Daniel Alarcón

It wasn't just Renata and the other trainers who loved Keiko, or even just the people in Mexico City who went to see Keiko at Reino Aventura. It seems like pretty much every kid in Mexico knew him. He was beloved, a kind of national mascot.

One person I spoke to compared him to a Mexican Mickey Mouse. And in fact, a lot of people assumed that Keiko was Mexican, like actually from Mexico. They never considered that he could have come from anywhere else. He was just theirs. We talked to lots of people who grew up in Mexico City in the 80s and 90s.

One person I spoke to compared him to a Mexican Mickey Mouse. And in fact, a lot of people assumed that Keiko was Mexican, like actually from Mexico. They never considered that he could have come from anywhere else. He was just theirs. We talked to lots of people who grew up in Mexico City in the 80s and 90s.

And they said again and again that Keiko had an aura about him, that seeing him at Reino Aventura was like hanging out with your 7,000-pound best friend, the killer whale you told your secrets to, what was happening at school, who your crush was. It was that kind of relationship. If you watched television in Mexico in the late 80s or early 90s, chances were that sooner or later you'd see Keiko.

And they said again and again that Keiko had an aura about him, that seeing him at Reino Aventura was like hanging out with your 7,000-pound best friend, the killer whale you told your secrets to, what was happening at school, who your crush was. It was that kind of relationship. If you watched television in Mexico in the late 80s or early 90s, chances were that sooner or later you'd see Keiko.

He was in Reino Aventura commercials, of course. There were pop songs dedicated to him.

He was in Reino Aventura commercials, of course. There were pop songs dedicated to him.

He even starred in a telenovela as himself. And then there were the shows, when visitors got to see their beloved pet up close. Reina Aventura doesn't exist anymore, not under that name anyway. It's since been acquired by Six Flags. But back in its heyday, in the early 90s, Keiko was the star attraction. And these shows, they were legendary.

He even starred in a telenovela as himself. And then there were the shows, when visitors got to see their beloved pet up close. Reina Aventura doesn't exist anymore, not under that name anyway. It's since been acquired by Six Flags. But back in its heyday, in the early 90s, Keiko was the star attraction. And these shows, they were legendary.

At the peak of his fame, there might have been 200 people lining up a couple of hours before the gates opened. A pair of clowns marched around, playing trumpets, entertaining Keiko's fans as they filed in. On weekends, there were three shows a day, more than 3,000 seats, consistently packed. I had Renata walk me through one of the routines.

At the peak of his fame, there might have been 200 people lining up a couple of hours before the gates opened. A pair of clowns marched around, playing trumpets, entertaining Keiko's fans as they filed in. On weekends, there were three shows a day, more than 3,000 seats, consistently packed. I had Renata walk me through one of the routines.

First, it was the sea lions, then the dolphins, including Richie, and then... We would open the pen and Keiko would come out jumping.

First, it was the sea lions, then the dolphins, including Richie, and then... We would open the pen and Keiko would come out jumping.

There were so many people clamoring to see Keiko up close that his veterinarian told me they set up a kind of receiving line. He even compared the crowds to the believers who wait in line to see the Virgin of Guadalupe. That reverential, that devoted. So that's Keiko, occasional TV star, quasi-saint, telepathic confidant, and best friend to countless Mexican children. And this was his life.

There were so many people clamoring to see Keiko up close that his veterinarian told me they set up a kind of receiving line. He even compared the crowds to the believers who wait in line to see the Virgin of Guadalupe. That reverential, that devoted. So that's Keiko, occasional TV star, quasi-saint, telepathic confidant, and best friend to countless Mexican children. And this was his life.

Constant attention from his trainers, games with his favorite dolphin buddies, performances for thousands of adoring fans. But it was all about to change. In 1992, Radio Aventura was set to close for some much-needed renovations, which meant Keiko had some free time. Six months with no shows and no crowds.

Constant attention from his trainers, games with his favorite dolphin buddies, performances for thousands of adoring fans. But it was all about to change. In 1992, Radio Aventura was set to close for some much-needed renovations, which meant Keiko had some free time. Six months with no shows and no crowds.

So when a production company proposed to film a movie with Keiko, the park's director, Oscar Porter, thought, what the hell? Why not? It wasn't much money, but it might keep Keiko entertained. Once he said yes to the movie, Porter didn't give it much more thought.

So when a production company proposed to film a movie with Keiko, the park's director, Oscar Porter, thought, what the hell? Why not? It wasn't much money, but it might keep Keiko entertained. Once he said yes to the movie, Porter didn't give it much more thought.

He was busy overseeing all the details of the park's upgrades, the installation of new rides, new contracts with vendors, more than 600 employees. He told me he didn't even read the script. But that script is why we're telling this story.