History Of Tango – Part 12: El Cachafaz and the Dancers of the Early 20th Century

He rented a house on Rioja Street, near the Gricel dance hall today.

His mother, Petrona Celestina Cabral, was visited by a neighbor accompanied by a police officer, explaining that the child had broken one of her windows with a stone. The mother, incredulous, affirmed that it was impossible, that her son was “good,” but the policeman understood the child’s name as “Benito.” Soon, the father appeared, agreeing with the neighbor, saying that his son was a “scoundrel” (“cachafaz” in Spanish). This led to how our character became known in history: Benito Bianquet, El Cachafaz.

At that time, the child, who had smallpox, which left marks on his face, went to school, worked as a shoeshine boy, and spent the rest of the day on the street, where he occasionally saw men dancing the tango on the sidewalks to the music of street organ grinders. He watched them very attentively when he had the opportunity to be alone at home, as his father worked in a cigarette factory and his mother went out to run errands, he stood in front of the mirror and reproduced what he had observed on the street, recreating and improving the steps he had learned according to his criteria.

One day, while watching those men dance tango, he stood beside them and began dancing, too. The men stopped, and one asked him to dance with him. Everyone was astonished by the skill of this 11-year-old boy, who, from that day on, was recognized throughout the neighborhood for his dancing.

At 18, he left his parental home and moved to Pergamino, where the government incentivized young people who wanted to settle and work there. He lived in Pergamino for a while, working in the fields and making many friends, but he missed his home, his mother, and the tango.

So he soon returned to Buenos Aires and reconnected with his passion, realizing he needed to leave his neighborhood and dance in the “forbidden places” where his art would be better appreciated. Cachafaz’s tango came from his street friends, who were much older than him. Boys his age called him “maestro” and asked him to teach them, to which he responded, “I don’t teach. If you want to learn, watch me and copy.”

At that time, he also began to associate with essential characters in the history of tango, such as Francisco Canaro, with whom he was very close, Carlos Gardel, Discépolo’s father, Ernesto Ponzio, author of the tango “Don Juan,” Rosendo Mendizábal, author of “El entrerriano,” and many more.

Tango was transforming. Born in marginalized neighborhoods, it now sought acceptance from the wealthier classes. This began to happen in the first “waitresses’ cafes” proliferating in the La Boca neighborhood, where patrons could drink coffee and alcoholic beverages, listen to the pioneers of tango music transitioning from the primitive tango of the “Guardia Vieja” to the more elaborate tango of the “Guardia Nueva,” such as Francisco Canaro, Vicente Greco, Genaro Espósito, Roberto Firpo, Arturo Bernstein, and even dance with the waitresses. It was 1903, and El Cachafaz frequented these places, not to dance but to watch.

In those places, the tango dance was also being reworked, recreated day by day. The dancers watched each other and produced their choreographic innovations, inheriting techniques from the past and inspired by the new music.

The most important dancer of that era was Pedrín. Everything about him is conjecture, except that he was one of the pioneering tango dancers. It is speculated that his parents were Spaniards who arrived in the Río de la Plata region between the mid and late 19th century, along with many other European immigrants. The family might have settled in a conventillo near the old Plaza del Comercio, now Plaza Dorrego. There, Pedrín inherited his love for dance and began dancing tango before the age of fifteen.

Pedrín was creative and elegant, with light and swift feet. His friends said that, above all, he knew how not to dance tango. He stood out among the suburban dancers, frequenting street corners and dance venues and developing a unique style with distinctive figures. By 1899, he was considered the most outstanding dancer of his generation. Some called him Pedrín de San Telmo, while others called him Pedrín the One-Eyed. He danced with La Flaca Rosa, but his most significant contribution was his influence on El Cachafaz’s style.

El Cachafaz stood out in improvised dance, creating a style he continuously modified throughout his over 40-year career. He distinguished himself from other street dancers with his elegance, confidence, and precision in posture—qualities that, around 1910, seemed more French than Argentine. Although his technique was not always refined due to his origins in brothels frequented by rough and drunk men, his dance was unique. His figures did not follow a logical structure and often seemed unfinished.

