DAY SIX; PART II
11:15am – Miami
IX
We landed at Miami International Airport somewhere around 11:15am. If I were to tell you now that we knew what was going on, beyond the fact that something very important was going on, it would be an out and out lie.
Today, Spanish is a second (some say first) language in Miami. Back in 1962, there were very few Hispanics in Miami. And very few people spoke any Spanish at all. A few minutes after we landed with our few possessions in hand, those who were part of the Peter Pan airlift were shuffled to one side. Those, like our friends, who were “regulars” –adults and family units- went on their way, through immigration and on to the big, wide world.
Remember my grandfather’s friend Mr. Herbert? He was there… He actually took my sister and I to our first airport meal. He had come with his daughter, a teenager herself. Perhaps as a support to his efforts; after all, we were both teens and he would probably feel out of place in a conversation. He should have not worried too much, broken Spanish and broken English do not really make for one hell of a conversation.
We had chicken, vegetables and a bowl of je-llo. Mine was lemon je-llo. At times I have thought about this lunch when repeating “yellow-Jello” as a phonetics exercise… It was an introduction of sorts. After lunch, Mr. H brought us back to the Peter Pan holding area and with many promises of future meetings (“don’t call me, I’ll call you” or, if you prefer, “The invitation is in the mail, don’t worry”) and he and his daughter left, having kept his promise of receiving my sister and I. We heard from him once again and then, nothing more. Actually, there was really no obligation on his part to follow up; once he saw us safely in the hands of Peter Pan people, he would so inform my grandfather. So, I am really grateful he made it and gave us a little time off.
All told, we had now been in one airport or another for almost 24 hours; I have to say, in all fairness, that the second airport was much nicer than the first. As it turned out, we were waiting for the second flight of that day, which was bringing another group of kids to be picked up by the driver. This wait would hold us there until late afternoon.
X
FREEDOM TOWER
There is an old tower in the downtown area in Miami, overlooking Biscayne Bay and sticking up into the sky like a sore thumb, built in the 1920’s as the headquarters for a newspaper facility. Later closed down, it was bought and reopened by the federal government to process up to 250,000 Cubans; part of the stream of political exiles who came via Miami from 1960 to 1968. This site was also used to provide basic medical and dental care to the same Cuban community. By 1972, exiles numbers had come down to the point where the tower’s functions were stopped and it was sold to a private developer. Several years and owners later, it was bought by a Cuban group led by Jorge Mas Canosa, himself a Pedro Pan, refurbished and converted into a memorial to remember those who came through that building into the US. Today it is part of Miami Dade (Community) College, and it is not only a memorial, but also hosts exhibitions, etc.
We entered this “hallowed” ground (to us, it certainly became such) sometime around 7pm. Each individual was written up, checked out (medically speaking) given some vaccines, and a bite to eat. We also received some lectures about American etiquette... with all due respect and love to this great country and its people, this last concept may be difficult to identify. However, after all is said and done, this lack of formality makes our society a flexible, ever changing one which is always open to new concepts and ideas. Anyway, all I remember about these talks, is that we should not chew gum in public, it was considered bad manners.
Somewhere around 11pm we were finally herded into a few small, ford econoline vans. Each went into the van which would take him (or her) into a designated camp for the duration of the stay in Miami. I went into glorious Camp Matecumbe; my sister went to the Homestead homes for girls. At this point we were worn out, physically and mentally. All we wanted to do was to get somewhere where we could crash and tomorrow we would worry about tomorrow; today had given us about as much as anyone should be expected to handle in one day. And then some…
My sister and I would see each other on a weekly basis until she would go to live with our aunt, when we would be separated for the next 3 years.
At about 12:15am we finally made it into camp. I remember the road seemed to be long and dark, impenetrably dark. Today it is a wide, 4 lane divided street at the heart of Kendall. When we drove through the entryway and into the staging area, all that could be seen was a small light bulb over the door of the main office building (itself, a medium size cabin). There was a custodian waiting for us with a basic welcome packet, to include pajamas, soap, a towel and a bed roll.
We were directed to a tent and told to bed down in one of the empty bunks; tomorrow we would be assigned to whatever would be our permanent (while there) building. I found a bunk, put my stuff on it and dropped, without bothering to change into the pajamas that had been given to me. I don’t think I have ever again been –despite some very difficult moments in my later life- as totally drained, both physically and emotionally, as I was at that particular point. I felt too tired and scared to fall asleep, too tired and scared to think and too tired to care any more. Eventually my body simply gave out and I did fall asleep.
I seem to remember I dreamt about a plane flight in the middle of a storm…
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