seemed extraordinary. That night we went to sell the first copy of The Planet. Our neighbors were amazed, the gayest of them for my initiative was Don Roberto Martinez. I remember I took the paper and began reading it immediately. We earned fifty dollars. Not bad.
Planet continued to circulate normally for a couple of weeks. Neighbors were not always fifty dollars, so in some cases we had to give it away. The
buried my journal Nature. Just when we were preparing for a special edition with a broad coverage of the anniversary of Penco Naval Battle of Iquique, the project was shattered forever. That May 21, 1960 the earthquake. Terrified by the phenomenon and my assistant and I had encouragement for new publications. Worse, the next day came the movement stronger and that night we had to start fearing the hills output Tues As we watched the disaster from Villarrica, my assistant asked me: What we do with The Planet? I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. Such was the trauma of the devastating effects of earthquakes, which estimates that the game was finished. And then The Metro did not return to circulate in the neighborhood, although there are friends who still remember the fresh ink and modest entertaining stories.
Weeks after the beach episode, I had the idea of \u200b\u200bmaking my own newspaper, had an enthusiastic partner in the plan was me, Victor Aqueveque. I gave him encouragement and he felt that the newspaper would have a new formula to keep playing. And we started to do reporting. The first day, when we made the deal, we go out separately to get news. I stood dumbfounded for a taco wagon that was formed in the rise of the cemetery. Cars and buses were advancing to a meter per hour, otherwise embarrassing situation on the slope. I ran to see what was the reason for the block, a very rare situation for the time. Today that revistirÃa not any interest. I ran and reached the source of the problem. A huge truck dragging a very heavy burden snorting like a mad bull to beat the rise in first gear and moved closer to the turn of the wheel. The driver was sweating and looking forward instruments. Occasionally missed a look in the mirror, no doubt worried about the huge taco that was causing. The problem ended when the vehicle reached the peak load. That fact seemed to me a story that deserved fun because there was never a traffic jam so big and so foreboding that I began to write.
That night we got together with my partner and talk things we had seen. Victor strongly agreed that the taco should be the first news of the day. He went instead discovered that many dogs loose on the streets. I gave the book and I wrote the story, the fun of it was that Victor knew the names of all the neighborhood dogs. The because of the frequent news was fighting dogs "could be the cause of hydrophobia? Good story. Both
met six short stories. And how do we publish?, Victor asked me and I showed him my notebook back. I must have taken about ten pages. I set out to write in one of the leaflets and newspaper filled with the composition on both sides. It occurred to me remove the stories with a horizontal line. Over the first issue, Victor and I got a copy with manuscritra and calligraphic letter (so that all understand) the other copies. The good thing was that we had patience. Ten copies of the newspaper were finished and ready for distribution within half an hour.
restless Victor asked me what it was called the newspaper. I smiled because the name of my diary was spinning in my head. The Planet, I said. My partner seemed extraordinary. That night we went to sell the first copy of The Planet. Our neighbors were amazed, the gayest of them for my initiative was Don Roberto Martinez. I remember I took the paper and began reading it immediately. We earned fifty dollars. Not bad.
Planet continued to circulate normally for a couple of weeks. Neighbors were not always fifty dollars, so in some cases we had to give it away. The
buried my journal Nature. Just when we were preparing for a special edition with a broad coverage of the anniversary of Penco Naval Battle of Iquique, the project was shattered forever. That May 21, 1960 the earthquake. Terrified by the phenomenon and my assistant and I had encouragement for new publications. Worse, the next day came the movement stronger and that night we had to start fearing the hills output Tues As we watched the disaster from Villarrica, my assistant asked me: What we do with The Planet? I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. Such was the trauma of the devastating effects of earthquakes, which estimates that the game was finished. And then The Metro did not return to circulate in the neighborhood, although there are friends who still remember the fresh ink and modest entertaining stories.
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