Though smoother than street dancing, he performed “corridas” with an exaggerated sway. The speed and length of his steps varied without apparent reason. At a time when dancers often strayed from the music and took time to regain the rhythm—something unattractive—El Cachafaz was very concerned about the relationship between steps and music, and he had extraordinary musical sensitivity.

His ability to move his feet with great speed and precision allowed him to interpret a musical phrase as if his feet were playing the instruments. He divided the melody and rhythm note by note, synchronizing his foot movements with them. When the bandoneon became the main instrument of tango, he conceived the idea that his movement should represent the instrument’s breathing. The richness of the bandoneon favored his dancing style, softening its rough edges and making his gestures more expressive and poetic.

Watching him dance was a spectacle from the moment he entered the dance halls. His posture, cold blue eyes, olive skin, black hair slicked with gel, and the smallpox scars on his face gave him a severe look that could instill fear when he concentrated intensely. He did not choreograph; he had studied sequences he linked according to his inspiration, often leading him to spontaneously invent figures he would never repeat.

He always danced very upright, which gave him an imposing air. He never stayed completely close to his partner and often did not lead her in a frontal position, making his movements more visible. His partners said they could never figure out what they were doing and never felt forced, sensing the impulse of delicate commands that made them perform the most complex figures with the assurance that El Cachafaz would give them time to complete them.

His style was continuously transforming, noticeable week by week. He danced very differently from the others. In a dance hall, he seemed to come from another era. Women feared being asked to dance by him and, at the same time, desired it because he did many things they were unaware of, but they also knew that, guided by him, there would be no insurmountable difficulties.

The first competition El Cachafaz participated in was in Rosario in 1906, at Madame Safó’s house. He had visited a cousin who was making good money with several stores in the city center. His cousin took him to Madame Safó’s, the most expensive brothel in the country, although the dance floor was free. There, the master dancer Gaeta, who trained the girls, mostly of Polish origin, was employed.

When they arrived at the hall, they saw Gaeta dancing with his partner. El Cachafaz asked the first girl who smiled at him to dance, and she followed him very well. He started dancing very close to Gaeta, challenging him with his “cortes and quebradas.” Gaeta did not back down, and soon, Madame Safó organized a competition. They would dance a tango, a waltz, and a milonga. El Cachafaz won the first round, but Gaeta shone more in the waltz. The milonga went to El Cachafaz, securing his victory.

In 1907, he defeated the man considered the best tango dancer in Buenos Aires, Pardo Satillán, who danced with his partner, Parda Esther, both of Uruguayan origin, at the Hansen hall in the Palermo neighborhood. He danced with an unknown young lady, a regular at the place, who confessed to him after the dance that she had thought she was a beginner until then, but with him, she had done steps she did not know she was capable of. She had danced with an ecstatic smile throughout the tense competition.

El Cachafaz was famous for his habit of arriving at any milonga without a partner and establishing his dominance with a regular dancer with whom he had never danced before. This highlights El Cachafaz’s leading qualities and indicates that the average level of dancing at that time was very high.

In 1911, he won another contest and, as a prize, received a contract to work and teach in New York, thus becoming the first officially recognized professional tango dancer.

In 1913, he returned to Buenos Aires, and the owner of the Teatro Olimpo, who had started organizing dances there, proposed that they partner and open a tango school on the upper floor. The venture was so successful that tango ended up displacing the theater, and the name was changed to Salón Olimpo. Within two years, attendance had grown so much that opening a second dance floor in the hall where El Cachafaz taught his classes became necessary. Consequently, the owner began a similar experience in another hall in downtown Buenos Aires. El Cachafaz did not like giving group classes, so he took the opportunity to offer private lessons only.

Meanwhile, a moralistic reaction ensued against tango in the United States and Europe, prompting Pope Pius X to weigh in and accept it. Baron Antonio de Marchi arrived in Buenos Aires in the early 1900s and bridged the social classes of Argentine aristocracy and the lower classes through tango. For him, “Tango had to become the element of unity and solidarity of the city.”

