In the backyard of his house, in the town of Teruel where he was born, Monreal del Campo, Paco Lorente had spent many afternoons flying planes he built by properly folding the tips and sides of paper sheets. Those planes didn't fly very far. Most of them landed in the neighbor's patio, Amelia, who, every time she found one on the ground, threw it back towards Paco's backyard. He, in reality, imagined himself soaring in a plane like the ones he made. He wanted to be a pilot. But what he ended up piloting was the preparation to take banking entrance exams.
At 18, he started working in a bank in the city of Lleida. Thus began a 40-year career in the banking world, which in his second year already brought him to Barcelona, where he continued to dedicate himself, in various entities, to balancing accounts. He was happy and satisfied with the work he did, although he admits it had become very stressful. Luckily, when he left work, and at any other time, with a small piece of paper and the art of origami, he could build planes.
He retired at 58 and a half, but some time before, he had been thinking about things he could imagine doing to fill so many hours once he stopped clocking in. "I'll go for walks, I'll sign up for workshops and courses...", he thought. His brain had activated a radar to search for, or attract something that, upon closing his working life, could fulfill him.
And on a business trip to Valencia, while still working at the bank, chance had it that, at the train station, a person handed him a brochure for an NGO, an association of people who worked as hospital clowns. They were making themselves known to raise funds. And he, he says, "without ever having done anything similar before, or even knowing a single joke," felt that this chance encounter was a call to start a new path. Upon returning to Barcelona, he began to search for information to find out where he could train. He looked for courses in neighborhood centers and civic centers, and found an introductory clowning course in L'Hospitalet de Llobregat, the city where he lives.
How do you learn to be a clown? "You have to find the clown within you and be yourself, your true self, with introspection and feeling. Then, things you don't even expect start to come out, and you do things that are not logical, as spontaneous as what children do. You have to empty yourself from humility and feel vulnerability. You have to laugh at yourself and have no problem or fear of making mistakes." And, incredible as it may seem, Paco puts on his red clown nose and, automatically, changes his mindset. He puts into practice that metamorphosis of cleansing everything that complicates our existence and feeds our ego.
In search of smiles in the hospital
Once initiated in the art of making people laugh with clown dynamics, Paco took a hospital clown course. Here psychology acquires great weight and, as he explains, in some Latin American countries, hospital clown training is even a university degree. Merche Ochoa, creator of Rinclowncito and National Circus Award in 2014, was Paco's teacher. In that course, he discovered that at Vall d'Hebron Hospital there was an association of clowns who weekly visit hospitalized patients.
They are called Papallassos, and they are about fifteen men and women who, altruistically, every Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday, enter different areas of the Vall d'Hebron Hospital to give hours of surprise, laughter, and entertainment to children and their families, but also to hospitalized adults.
Paco goes on Thursday mornings. He takes the red metro line at the Avinguda Carrilet stop to Plaza de España and, from there, continues with the green line to Montbau. Along the way, he makes origamis that give shape, and almost life, to butterflies. He makes them on the fly, in a flash he has one made, and when he gives it away, he simulates the flapping of his creation. He also makes hearts, which are practical bookmarks, and doves. These days, Paco has noticed that TMB has launched a campaign to encourage people to read a book instead of looking at their mobile phone during their commutes. He likes the idea. But, for anyone sitting near him in the same carriage, it will be very easy to stop paying attention to their mobile phone. The skill with which Paco makes each of the folds of the flower paper ---which comes from Japan---, shaping hearts, doves or butterflies, leaves anyone engrossed.
When he arrives at the hospital, with all the origamis he has made along the way in a bag, he dresses in striped trousers, a floral shirt and a bow tie, all with as much color as possible. On top, a white coat, but always customized with colorful little flowers, hearts and butterflies, a hat where colorful flowers have also landed, large pasta glasses and his red clown nose, introduce this man into that interesting journey in search of his cleanest and most naive version. An inner search that is a magnet for smiles and laughter from young and old.
It has been eleven years since Paco became one of these clowns who, in pairs, enter rooms to paint life with colors. "We also go to the ICU, to emergencies, to traumatology and burns, and to the day hospital," he points out. And from inside his bag, he takes out origamis, a mini deck of cards to do some trick that, if it doesn't go well, causes even more laughter, or a bottle to blow soap bubbles. Any silliness ends up being a party that distracts patients and family members during that time, even in the most critical circumstances.
With sensitivity, his presence is always welcome, even when life is fading away"The first time, I didn't know how I would feel. I'm one of those who get dizzy if they draw blood. I knew it could be more impactful because it was the first time," he recalls. "But when you see how excited they get, them and their parents or other relatives, you find all the meaning in what we do," she says."To babies, we play music, and parents see their reaction," he explains. "Before entering any place, we first ask the nurses where we can go and where we cannot," he points out. With sensitivity, their presence is always welcome, even when life is ending. "I remember the day we went to a room when a child's life came to an end. The parents wanted us by their side. There are moments like that where emotions are touched," he recalls.
From the reflections resulting from this experience as a hospital clown, Paco Lorente takes away one: "That many of the adults who complain so much about anything should occasionally visit certain hospital wards. This is enough to realize the great amount of nonsense we dwell on so much, and how simple it is to live a more normal life."
During 2024, Papallassos made more than 390 visits. They spent 780 hours with patients and families trying to provoke smiles, saying things a doctor or nurse would never say, challenging children with riddles, and telling very bad jokes. Paco also usually takes a small harmonica from his bag with which he plays some notes to lead melodies and songs.
That small red rubber ball, about four centimeters, that attaches to the nose, he also wears it to go on stage with the Fugireli Teatre company, the group of actors and actresses who, in a clown key, rehearse their plays every Tuesday in L'Hospitalet to perform three shows a year.
This is how the man who makes origamis in the subway, one of the few who does not travel with a mobile phone in hand, counts the weeks. In silence and anonymity, the art of origami has been, in the life of this amateur clown, a common thread, a discreet but constant presence. A companion and a tool for socialization. Like the teenager looking for the path to follow, he, seeing himself landing in retirement, was also looking for it. Now, at 70 years old, Lorente can very well say that one day, at a train station in Valencia, he found it.