A farewell road trip in 1962 by Gonzalo Fernández: My friend José (Pepe) López Neira was leaving Cuba in the summer of 1962. He had a 1957 Chevy Bel Air that was in excellent shape, so he took a farewell road trip, with his two children and a nephew. My wife and I went with them. We rode the “Carretera Central” (Central Highway and back to Havana. The journey was close to 2,000 miles, including side diversionary trips. The “Carretera Central” was the main highway in Cuba at that time, running lengthwise over the spine of the island, one lane in each direction. We wandered off the “Carretera Central” north and south, as we pleased, to satisfy our tourist interests or to look for lodging at the end of each day. We were able to travel freely because security was still rather loose at that time; Castro’s Cubawas only in its early stage of building a police state. Shortly after our return to Havana, I went to the Agence France Presse (AFP) office, the French news agency. Working as their accountant, I enjoyed my part-time job as it offered the opportunity to read worldwide news coming in through AFP’s teletype. One of Fidel Castro’s first steps had been to talk over all of the Cuban newspapers and magazines, radio and television stations. Printed and broadcasted news quickly were strictly censored by the government officials. Ives Daude, AFP Bureau Chief in Havana, was in his office. He asked about our trip, and I told him about observed scarcities of food, as well as, related anecdotes. I then mentioned, “By the way, Ives, we came across some impressive military convoys at three different places on the island”. Ives jumped to his feet and took me in front of a Cuban map hanging on a wall at his office. Pointing to locations on the map, I explained to him that we watched the first convoy off the northern coast, near Sagua la Grande, a port in Las Villas, the central province of Cuba. It was at night, but we watched large trucks with huge loads covered by canvases. The trucks were escorted by armed Cuban soldiers driving jeeps. The second convoy was heading south from the northern coast, at night, close to Gibara, a port in Oriente (an eastern Cuban province.) We saw the last convoy on our way back, as we drove from the “Carretera Cental” towards the southern coast in Las Villas. It was an overcast afternoon, and we were traveling a narrow road, winding through the Escambray mountain ridges. Suddenly, we were in full view of a huge convoy manned by Soviet personnel wearing their characteristic short-sleeved plaid shirts. Overtime, this “uniform” became a kind of trademark of their presence in Cuba. There were some light armored vehicles manned by Cuban soldiers, around one hundred yards at the front and at the rear of the convoy. The large and heavy loads were covered by camouflaged canvases. The Cuban and Soviet soldiers were stone-faced, and the Soviet men looked professional and disciplined at whatever they were doing there. The convoy was moving opposite to our direction. We passed them pretending that we were not paying attention. We joked that these were probably the heavy-industrial pieces of equipment that Cuba was to receive from the Soviet Union. Government slogans purported that Cuba was moving into a fast industrialization program with the assistance of the Soviet Union and its Eastern Europe satellite countries. Ives took notes as I recounted my story, but shortly thereafter, returned to his casual demeanor. It had taken on the tone of a matter-of-fact conversation, so we did not elaborate much further. A few weeks later, USA intelligence learnt of substantial increase of shipments of equipment and personnel from theUSSR to Cuba. On October 14, 1962, Major Rudolph Anderson returned from a mission with pictures of ballistic missile sites and nuclear storage facilities under construction in Cuba. On Oct. 22, President Kennedy addressed the nation. The October Missile Crisis had unfolded. My wife and I went to Paris in 1997. I called AFP and reached the Latin American bureau. They told me that Ives had retired and there were no records of his personal address or telephone number. I always wondered what Ives did with the missile build up information I provided him. Memories of Rudolf Anderson may have faded, but he’s not forgotten in his hometown of Greenville, South Carolina, where he built model airplanes as a young boy and chose “Good humor is the clear blue sky of the soul” as his high school yearbook quote. On the 50th anniversary of his death, the city ofGreenville—in conjunction with Furman University and theUpcountry History Museum— unveiled the redesigned Major Rudolf Anderson Jr. Memorial, which was originally installed in 1963. Thirteen engraved granite slabs embedded in the lawn describe each day of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and surrounding an F-86 Sabre Jet, similar to one flown by Anderson, are text panels describing his boyhood, his distinguished military career and his lasting legacy of contributing to the peaceful resolution of the crisis.[1] You may read additional information in the following article: intrepidmedia/column.asp?id=3990 [1] The Cuban Missile Crisis Pilot Whose Death May Have Saved Millions, By Christopher Klein, History in the Headlines, October 26, 2012.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Oct 2013 00:33:45 +0000
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