Born in Pallanza, Italy, on August 25, 1875, he died in Buenos Aires on February 20, 1934. He married María Roca, daughter of General Julio Argentino Roca, who was President of Argentina for two terms (1880-1886 and 1898-1904). De Marchi was primarily a sportsman and pioneer. He founded the Sociedad Sportiva, created the Cercle de l’Éppé to promote fencing, encouraged automobile racing, organized the Boy Scouts of Buenos Aires, and formed the school battalions that paraded at the Centennial celebrations (1910). He also promoted horsemanship, cultivated a friendship with Jorge Newbery, and provided the Aero Club with the field of the Sportiva (the current area of the city’s Planetarium), from where the balloon Pampero, piloted by Newbery and Aaron de Anchorena, departed on December 25, 1907.

When World War I broke out, he returned to his country and joined the fighting troops, returning to Argentina after the armistice. In Milan, he had studied tango with Parisian masters. He had the intuition that tango should endure into the future, but for this to happen, the rejection of the upper class had to end.

In 1913, he organized a tango music competition —whose jury was composed of ladies from high society— to promote it to the upper class of Buenos Aires, and hired several dance couples. He asked the participants to moderate their performances to avoid scandalizing the audience, but this provoked harsh criticism in one of Buenos Aires’ leading newspapers, denouncing this tango falsification. This worried De Marchi greatly, and he realized that public opinion agreed with the newspaper article, although they appreciated the Baron’s intention to help tango gain acceptance. Many advised him to abandon the enterprise and cancel the following nights at the theater. But he decided to move forward. He lowered the ticket price, filled the theater, and allowed the dancers to perform freely without explicitly declaring it.

All the dancers began to perform tango figures without censorship. The audience responded positively, even dancing in their seats and trying to imitate the steps they saw. One of the dancers stood out, and from then on, he was mentioned whenever the topic of tango arose in conversation.

He was El Cachafaz, 28 years old.

In 1918, Gardel and Razzano, the most famous duo in Argentine history, organized a show to honor the world’s best tango dancer, El Cachafaz. This was a year after Carlos Gardel premiered the first tango song and began his career as a tango singer.

The show featured the Firpo-Canaro orchestra, which included the most famous musicians of the time, the same orchestra that had caused a sensation at the Teatro Colón in Rosario during the previous year’s carnivals. It included tango stars such as Eduardo Arolas, Osvaldo Fresedo, Juan D’Ambrogio “Bachicha,” and Pedro Polito on bandoneons; Julio Doutry, Agesilao Ferrazzano, and Tito Roccatagliata on violins; Juan Carlos Bazán on clarinet, Alejandro Michetti on flute, José Martinez on piano, and Leopoldo Thompson on double bass. Francisco Canaro (violin) and Roberto Firpo (piano) alternated in conducting.

In 1913, Tango was all the rage in Paris. There was a “tango color” (orange), a “tango corset,” and a cocktail: a tablespoon of orange juice, 1/2 measure of gin, 1/4 of dry vermouth, 1/4 of classic vermouth, and 2 dashes of curaçao.

Everyone danced the tango, except the working class, and at all hours: at tango teas from 4 to 7 pm, for 5 francs, including a drink; at champagne tangos; and later at night, in the clubs of the Champs Elysées.

Tango was also danced on the Paris-Deauville train and at the Palais de Glace on skates. There were also competitions dominated by the only Parisian who had learned to dance tango in Buenos Aires, Ludovic de Portalu, Marquis of Senas, a former hussar, 77 years old, who danced with his granddaughter Adry de Carbuccia, 20 years old, dressed in white with a large bow on her head. He was “le roi du tango,” but only for the French because, for the Argentines living in Paris, the king of tango was Bernabé Simarra, nicknamed “El Negro,” or “El Indio.”

His partner then was the Cuban Ideal Gloria, the most internationally reputed tango dancer.

Tickets sold out on the night of February 25 at Folie Magic. The Argentine audience’s presence was impressive. It was a resounding triumph, and the next day, Paris newspapers dedicated entire pages to him, discussing his life and the fascination of his dance. He met the most important European entrepreneurs at the hotel where he stayed. After considering several proposals, he became a dance teacher at the Hotel Excelsior in Venice, where the most important European aristocrats stayed.

