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| Photo: Brian Smith/Corbis |
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Don Francisco: Moving Mountains
As a young boy growing up at the foot of the Andes, Mario Kreutzberger often gazed up at the mountain nearest his home and wondered what lay behind it. To find out, the dedicated disciple of Mark Twain set out on a Tom Sawyeresque adventure. When he reached the top of that mountain, he saw something that mystified him: another mountain. At that mountain’s pinnacle, he peered out to find yet another. Years later, soaring by airplane over the Andes, he realized hundreds of mountains separated his native Chile from Argentina, and all of them were behind that first one.
That memory of his childhood in Talca was many mountains ago for the son of German Jewish immigrants fleeing Adolf Hitler’s Nazi Germany in the late 1930s. But not even the most imaginative child could have conjured up the adventures he would experience in a career spanning decades and hemispheres. Tom Sawyer had nothing on Don Francisco, the intrepid persona who would command one of the longest-running shows in television history with the same host and become a one-man entertainment empire. “Don Francisco”—Kreutzberger’s whimsical, magnetic, and often outlandish alter ego—is the host of Sábado Gigante, the popular variety show he created 43 years ago. Perhaps “variety show” is too demure a term for the carnival that is Univision’s top-rated, three-hour extravaganza that reaches some 100 million people in more than 40 countries. It delivers a spicy mix of pumped-up games, zany comedy sketches, scantily clad hostesses leading rhythmic commercial pitches, amateur talent contests, travel segments, and even serious interviews with leading newsmakers. And “host” doesn’t begin to describe Don Francisco’s duties. He has been called a living legend, Mr. Saturday Night, the don of Saturday Night, and the most popular television show host on the planet. The San Francisco Chronicle recently said of Kreutzberger: “He’s the Spanish-language Regis when it comes to ubiquitousness, he’s Jerry Lewis when it comes to raising money for charity, and he’s John Madden when it comes to pitching merchandise.” Last fall, the TV personality with the booming voice was inducted into the Broadcasting & Cable Hall of Fame. Three years earlier, he was honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The recognitions now number 1,800—so many that Temmy, Kreutzberger’s wife of 42 years, recently remodeled their Miami waterfront home to make room for an expanded hall of honors. The house features a meticulously organized collection of Don Francisco’s awards, photographs, and other memorabilia set against a larger backdrop of traditional Chilean art and spaces designed for entertaining. Despite their differences, Kreutzberger and his Don Francisco persona have become almost interchangeable. Mario Kreutzberger is a Renaissance man; an enterprising businessman; a pensive, often serious intellectual; a disciplined sportsman; an art collector; a connoisseur of wine, poetry, and sparkling conversation. Don Francisco is a monumental clown. But not only do they peacefully coexist, they thrive on one another’s wit and generosity. Today, Kreutzberger proudly responds to the name Don Francisco, even off camera.
“What we did was not a political interview, but a more humanized interview. What they feel, what they think about us, what is their perception of us Hispanics,” recalls Kreutzberger, who pointed out that four years earlier, then-presidential challenger Bush and Vice President Al Gore had been on his program. Kreutzberger’s influence has empowered young artists, up-and-coming TV personalities, and other budding talent. For 26 years, he has been the host of a successful telethon in Chile to benefit disabled children; he also has built six hospitals there. He was inspired by Jerry Lewis’s telethons and personally consulted him before launching his own. This telethon in Chile raises more funds per capita than any other similar event in the world. He does the math: “We are 14 million residents in Chile, and last year we raised $22 million. That’s about $1.40 per person.” Kreutzberger proved a great inspiration to a dynamic Spanish-language magazine editor in chief named Cristina Saralegui when she was considering a move to television. “The story of Spanish-language television should be told as what came before, and what came after, Don Francisco,” says Saralegui, who also is a hugely popular talk show host. “No one in history has had more influence over [the genre’s] development.” Don Francisco is nonstop. He has circled the world several times in the past 40 years and has filmed the Cámara Viajera segment of Sábado Gigante in 162 countries. He has fulfilled his youthful ambition to trek through every major jungle in the world. But now he readily admits his need for speed is waning—not deteriorating, simply changing. He keeps fit, starting each morning with an hour of weightlifting, an hour of tennis, and a swim in the pool. Even after recent arthroscopic surgery on both knees, he maintains a fairly brisk step. But he harbors none of that blind obsession with “staying young forever,” he insists. “We cannot remain young, for each phase of life has its own age-appropriate experiences. But we can remain engaged in our world in an active way,” says Kreutzberger, a father of three and grandfather of six.
