Enter the Exiles

Again another birthday,

Think i'll plant a tree,

With roots and bark flowers and fruit,

I'm turning fifty three.

A smile wide a salty tear,

A very simple thing,

I want to share with you,

The joy that love can bring.

swampthing

Pedro Oliverio Sanchez Menendez

A Child Born of Revolution 1958.

It is fair to say no one life is simple. But few take the time to write their story; few leave behind an accurate representation of their sentiments and experiences. One such exception is my dear aunty Angela Sanchez Tischler who has written her lovely memoirs entitled Los Denengaños, a story of family, country and intellect. The book ends at the time of my birth.

Available in electronic form at Amazon Kindle or in paperback by request here, limited edition publication.

Gradpapi Adolfo and his two daughters (Lucy and Angela)

Here is a brief description penned by another relation, my long lost cousin John Paul Rathbone, author of "the Sugar King of Havana"

"It is hard to think of a more fitting epitaph for the Cuban revolution than el desengaño, the disenchantment. Yet, almost perversely, Angela Tischler has taken the word as the title for her pre-revolutionary Cuban memoir. This is just one of lesser way in which "Los Desengaños"(in fact the name of disused sugar mill) sets itself apart from other more honeyed tellings of pre-revolutioany Cuban Life. It offers a rare glimpse of pre-revolutionary times in "provincial" Cuba: in this case, the almost waspish province of Camaguey-no Havana centrism here! It is almost unflinchingly hones-sometimes painfully so. The result is a bittersweet portrait of the "cuba de ayer"; the joys and beauties and simple pleasures that Tischler found in Camaguey's countryside and people (especially her family), but also the province's sadness and prejudices-traits that are treated in the same way one might describe the foibles of a cherished family member; with love that forgives but does not exonerate." JP Rathbone

The author and husband Chip Tischler

It has always been acceptable to throw a French word here and there in English writing usually without translation. The educated reader is expected to understand: if they don’t, tant pis. I am requesting the same treatment for Spanish words, including those in the title. If Les Misérables can do it, why not Los Desengaños? Angela

In Laws in the country 1954. Grandmother Julia Menendez, Grandfather Adolfo Sanchez with my parents Oliverio and Martha

"...What happened in Cuba in the 1950’s was so large and complicated that one single historian cannot grasp all the nuances. Many have told the story from many different angles and with various degrees of impartiality and scholarship. One point of view that has mostly been missing is that of ordinary Cuban citizens, those of us who were neither politicians nor revolutionaries. There were many of us who were not trying to change the country; who were just trying to take care of our lives. I will try to compress those lives into a very small color tile to be added to the large mosaic of the Cuban tragedy." Angela

Rare Glimpse at Ranch Life 1938 ( front row left; Angela, Lucy and my dad center)

"...These memoirs are based on my recollections. I am writing this near the end of my eighth decade of life taking advantage of a phenomenon of aging that together with my contemporaries I am experiencing: we may forget if we had lunch and the names of friends, but the names of playmates of seventy years ago are coming back. I noticed this with my mother, and now it is happening to me." Angela

Great Uncle Julio Sanchez hangin' with Hemingway, perhaps Key West or Bimini.

"One would think that more places would be named Esperanza, “Hope”, but that is not the case. Desengaños, “Disillusions” seem to be more common occurrences. Who would name a sugar mill the Spanish equivalent of “Disillusions”, and why? Were these disillusions in love, business, or any of the other aspects of life that tend to go wrong? We will never know." Angela

Not a Vacation but a Pilgrimage

Terrazzo monogram still adorns the threshold to our home in Camaguey; today a public building occupied by the "Daughters of the Revolution" (whatever that is).

Angela today celebrates 80th with great niece Lucia Del Sanchez. Crescent City, Florida

"I fail to see the beauty in anything made by man." Angela Sanchez

*

Are you my Papi?

Papa Don't Paint No More.

I did not know my father personally, but all the stories told paint a picture of a wonderful man. Standing six feet tall, good teeth, green eyes and a physique that made women swoon and men revere. He was heir to a family dynasty, educated in the US, sported signature style in Levi jeans, and Stetson hat that made him a most eligible bachelor in the old provincial town. He was a friend in deed, a son, husband and father. It was the best of times.

