Me (4 page)

Menudo began when the producer Edgardo Diaz formed a group of five young boys, all of them Puerto Rican. The uniqueness of Menudo, what I believe made Menudo completely distinctive—and allowed its fame to last for so long—is that the band members were always changing. The idea was that each member would only stay until he turned sixteen, and at that point he would have to retire and his place in the band would open up for a new member. This way, the boys were always young, preserving the joy and innocence of adolescence. The first Menudo was composed of two sets of brothers: the Melendezes (Carlos, Ricky, and Oscar), and the Sallaberrys (Fernando and Nefty). They released their first album in 1977, and from that moment on the group’s fame grew exponentially: In just a few short years they were filling stadiums the length and width of Latin America, and their photos were plastered across the press, even in Asia. They became a worldwide phenomenon, and when RCA, the music label, got wind of what was going on, they signed them to a multi-million-dollar deal. This made them even more famous, garnering millions of young fans throughout the United States and the rest of the world. In fact, one of the most important English-language TV networks in the United States used the group’s music to teach its viewers how to speak Spanish.

So when I was very little (in the late seventies, early eighties), Menudo was awesome. A worldwide phenomenon. A total hit. How could I not have wanted to be a part of that? Especially considering that the phenomenon had been born on my island? I knew all of their songs by heart—I had been singing them as long as I can remember. In fact, I loved singing so much that, with the innate confidence of youth, I felt that getting into the group was not an impossible dream. . . . So I dedicated myself to making it happen.

But like everything in life, my entrance into Menudo would not come without its fair share of contradictions. Despite the fact that the boys from Menudo were my idols and I yearned to be a part of the group, for the majority of kids my age Menudo was a girl thing. Culturally and socially, we were so conditioned—in part due to ignorance and in part to envy—to think that real men don’t like to sing and dance, that for a kid like me to want to do it was considered ridiculous. In fact, when my friends from school asked me why I wanted to get into Menudo, I would always say that it was “for the girls, the money, and the travel.” I should have told them the truth—that I wanted to sing and dance onstage—but I have no doubt that they would have made fun of me. Boys weren’t supposed to “like” Menudo. So instead of telling the truth, I simply went along with it and said what was expected of me, choosing the path of least resistance. At that time, it was in no way a traumatic experience, but now I realize how sad it is that I didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell the truth.

After pleading for months, I finally had the opportunity to audition. My father took me to the place where the auditions were being held, and I perfectly recall that on the way there I felt completely calm. Even though it would have been normal for me to be even just a little bit nervous, I was very relaxed because I knew I was going to do well and that the executives would have no option other than to choose me.

And that’s how it went . . . almost. I did very well at the audition. They loved how I sang and how I danced, but there was one problem: I was too short. The rest of the boys in the group were a head and a half taller than me, and the executives wanted all the boys in the group to be more or less the same height. But instead of discouraging me, that initial rejection only served to fuel my determination. I showed up again at an audition nine months later, but once again I failed because I was still too short. At one point they even suggested that I buy a basketball and play to see if it would help me grow! Kind of cynical, right?

But, of course, I did not allow myself to become discouraged. I persisted until finally, by the third audition, I made it. I had not really grown much since the last two auditions, but for some reason this time my stature did not seem to bother them. I think it was in part because they saw how badly I wanted to get in. “Looks like you’re just never going to grow!” they said.

The day of that third audition, they called me and said that they wanted to do another audition at the home of one of the band manager’s assistants. I of course went to her house, where I sang a couple of songs. When I finished, she said to me, “Now, let’s go to the office.” I thought it was a bit strange, but since I didn’t know any better, I followed her.

The surprise came when we arrived at the group’s offices, and my parents were there to meet me. At first I didn’t understand why they were there, until someone finally explained: “You passed the audition! You are a Menudo!” I was speechless. I was happy, of course, but at the same time I could not believe it. They congratulated me and we celebrated, but what was really unbelievable was that they told me at seven o’clock at night, and by eight o’clock the next morning I was on a plane to Orlando, where the band was based. As soon as I arrived I went straight to do interviews, meet the stylists, and get fitted for wardrobe. In less than twenty-four hours my life changed completely.

I left my family behind, along with my neighborhood, my friends, and absolutely everything that was familiar to me. It was a very abrupt change that could have been traumatic had it not been for the fact that I was on cloud nine. I was so overjoyed that I had more than enough energy to do everything I had to do. I had to learn eighteen dance routines in just ten days, and I can say that it’s something I am genuinely proud of, because it took some people four days just to learn one. It was a very intense time that came with its share of challenges, but I was so happy I felt like I was on top of the world.

Just one month after I joined the group, I made my debut at the Luis A. Ferré Center for Fine Arts in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Ricky Melendez (the last standing member of the original group) was the one leaving, and as such was the one who introduced me that night, which was very special for me. It was planned that after his presentation I would sing alone in the middle of the stage, while the rest of the group remained seated on a staircase behind me. It was a spectacular moment. I was not nervous at all—in fact, quite the opposite! I grabbed the microphone and started to sing, walking from one side of the stage to the other, moving to the rhythm of the music. I was very pleased with my performance, especially when I finished and the audience gave me such a thunderous hand. It made me feel so good that I realized that this was definitely what I wanted to do from then on.

But that night I also had one of my first lessons on how things were done with Menudo. When I finished my song and left the stage, the band manager was waiting for me backstage. I was still flying high, euphoric from the applause, when he approached me, screaming:
“Did I not tell you to stand in the middle of the stage?!”

He was right. He had said so because of the lighting, and I had completely forgotten to follow his instructions. I was going from one side of the stage to the other, when they wanted me to stay planted in one spot where they could shine the lights on me steadily. The poor guys in the lighting crew were probably losing their minds trying to follow me with the spotlights.

