There were Garand M1s, bolt action Springfields, and Russian submachine guns in the hands of just about anyone who looked like they could pull a trigger. There were anti-aircraft batteries on rooftops and every adult was armed. I still wasn’t convinced of an invasion and I loved the way everyone was greeted as compañero.īut Cuban preparations for an invasion were everywhere. “And please tell your people we want jazz and baseball, no war. So there I was at the desk of the Vice President of Cuba introduced by a grease gun toting miliciano and an ordinary citizen.
do you know who that is?” And so I quickly flashed a little knowledge. After several minutes he reappeared and said, “No Fidel but you can meet the Vice President. “Wait a moment,” said one of the guards who right away disappeared inside. “This Americano wants to meet Fidel,” he said with confidence. José addressed them as if they were his personal friends although I quickly realized that this could hardly be the case. They were actually lounging - literally sprawled across the steps, their weapons cradled loosely in their laps. We jaywalked into a contingent of four or five guards with submachine guns. Do you know that we Blacks used to not even be allowed to walk on this street?” When we arrived opposite the Presidential Palace, noticing my skepticism and reluctance he said, “Preston, we have to go in there. “I am going to take you to meet Fidel, Preston,” he said. Jose asked me if I personally knew Leroy Jones which he pronunced “Hones.” He asked me if I believed that the Americans were going to invade did I know that the Cuban people condemned the United States government and not its people and what did I think about “Lo Yanqui (MLB ) and had I seen the Willie Mays catch in dead center off the bat of Victor Wirtz did I know who was Luis Tiant the elder and Luis Tiant junior? One morning Brindís quaffed down his cafe con leche and asked had I met Fidel yet. It was at Taza that I met the living legend José Brindís, his surname being the eponym of the English equivalent of ‘cheers’. But it was at the parent location that I got an inspiring dose of the casual orchestrations of Habanero hang-out-in-the-street life. Its eventual reincarnation in New York City first on Broadway at 138th Street and subsequently other locations would become a mere shade of the original.
The street level consisted of slaughter houses and everything on the floors between the terrero and El Techo had to do with how produce and other things gradually got processed floor by floor on the way to being fit for table or consumer.Įl Tazo de Oro was one of the coolest places that I had ever been. At the top of the Zigaruta were restaurants with spectacular views over parts of the city. A place of fascination was La Zigaruta, a building as you would imagine, inspired by the Zigarut at Ur. Then I would explore the city and around lunch time find myself at El Tazo de oro on the corner of San Miguel and Infanta or at the bodegita al Medio. In the mornings I had café con leche y pan tostado at the house. I lived at Mazon 20 from December through January 1962. I was fortunate enough to enjoy the hospitality of a government approved room in a private home. A welcoming conjunto greeted us on the tarmac. The touchdown and disembarcation at Habana was different from the Miami confrontation. I have always had respect for the elderly but it would not be on that occasion I will not tell you what ensued. When I landed in Miami on 20th December the transit corridor between my domestic flight and the Cubana connecting flight to Habana was a gauntlet of anti-Castristas hurling invectives. The Fidelistas were ensconced in Habana and the roles of important student activists who had not been guerillas such as Frank País - who had been assasinated by the deposed President Fulgesncio Batista - were already appearing less visible. In my senior year at CCNY I had become deeply interested in the events that were unfolding in Cuba.
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