I started life as a poor porteñito in La Boca.

We lived in a conventillo--the simple and poor metal shanties that housed many families in a single room.

(Our home is on the top floor on the left.)

Life was not always bad. Many people came to see us and visit.

(Including many touristas from whom we made a few pesos.)

In fact, here is a picture of my home with my uncle Pedro resting after a hard day at the milonga.

My poor old mother, who used to wash other people's clothes (in our laundry room, above) to support us with her back bent over the wash basin often told me, "Juanito, one day you will be famous like Cachafaz and make sweet music like Carlitos (Gardel).

"In fact, your friends will call you El Legendario."

I emigrated to the U.S. by wading across the river on a dark, moonless night.

After working in many bean fields, my good friend, Chico, asked me, "Juanito, are you going to waste your life in the fields, or are you going to show your secrets to the gringos?"

I knew it was time to make my talents known to the culturally starved gringos.

...after teaching him the secrets of the gancho and sharing the seductive methods of El Mate.

One evening while I was helping Nestor Ray to understand some of the finer points of milonga con traspie, it happened...

(top)

I met my Beticita...

We danced under the moon.

We travel the world..

The cultural wasteland of the gringo milongas were crying out, "Legendario, where are you?

"We need music that reminds us of our homeland.

"We need music to compel our dancers to get on the floor."

So, Beticita and I gave up entertaining in La Boca for a time...

...to bring music to the starving souls of the Gringo Milongas.

It began to seem as though we were back in Buenos Aires...

There was joy in the land...