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... The Festival took place with the usual organizational perfection of Cesare Perfetto [...] concluded by the award ceremony which took place in Montecarlo on July 22nd, with a global catwalk of winners and jurors.

Dear Cesare,
with a tear that falls sweetly from my heart, I am going to tell you that "we will not be able to meet again this year". [...]
Nonetheless, I'm close to you! And Franca is with us too. I am sure you will have the same success as ever. Say hello to all my friends, you, your wife and your little girls hugs to no end
your Dario

… As far as I am concerned, there are no minor arts. Under the circumstances Offenbach charms me as much as Mozart.
Poetry is expressed as it pleases and it happens that the caricaturist is a poet and that laughter opens us up to the soul, as much as enthusiasm.
In short, the cartoonist is a scarecrow whose grotesque gesticulation attracts the birds instead of putting them to flight.
A scarecrow covered with birds, this is how I like to imagine the International Association of Humorists, which asks me for this preface.

In Bordighera, right on the slopes of the hill dedicated to bright winter stays on the Riviera, an entire shop with entire walls of new books, are the inspiration for reinterpretations and updates.

But above all there is Cesare Perfetto, the inventor of the Hall of Humor, his mustache hides a fertility of initiatives that certainly does not burn in opposition, stubborn and passionate, he telephones Peynet - that of the sweethearts - sends a fax to Steinberg, fly fishing Quino, chat with Schulz - the one of the Peanuts - with Jacovitti, with Mordillo, with Forattini, with Luciano De Crescenzo or with Luca Goldoni ... "

It is not easy to explain the atmosphere that was lived in the "magic circle" of the Hall of Humor, also because the "circles" (let's call them that) were more than one, increasingly enlarged concentric. The Salone was not only the venue where the drawings and graphics were exhibited and not only the theater where the award ceremony took place, but it was the city itself, its streets, its beaches, its bars and its restaurants. The participants - draftsmen, writers, journalists, jurors - moved in groups or in groups and everything took place in common. Unforgettable the tables in the street, the evenings in the nearby villages.

From year to year personal friendships were strengthened, we made appointments and relived, without boredom, everything we had already tried, but always with something more and better. The rhetoric would like to push us to use an obsolete term: the Salone was like a family. In fact, that was it. Of course he teased him dominated as was logical and it was impossible to be touchy. There was also no hierarchy. Even the "national" and even "international" characters adapted themselves to a tribe without hierarchies, where however the intellectual and cultural level was always high even if never professed. And then there were endless collateral initiatives, presentations, debates, music and theater guests. A little big world that grew rolling like an avalanche but didn't do any damage. It was a world that enriched and where one enriched oneself, always with a smile under the mustache of Cesare Perfetto. For those who have lived that experience at the end of July for years, the Salone is something that is missing. It is a part of itself