The mistake was such a big deal that from that moment on, never again did I move when I wasn’t supposed to move. I would learn that lesson, as I would many more in the years to come. That was the discipline of Menudo: You either did things the way you were told or you were not part of the group. It was that simple.

AFTER WORKING SO hard to get into the band, I was not going to do—or fail to do—anything that would cost me my place in the group. Menudo was more than a new world to me; it was another galaxy. When we traveled, we took a private jet—we’re talking about a jumbo 737! In the cities where we performed, we would not just stay in a simple hotel suite, or even on a whole floor; the
entire hotel
would be reserved just for us! Sometimes there would be a whole floor just to entertain us, replete with pinball machines and video games. We lived in our very own Disney World, any child’s wildest dream. It was so much fun! Every day was a new adventure, and I loved every second of it. We worked very hard, but when it was time to relax, we were treated like kings.

The other thing I always loved about Menudo was that it was like one big family. The free time we had was spent playing around and talking—and sometimes fighting—like five brothers. Since I was the youngest and the smallest in size, some of the other guys would play the role of the older brothers. When we were among the masses, when the fans would trample us with excitement, they always looked after me in the midst of the madness. And that made me feel special.

We traveled all over the world. We had concerts in Japan, the Philippines, Europe, South America, and for the first time in the history of the group, we did a tour through the United States, which included twenty-four shows at Radio City Music Hall in New York. It was crazy and impressive to see thousands and thousands of people stopping traffic on Sixth Avenue in front of Radio City and around the entire block! When we looked down from our dressing room, it was like a sea of people. Hundreds of police officers had to form a human barrier on Sixty-third Street and the corner of Lexington Avenue, where our hotel was.

Our fans were passionate, and they would stop at nothing. I remember another time we were in Argentina and there was a throng of at least five thousand girls outside the hotel. They had pins, photographs, flags, and all the Menudo paraphernalia. The girls would scream and yell out each time we would appear at the windows. All you had to do was put an arm out the window to drive them crazy. They would sing our songs along with cheers, like you would hear at soccer stadiums, but adapting them to the group. Later, some guys showed up—I guess they were upset because of all the attention Menudo was getting from the girls—and they started to sing their own cheers, but insulting us and calling us names. Suddenly one of the boys went to where the girls were and tried to take down the Puerto Rican flag. . . . Well, the girls fought back hard! They beat him up so badly that I think he barely made it out alive.

Things like that happened to us all the time. It was truly crazy.

What a change! Before I became a part of the group, my life was completely different. From a simple life in Puerto Rico, where I lived surrounded by family and friends, and hardly ever wandered beyond the few square blocks of my neighborhood, I leaped into a world of fame, luxury, and worship. I went from being the beloved son of my parents and adored grandson of my grandparents to being an international star who traveled the world giving concerts on some of the most important stages on the planet. Naturally, there were moments when I felt lost and would have liked to have my mother or father around to comfort me. During the whole time I was in Menudo, they were always concerned about me and we talked very often, but of course, that was not always enough. I remember, for example, once when we were on tour in Brazil, I called my mother one night and said, “Mami, I can’t take it anymore. I’m so exhausted, I want to come home.”

She consoled me however she could and said: “My son, if this is what you want, don’t worry. Tomorrow we will talk to the lawyers and arrange everything so that you can come home.” But right away she added: “Right now it is too late at night to do it, but if this is what you want, I will call the lawyer first thing in the morning.”

After speaking to her I calmed down and was able to fall asleep and get some much-needed rest. In fact, by the following morning I had completely forgotten about what was bothering me the day before. I called my mother very early the next day and said: “Mami, I’m fine now! Don’t worry. Don’t call the lawyers. Everything is fine.”

My mother’s attitude was what made me feel so much better. If I had decided to leave Menudo at that moment, things would have been pretty complicated. I would have probably gotten sued for breach of contract, and the news would have exploded in the media. People would have asked me all sorts of questions and rumors would have started as to why a band member was leaving the group when everything seemed to be going so great. . . . I realize now that it would have been a huge deal. But no matter the consequences, my mother was willing to deal with the whole thing. All she wanted was for me to stop sounding as upset as I sounded over the phone.

And so I forged ahead. Just like every other person who has to wake up in the morning and go to work, of course I had my moments of weakness and anxiety, but the euphoria that was always going on around me kept pushing me forward. I knew I was living through something extraordinary, and as tired as I may have been sometimes, I didn’t want to miss a thing.

IT WAS THANKS to all the hard work I was doing that I had the opportunity to have so many amazing experiences and meet so many amazing people, a connection I felt with even more clarity when, for example, we became UNICEF ambassadors. The band managers wanted to make the most of our trips around the world, so in our roles as ambassadors we would invite underprivileged children—who lived a reality that was very different from ours—to our shows. Many times they were orphans, or homeless children living on the street who had faced intense hardship in their lives at a very young age.

In those days, I think our smallest concert was for an audience of about 70,000 people. We also had the world record of 200,000 people in attendance for our concert in the Morumbi Stadium in São Paulo. But when it came to spending time with these children and bringing a little bit of joy into their lives, all the glamour of the private jets, having entire hotels to ourselves, private chefs, personal bodyguards, tutors, assistants, and so on—all of this ceased to exist. The organizers would say to us, “Hold on for a second; now we are going to spend time with children who are no more or no less than you. They simply live a very different reality than yours.” And the chance to be able to spend time with those children was one of the most valuable experiences that Menudo ever gave me. I learned to see life from another perspective, to comprehend what is truly meaningful and what is not—a lesson that is beyond important for an adolescent living in the world of luxury and abundance.