But Castro's revolution changed everything. In November 1958 father was informed of a massacre in one of our farms on the outskirts of town. He hurriedly took off towards that dreadful scene but never returned. His body was found soon after. Consequently there were charges filed against Batista's renegade cops, a quick trial was set, judgement delivered and it was of to the firings squad for a bunch of hooligans. It was the worst of times.

Twenty days later I was born. One year later we left Cuba and everything we knew. It is no wonder that after 50 years my parents generation is to this day very resentful of the tragedy that is cuba. It's like it all happed yesterday.

The photo above shows him having a good time back in good old Cuba.

He was a gentle loving happy man, far less bellicose than I am today.



Posterity on the Porch.

During the Clinton years i had my pilgrimage. Here is a photo of the terrazzo monogram on the front porch of my grandfather's house is Cuba. Today the house is a public building, the headquarters for the "Daughters of the Revolution". I was raised by a pack of females in exile. There was plenty of love in the house, but no male role model as all the men are dead. I thought there was something wrong with me during adolescence. But in time i was able to formulate my own brand of macho, a soothing blend of velvety feminist charm and cromagnum man certainty that has served me well. Today everyone in my family wears pants and skirts.



Sugar Daddy Extraordinary Shows Off Adopted Daughter.

Kenny Scharf has been like a cosmic astral brother to me. He was born in LA on the very same day my father was killed in Cuba. Coincidence is Fate. We met in 1980 in NYC, best friends ever since.



The Artist and his daughter stroll Lincoln Road.

*

Reparation - a little something, something.

Over-heard at Versailles: If all the bragging were true, Cuba should be the size of Australia.

Back in 2000, just after eliangate, misguided James Hall wrote:

"So look for something to happen on the embargo front soon, most likely a gradual opening for the exporting of American food and medicine, to be followed by reparation talks on behalf of American business interests. After the November elections, when the Cuban-American lobby's influence wanes, the US Congress may be bold enough to end the longest running US embargo ever, and perhaps write the Cold War's final chapter."

Guess he didn't get the memo about bush v gore. The sub-plot to elian saga was to discredit miami then lift the embargo so, among other things, mid-west big agro ADM - (supermarket to the world) could do business with cuba. But the effort failed and regular "guajiros" got tighter restrictions for travel and remittance.
Cuba Today is a museum of a failed system. The Cuban America is stagflated at an impasse between bull-headed embargo moss-backs and proponents of natural law.
I've just about given up on progress and to be honest it's no big deal. By progress I mean reparations.

You should know that native americans, japanese americans, african americans and jewish americans all have received reparations at some point or another in their struggle for justice. A justice that is over-due. A justice that defies political borders. A gesture that transcends generations.
But for cuban americans reparation is a case of who, what, when and where. Who is entitled? What can they claim? When will it transpire? Where is the outrage?

My estranged relation Roberto Zayas-Bazan has written a new book, El Pez Dorado (golden fish) Zayas-Bazan ( love that name) tells a fictional tale inspired by his recollection of real people back in provincial camaguey just before the revolution. I hear my family is featured prominently.


Here is a photo of my grand-father, Adolfo, the first cuban to graduate from Lehigh University in Bethlehem, PA. It took steel to take the rail-roads into the tropics to take the bounty to market. His house in cuba today is head-quarters for the "sisters of the revolution" whatever that is.

My great grand father, Juaquin, is buried in Brooklyn's Calvary Cementery. The family magna carta is an 85 page, 100 year old, hand-written document of antiquity complete with official stamps and wax seals. It is kept in a super secret safe place. The relic contains an itemized inventory of holdings. It is an investment portfolio from a bygone era in our family history. In no uncertain terms it spells out - land as far a the eye can see, stocks of every kind, utilities, commodities, insurance, and other places for smart money games. Freaks me out to look at the thing and wonder, how did they do it and where did it all go. You know where all that wealth went? It went down the memory hole. All the men are dead and the women folk are a-political.



Yet it is nice to know that my great-uncle Julio was a fishing buddy of Ernest Hemingway, that I am somehow related to Anais Nin, Ignacio Agramonte, Pedro Menendez.... and that someday i
may walk where i belong...




Where have all the big fish gone.

Girls Gone Waring

When the cubaNostalgia crowd tell you that the communism boogie-man is alive and well, forget chavez, and look no further than this photo. Pour me another vodka.... The Russians are Coming... (to join the RadioCity Rockettes?) In 2008 it's the militarization, stupid.