SECTION NINE

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COLUMN FIFTY-SIX, FEBRUARY 1, 2001

STOP THE PRESSES! I WANT TO GET OFF 

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WEBS, WASPS AND WHIPLASH WHILE CRUISING THE O-ZONE 

PART 8: CUBA: POLITICAL BEGINNINGS

The foundation for the government's intense rancor against me goes back to an incident that happened in Cuba in 1952. There, I had knowledge of an exchange of some Springfield rifles from our Destroyer Squadron---old rifles that were being replaced by the new M1s---to a group of remarkable people who showed me first-hand what Fulgencia Batista, the U.S.-supported military dictator, was doing to the Cuban people. It was my first political act.

My activities in Cuba would never have surfaced if I hadn't "lost it" one night in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. That night, 12 or 13 years after Cuba, I had too much to drink at a SERTOMA Club meeting. "SERTOMA" was an acronym for "SERvice TO MAnkind." One day a former resident of Cuba visited our local branch to speak about the Cuba he had fled when Fidel Castro led the people's army into Havana. He was a gusano, Spanish for
"worm," one of the haves who skipped to the United States with enough gold and connections to "make a new begin in the land of the free." He managed to leave with enough to steer clear of the fast money from criminal activity in Miami and had opted for banking. Another form of criminal activity. His new life began as a vice president in the bank that served eastern Iowa. Why settle in Miami and take chances being illegal when you could be a bank executive and steal with the blessing of the FDIC?

He talked about how he had fled the horrible Communists who nationalized industry, closed down the nightclubs, took over the hotels, and forced the doctors to practice the oath they took when graduating from medical school---that is, to provide medical care to people regardless of their ability to pay. His speech was gut-wrenching. I could smell gun grease. The crowd was hanging on his every word. Applause interrupted him every few sentences. He was living proof to these people that Castro was a Communist who had to be eliminated---living justification for programs of assassination by U.S. agents, programs that would work better during the sixties when J. Edgar Hoover infiltrated antiwar groups through his COINTELPRO activities.

Listening to him whine his way through a litany of greed was intolerable. I turned to my bottle of Old Style and was soon retreating into my memories. My soul warmed as I left the dry, bone chilling cold of Iowa and returned to the 98 percent humidity and nighttime temperatures of 110+ that I had found in revolutionary Cuba previous to the people's victory.

When I arrived in Cuba in the early fifties, I was fresh out of high school and sincerely believed that the United States of America was the greatest country in the world. The land of opportunity. Anyone and everyone could make it. "We hold these truths to be self-evident...etc., etc."

I was in the navy to protect the world from dictators---most of who happened to be Commies at that point in history. The generation immediately before mine had taken care of the Nazis, Il Duce's Brown Shirts, and the Japanese. Frank Sinatra was singing "I am an American, and proud of my liberty and my freedom to make derogatory remarks about Dorothy Kilgallen's chin." I was one of many young, tough Americans. I had my share of faults: no ambition, couldn't deal with routine, I bored easily, carried a book with me at all times to read as soon as the boss turned his back. On the plus side, I didn't abuse people, was generous with what little money I had, and was loyal to my friends.  ##

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