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| The Cubans were landing as I came along the beach and I got to be the first American to welcome them to these shores. |
The time
was 7:36 a.m. I’d just met Tony, the new Park Manager, on his first day at Fort
Zachary Taylor. I came around the bathhouse at the concession stand and the sun
had just cracked above the horizon. Good mood. Wonderful new day.
And,
because I was happy, I was playing my music on my iPhone. Neil Diamond was
singing. And I was singing along:
“Everywhere around the world
They’re coming to America.
They’re coming to America.
Got a dream to take them there
They’re coming to America
Every time that flag’s unfurled
They’re coming to America.
Got a dream to take them there
They’re coming to America
Got a dream they’ve come to share
They’re coming to America
Today. Today. Today. Today.
Today.
And
there they were. Fifteen young Cubans had just leaped from their homemade boat into the surf off our
swimming beach, under the coconut palms. They were almost delirious with
excitement.
They hugged each other and
screamed “Libre. Libre” to me as I got on my walkie-talkie to call the
administration. “I have 15 Cubans who just landed on our beach. I’m heading toward
them,” I told Jayne, the assistant park manager.
I walked
over to the Cubans and shook their hands, smiling and saying, “Welcome to
America.” They were cold and wet for the morning temperature was only 63. But
they all looked healthy. And they were VERY happy. I so wished I had either of my old buddies, Jose Azel or Celia McTague Pomerantz with me to help me communicate. Jose was born in Cuba and Celia has a Puerto Rican heart of gold.
The park
staff arrived by then and we all stood around, handing out our supply of shop
towels. Those are the beach towels we store after visitors leave them on the
beach at the end of their day.
One of
the Cubans opened his wallet and began handing me 10, 20 and 50 peso bills. He
pointed to the pictures on the different denominations and said, “Jose Marti”
and “Maximo Gomez” and “Antonio Maceo” and “Fidel Castro” on the 20 peso bill.
I passed the money back but he pushed it on me again. Then they began to tear
the bills into little pieces, indicating they were worthless.
The Key
West Police soon were on the scene and they were exceedingly kind to the young
people. They asked in Spanish if they were hurt, hungry or sick. But no one
was. I learned later, however, three of the girls were taken to hospital
because they had diesel fuel spilled on their bodies.
One
young girl, maybe 18 or 19, carried a wooden bowl. I asked to look inside and
she removed the lid. Inside were dry beans and beads. A Key West policeman told
me it was probably Santeria, the Haitian-Cuban-West African animist religion.
The
police suggested they move over to the bathhouse so they’d be out of the wind
so this is where I left them.
I spent
the rest of my shift explaining the latest landing to our park visitors. The boat was better built than last week’s
version, which was basically Styrofoam with a couple of areas of sheet metal.
It also had a diesel engine inside, along with jugs of fuel and water. We found
hypodermic needles and bags of saline solution in addition to Dramamine and
some other anti-nausea pills aboard the boat. All the visitors were in awe that these young people
risked all to make the 90-mile voyage to our version of freedom.
All in
all, this was a very good day to be at the park.
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| Refugees gleefully push Cuban pesos on me because I welcomed them ashore. |