In the early 1920s, he traveled to Barcelona, where he established a dance academy aimed at teaching tango to the Catalan upper class. In time, this specialist in winning dance contests won first prize at the festival for dancers organized by the Principal Palace Theater.

In 1936, when the Spanish Civil War broke out, Simarra had to leave the Iberian Peninsula hastily, leaving all his belongings behind. He traveled to Montevideo, where he was forced to beg and died of grief in the harshest poverty, on the street, on an improvised bed made of newspaper.

In 1913, while Simarra was traveling to Venice, another legend of the Argentine dance arrived in Paris: “El Vasco” Casimiro Aín.

During his stay in the Old World, he worked various jobs to survive and, along with two friends, began performing in bars and cabarets, gaining notoriety as a tango dancer. His skill and charisma made him the first Argentine dancer to introduce porteño dance internationally.

In 1904, Casimiro returned to Buenos Aires, performing alongside his wife Martina at the Teatro Ópera. During the Centennial of Argentine Independence celebrations in 1910, his performance was a resounding success, establishing him as a professional dancer.

In 1913, with the financial support of Ramón Alberto Lopez Buchardo, a young man from a wealthy family who was one of the introducers of tango in Paris and author of tangos such as “Germaine” and “Entre dos fuegos,” he traveled to France with his partner Jazmín and the typical orchestra of Vicente Loduca, Eduardo Monelos, and Celestino Ferrer, forming the group “La Murga Argentina,” performing at the Cabaret Princesse.

In November 1913, he traveled to New York. A week after his arrival, Aín and his typical orchestra debuted at an invitation-only “Tango Tea” at the Vanderbilt Hotel, organized by Mrs. E. Roscoe Matthews, whom some publications credit with bringing Aín to New York.

El Vasco performed several exhibition dances and instructed participants in the ‘authentic’ Argentine tango. “Everyone who danced with Mr. Aín later declared that he was wonderful,” an observer stated.

In addition to his roles as a teacher, Aín soon found work as an exhibition dancer. Sometimes, he presented himself as ‘Casimiro Aín,’ other times as ‘Casimir Aín,’ and even as ‘Professor Argentino,’ proclaiming himself the ‘inventor of tango,’ a clear exaggeration, but less so than other claimants to the title.

Though the authenticity of the experience was highlighted, decency was also emphasized. Both Parisians and New Yorkers wanted a tango that was authentic enough to be exotic but not so sensual as scandalous. The version Aín performed reflected this paradox; it was described as “authentic” and at the same time “as majestic and formal as the old minuet.”

Tango instruction manuals, which proliferated in New York in 1914, spoke of a “new tango” purified of unpleasant elements and its undeniable Afro-American origins, making it suitable for American and European clientele. Here, we see that the idea of a “new tango” is not new, originating largely not from an alleged “evolution” of tango but from marketing needs. Like today’s professionals, Casimiro’s priority was a dance that was easy to teach, attractive to watch, and fundamentally profitable.

In 1920, Casimiro Aín returned to Paris with Jazmín to win the World Championship of Modern Dances on June 16, competing against 150 couples at the Marigny Theater.

At that time, bandoneonists Manuel Pizarro and “El Tano” Genaro Expósito were forming an orchestra to perform at the Princesse. Pizarro offered El Vasco to join the project, but he was too busy with private lessons.

His fame continued to grow, and later, he toured Europe and Egypt with the German Edith Peggy, with whom he can be seen dancing in the German film “Abwege.”

In 1926, he danced at the Club Mirador with Francisco Canaro’s orchestra in New York.

In 1930, he returned permanently to Argentina, where he continued performing and teaching dance for a few more years. His performance in the 1936 show “The Evolution of Tango” is notable from this period, directed by Francisco De Caro at the Teatro Ópera in Buenos Aires.