He’s on a roll: “We have so much to contribute and to learn still. The world moves so quickly. If the new world involves computers and I don’t know anything about computers, I don’t have to retire from that world. I have to admire it and incorporate myself into that world. I have to find some way to make it a part of my life. I have to belong to today’s world if I want to keep learning and stay vital.” So what does Kreutzberger want to learn? “Everything,” he says without missing a beat. His latest passion is not some newfangled gadget, but the venerable art of conversation. He cherishes good, spirited conversation so much that he recently furnished a parlor in his home specifically for this purpose. Friends and business associates visit to exchange ideas and work out plans in a relaxed setting. No wonder his latest television success is a prime-time weekly talk show called Don Francisco Presenta. The Wednesday-night interview program has gained attention because of Kreutzberger’s ability to make his guests open up, vent, and cry. To cast Don Francisco as a Hispanic version of Barbara Walters is to dismiss too easily his own art of transporting even the toughest subjects to distant, often vulnerable places and to make them feel safe enough to take the audience there as well. He has been called don Cebollón, or Don Onion, for this art. “The art of conversation is something that cannot be learned. There has to be a genuine interest between two people who simply begin to talk,” he says. “When someone has this vocation, to ask questions, you learn that everyone is a story. You are a story.” At this point, Kreutzberger morphs into the inquisitive Don Francisco and turns the tables on his interviewer, asking her about her childhood and her own migration to the United States as an infant. That line of questioning is quickly cut off and the interview resumes, but not before Don Francisco makes his point: “See, the important thing is that I can lead you down the paths of your childhood. At some point, memories click in your mind. All of this leads you to tell your story.” His colleague at Univision, syndicated columnist and network anchor María Elena Salinas, admires Don Francisco’s strength as an interviewer. “He can make you laugh and he can make you cry and make it look effortless,” she says. “He makes those around him feel welcome by showing concern and a genuine interest in your life and work. “I have been with him in public places and witnessed his star power, but also his compassion toward others. Don Mario will treat everyone as equals—he can be as charming to a head of state as he can be to the waiter of his favorite restaurant. I think he has a heart as gigante as the image and the empire he has built with his show.” Perhaps Don Francisco’s fascination with other people's stories is rooted in Kreutzberger’s fascination with old-fashioned television. He first met “the box” in a modest American hotel room in 1959, when his father sent him to New York City to study patternmaking so he could earn a living as a men’s clothing designer. He couldn’t believe the silvery pictures beaming out of the “big radio set” in his room. Imagining the possibilities for his native Chile, Kreutzberger, who often appeared in local theater productions back home, took copious notes of the programs appearing on the screen. He was convinced he had seen the future. Several years later, after earning his patternmaking degree, he landed a bit television role back home. He was hooked. That same year, 1962, Sábado Gigante was born. After a successful 23-year run in Chile, Don Francisco moved the show’s production facilities to Miami. Though he had won over Latin America, it was not so easy at first to win over Middle America’s advertisers, who remained clueless to the staggering growth of the U.S. Hispanic population. He remembers the cold welcome he received upon asking an executive of a major department store chain about advertising in Spanish: “What? Television in Spanish? Our shoplifters are your viewers.” Today, he rattles off that sound bite pretty fluently in English. Then he smiles in the mischievous way Don Francisco uses to disarm his guests. The insult may have stung at the time, but it didn’t break his stride. It only helped him climb another mountain. |
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