The year 1938 was a tumultuous one for most of the world, but for young librarian and municipal archaeologist Manuel Esteve Guerrero, it became unforgettable for an entirely different reason. That year, he found himself at the center of a remarkable discovery—a Corinthian helmet, unearthed 20 kilometers from the mouth of the Guadalete River, near the now-decommissioned irrigation dam known as La Corta, close to El Portal in the municipality of Jerez.
This find sent ripples not only through Spanish academic circles but also across Europe. Though Esteve was not the one who physically discovered the helmet—its emergence was the result of a fortunate series of events—he swiftly took charge of the matter, ensuring the artifact became part of the Municipal Archaeological Collection of Jerez. His name soon gained prominence beyond his local sphere.
However, as is often the case with major discoveries, others stepped forward to claim their share of the credit. One such figure was César Pemán, the provincial commissioner of archaeological excavations. In a letter dated February 1939 to historian Vicente Castañeda Alcover of the Royal Academy of History, Pemán noted that he had instructed Esteve to send photographs of the helmet to the Academy. He also requested the publication of an article under his own name, which was eventually published as "Discovery of a Greek Helmet in the Guadalete." This article linked the find to the Greek presence in Andalusia during the 7th–6th centuries BC.
Esteve complied, selecting photographs taken a few months earlier. It is likely that during this period, the now-famous photograph accompanying this article was also taken—though it was never sent to the Academy. Instead, it was quietly preserved in the museum archives.
Dating back to late 1938, the photograph remained largely forgotten over time. Today, few historians and archaeologists are even aware of its existence. In the image, we see Esteve—or perhaps another individual—wearing the Greek helmet, draped in a cloak resembling a Greek chlamys, casually smoking a cigarette, and staring directly into the camera.
The identity of the photographer remains a mystery, but the background suggests it was taken in the outdoor area of the old library and archaeological collection building, with an image of Saint Dionysius visible behind the archaeologist. A staged joke, unthinkable by modern professional standards, the photograph captures the thrill of discovery—an ephemeral moment of excitement before Esteve embarked on his most significant archaeological work in the Mesas de Asta.
At the time, Esteve was also navigating a controversial phase of his career, as he was responsible for enforcing the strict book censorship policies imposed by the newly established Francoist regime.
This rare photograph captures Esteve at the dawn of his professional journey, brimming with ambition and a passion for history. It starkly contrasts with the 1975 portrait taken by Eduardo Pereiras at the time of Esteve’s retirement—a somber image of a man marked by decades of triumphs, struggles, and the weight of history itself.