An unconfirmed legend, recounted by Aín himself, says that on February 1, 1924, he danced the tango “Ave María” by Francisco Canaro before Pope Pius XI in the Vatican, accompanied by the librarian of the Argentine embassy, a young woman named Scotto. However, later investigations found no evidence of this event in the Vatican archives.

Throughout his career, Casimiro Aín was described as a charming, bold, bohemian, and persistent man. He taught numerous people to dance and earned a considerable fortune thanks to his talent and dedication. He passed away on October 17, 1940, after having a leg amputated due to gangrene.

Casimiro Aín left an indelible legacy in the world of tango. He was one of the pioneers in bringing this dance to the international stage and significantly contributed to its popularization in Europe and America. His life and work are remembered and celebrated by tango lovers worldwide.

On October 18, 1920, the Princess Cabaret reopened under the financing of entrepreneur Elio Volterra and the direction of Manuel Pizarro. Thanks to the publicity Volterra made in the Parisian newspapers, the entire Argentine community residing in Paris attended the opening, as well as personalities such as Mistinguett, the French vedette, actress, and singer who was once the highest-paid female artist in the world; boxer, actor, and World War I hero Georges Carpentier; and Maurice Chevalier, an emblematic figure of French culture.

On the second night, Celestino Ferrer recounts, “I see a young man sitting at one of the tables who looks familiar. It’s the actor Rodolfo Valentino. I had met him in New York in 1915 as Rodolfo Guglielmi, an Italian boy working as a bricklayer, and with whom I shared a room with three bunk beds in a private house.”

In 1917, Valentino traveled from New York to the United States West Coast, working in various theatrical productions that he had been touring until he was convinced he should become a film actor. He arrived in Hollywood, where he initially worked as a dancer and social dance instructor, acquiring a clientele of older women from whom he borrowed their luxury cars. Once he secured his livelihood in this way, he began actively seeking screen roles.

His role in the 1921 film “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” showcased his dance talents to a broader audience.

Valentino performed the tango gracefully and enthusiastically in a memorable scene, which sparked a tango craze across the United States and solidified his status as a dance icon.

In 1922, due to financial disagreements, Valentino declared an “individual strike” against his current studio, Famous Players. During that time, he met George Ullman, who soon became his manager. Ullman, with experience at the Mineralava Beauty Clay Company, convinced the company that Valentino, with his vast group of admirers, would be an ideal spokesperson, what we know today as an “influencer.”

On January 25, 1923, New York newspapers announced that Valentino and his wife, Natacha Rambova, would embark on a dance exhibition tour across the United States and Canada, covering 88 cities. Traveling in a luxurious Pullman car, they performed in numerous venues, though some audiences felt the shows were too brief. Valentino also served as a judge in beauty contests sponsored by Mineralava, one of which was filmed and titled “Rudolph Valentino and his 88 Beauties.”

Valentino’s dedication to dance extended beyond the screen. He was known for practicing rigorously, constantly refining his technique, and expanding his repertoire. His influence on dance culture during the 1920s was profound, inspiring many to learn tango and ballroom dancing.

Tragically, Valentino’s life was cut short when he died at 31 in 1926. However, his legacy as a dancer endures. He is remembered for popularizing tango and for the passion he brought to his performances.

Thanks to his extraordinary talent, Rodolfo Valentino remains a symbol of Hollywood’s Golden Age, an era when dance and film intertwined perfectly.

That night in 1920 at the Princess Cabaret, Manuel Pizarro also saw him and spotlighted him with a lamp. He approached and asked him to dance a tango, to which Valentino agreed, dancing “El Choclo” with a beautiful partner. Technically, he was not very good from an Argentine perspective, but he was elegant and very pleasing to the audience.

Pizarro was astonished by the audience’s enthusiasm for a dance couple and made one last attempt to convince El Vasco, but he was too busy with his private lessons.

Since El Vasco Aín could not join Manuel Pizarro’s show, Pizarro decided to bring El Cachafaz to Paris. It was December 1920, and the Cabaret Princesse, which Argentine entrepreneur Elio Volterra had acquired, changed its name to “El Garrón.” This term from lunfardo slang, originating in brothels, refers to a favor a woman does for a charming client, possibly out of love. Vicente Madero, another of the “Niños bien” (wealthy young men) promoting tango in Paris, proposed the name.

Another version suggests that the name change was due to a remark by Celestino Ferrer, who said, “Volterra thinks that when his cabaret is full of Argentines, he will be spared from those ‘garroneros’ Frenchmen,” referring to stingy, miserly individuals who don’t spend money. After learning that word’s meaning, Volterra transformed Princesse into “El Garrón.”

“El Garrón” gathered the wealthy Argentine community residing in Paris. Since its renaming, every night at 5 AM, the waiters served “puchero a la criolla,” a typical Argentine dish.

On those December nights in 1920, El Cachafaz arrived to dance at El Garrón for the first time. Manuel Pizarro introduced him along with his partner, Emma Bóveda. Many Argentines in the audience had already seen him in Buenos Aires, but it was something new for the French. Paris had never seen a tango dance like this, with a dancer who didn’t smile, seemed sullen, with exaggerated twists and unpredictable stops, yet caressed the floor delicately and elegantly, performing intricate figures that left the audience breathless.

The next day, the first requests for lessons came in, but El Cachafaz did not want to teach, as he had planned this trip only for performances. People were insistent, and the requests multiplied daily until El Cachafaz finally agreed. He had so many private lessons that he couldn’t keep up, so he decided to hold a group class at El Garrón every night before the show opened. He earned a lot of money but spent it all and didn’t feel comfortable in Paris. He couldn’t form a good relationship with the French or Argentines living in Paris. After a month, he returned to Buenos Aires empty-handed.

During the 1920s, El Cachafaz worked for a group of aristocrats who hired him with an extraordinary salary to give private lessons to the members of an exclusive club for eight hours a day. However, he preferred to give private lessons at clients’ homes, a method that El Vasco Aín would also use.

After several years of this experience, El Cachafaz opened his academy in 1930 on Lavalle Street, between Rodriguez Peña and Callao. There, he had the assistance of Carmencita Calderón for his teaching.

Ovidio José Bianquet appeared in 14 films. The first was “Resaca,” in 1916, during the silent film era when much of the public first became acquainted with El Cachafaz.

In 1933, he appeared dancing “El entrerriano,” played by Ernesto Ponzio and Juan Carlos Bazán, alongside Carmencita Calderón in “Tango,” the first sound film in the history of Argentine cinema.

The last film he appears in is “Carnaval de antaño,” from 1940, dancing with Sofía Bozán.

In 1941, he participated in the theatrical show “La Historia del Tango” by Francisco Canaro and Ivo Pelay, which premiered in Buenos Aires at the Teatro Nacional with great success.

Without fear of exaggeration, it can be said that “El Cachafaz” was the most outstanding and complete tango dancer of his time. He never had a dance teacher; his intuition was his best guide in developing his style. He was impeccable in his bearing, elegant and precise in his movements, and had the best musicality. His talent was fundamental in spreading tango worldwide and promoting its growth in Argentina. He was as popular among aristocrats as in poor neighborhoods and had friends of all kinds—millionaires, criminals, police officers, politicians, entertainers, and intellectuals.

His character was complex. He was generous and indifferent to money, spending everything he earned. He made a lot of money but often didn’t have a penny. He was fond of fleeting pleasures: expensive hotels, good restaurants, clothes, champagne, and costly gifts for his women (though not for his dance partners). Perhaps this had something to do with the training of a milonguero dancer, for whom the present moment is always the crucial one, where one’s entire life is at stake, like in a deadly duel, reminiscent of Jorge Luis Borges‘ compadritos, such as Jacinto Chiclana. Perhaps in tango dancing, one still finds the spirit of these compadritos, heirs to the gaucho, who in turn was an heir to the medieval knight, and this spirit comes alive in us when we dance tango, just as when reading an author, the spirit of that author engages with us and transforms us. His chaotic life contrasted with the precision of his dance movements and his licentious habits with the almost military discipline in his profession.

When in Buenos Aires, he would go to Café El Estaño on Corrientes Street daily. He had a fixed table there, met with friends, and conducted business meetings. He called it his “office.”

He was earnest. Carmencita Calderón recounts that his laugh was barely a breath. He could be very irritable but also very tender.

Two years before his death, at 55, he married his 18-year-old niece, Edelmira Bianquet, daughter of one of his sisters. He had a daughter with another woman whom he adored but never officially recognized.

When her mother died young, she cared for her younger sisters, whom she eventually began accompanying to dances at the Club Sin Rumbo, a short distance from her home.

She did not go to dance. The custom of the time required that young girls attend dances with their mothers or a family member. Unexpectedly, one day, with great insistence, one of the most famous dancers in Buenos Aires, Giuseppe Giambuzzi, nicknamed El Tarila, asked her to dance.

Born in Italy in 1889, he arrived in Buenos Aires with his parents at the age of 6, escaping the frequent earthquakes that affected their hometown. He had blue eyes and a prominent nose. Around 1910, he worked cleaning the hall where the dancers Gallito, Nando, and Romolo taught classes. He watched the classes and copied the movements, practicing with two broomsticks, and then the teachers would correct him.

Gradually, he became passionate about dancing, dancing with a hat on the sidewalks with other men at night, and over the years, he became a prominent figure in tango.

He became the director of an important popular dance academy owned by Domingo Santa Cruz, the author of the tango “Unión Cívica.” At the academy, patrons paid 10 cents per dance to dance with one of the 35 employed dancers.

He met El Cachafaz in 1915 and became friends. He was a professional bricklayer, a job he never left, even during his most successful moments. He was the most famous dancer after Casimiro Aín and El Cachafaz. Although his appearance was not striking, his technique and skills set him apart, demonstrating exceptional prowess.

When he danced with Carmencita Calderón at the Club Sin Rumbo, he proposed that she become his and El Cachafaz’s dance partner, as they were both without partners then.

Carmencita Calderón would not have accepted to dance with El Tarila, but she did want to dance with El Cachafaz, although she was also terrified. Her life changed completely. From being a school teacher and volunteer nurse, she became the dance partner of the best tango dancer of the time.

They debuted with Pedro Maffia‘s orchestra at the Teatro de San Fernando in 1933.

Carmencita’s arrival intensified their rivalry, and they soon dissolved their association. From then on, Carmencita primarily danced with El Cachafaz.

Regarding her style, she tells us the following in an interview conducted by Patricia Ramirez and Alberto García in 1995.

Originating from the popular school, in neighborhood salons and clubs, his body language was inimitable, full of feeling, and a strange simplicity that is not taught in academies.

She was neither the woman nor the lover of the legendary Cachafaz, who always addressed her formally. She never rehearsed a choreography! She always knew that letting herself be led by a man on the dance floor or stage was not submitting or subordinating to the male, but accepting his guidance to be able to dance. And so, in a trance, listening to the music, sometimes ignoring the boastful behavior of some men, she improvised complex figures and movements with them that inspired admiration. 

Carmencita conveyed that tango was whistled and hummed in the streets and that her mother sang while washing clothes. That tango walked on the Buenos Aires dance floors without spectacular movements but with a unique and untransferable embrace, sliding the sole across the floor.

She danced with El Cachafaz until their last performance together, in 1942, in Mar del Plata. After dancing “Don Juan” backstage, El Cachafaz—almost 57 years old—collapsed and died from a heart attack.

This article has attempted to explore the lives and legacies of El Cachafaz and other iconic dancers of the early 20th century, highlighting their influence on tango. From his humble beginnings in Buenos Aires to his acclaim on international stages, El Cachafaz, known for his unique and elegant style, defined an era in tango. Pedrín, Bernabé Simarra, Casimiro Aín, and Carmencita Calderón, each with their own stories and contributions, enriched and transformed tango, taking it beyond Argentine borders. El Cachafaz’s arrival in Paris, his triumphant return to Buenos Aires, and his foray into cinema, along with the memories of his contemporaries, allow us to better understand our identity as dancers and lovers of tango. There were other dancers, but these can be considered the most representative.