Leaving Glorytown (27 page)

No one slept that night. We tossed and turned until finally a glimmer of pink began to show on the horizon. Papa got up and threw open the curtains.

“Well, it's morning!” he announced. “Time to get ready!”

I was so dazed with exhaustion and excitement that I remember little of what followed. I presume we got washed and dressed, packed up our few belongings, said goodbye to Tía Luisa and Maricela, and then waited outside for the taxi to take us to the airport. Of the ride itself, I remember nothing, except that all of us were so keyed up we couldn't sit still, not even Mama.

The next clear memory I have is of standing on a runway, next to a giant Pan Am plane. Esther and I stared up at it, awestruck. The only airplanes we'd ever seen had been miles over our heads. Now we were about to go inside one.

There was, of course, a uniformed military officer standing guard at the portable stairway. This one was a woman. When she saw us coming, she held up her hand for us to stop.

“Calcines family?”

“Yes,” said Papa, as he handed her the government release form.

“There's a problem,” she said.

We all tried not to groan.

“What's the problem, ma'am?” Mama asked.

“You haven't been assigned seats yet. There may not be room for you on this airplane.”

“What?” Papa said, desperation in his voice. “Ma'am, how can this be? They must have known we were coming. If we miss this flight, will they let us board another one?”

The woman shrugged. “How should I know?” she said. “It's not my problem. You want to leave the country like a bunch of worms, you have to take what you're given. Maybe you think you deserve first-class seats, too. Is that what you think?”

Aha, I thought. So this was the problem—they were going to take one last dig at us before sending us on our way.

Papa began to lose his cool. His twitch, under control all morning, came back with a vengeance. He paced back and forth on the runway, just feet away from the stairs. Mama, Esther, and I stared up at the doorway of the plane, where a beautiful stewardess stood, smiling as the other passengers embarked.

Esther elbowed me.

“Look at that lady!” she said. “She has blond hair!”

“She sure does,” I said. It wasn't the first time we had seen a blond person, but something about the sight of this woman seemed auspicious. Soon we would be in the land of blond people. The fact that she was there was comforting, as if she were an angelic ambassador sent to make us feel welcome.

After a while, and for no discernible reason, the woman officer who was holding us back said, “Well, I guess you can board now.”

“Well, thank you very much,” said Papa, obviously trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

We mounted the stairs and climbed into the plane. The stewardess said something to us in English. We smiled politely and followed as she led us to our seats. These were more luxurious and comfortable than any piece of furniture we had ever owned. I was captivated by the fact that I could raise and lower the back, and I spent several minutes experimenting with the best position. Finally, the gentleman behind me cleared his throat, and Papa told me to cut it out. Then Esther discovered a little drop-down table in front of her and undid the latch. The table flopped open with a clatter.

“Don't!” I said, pushing it back up. “You want to get us kicked off the plane? You're going to ruin everything!”

“I'm sorry,” Esther whispered.

Just then a stewardess came by with a trolley.

“Coke while we wait for takeoff?” she inquired sweetly.

I looked at Papa, who looked at Mama, who looked confused.

“What did she say?” Papa asked.

“She wants to give us something,” I said. “Coca-Cola, I think.”

“Tell her we can't afford it,” said Mama.

“How am I supposed to tell her that?” Papa said. “What am I, a professor of English all of a sudden? Hijo, you tell her.”

“Me! I can barely speak proper Spanish!” I exclaimed. “How am I going to tell her?”

This debate might have gone on for another hour if the woman hadn't figured out what was happening. In a few deft moves, she had unlatched all our tables, opened four cans of Coke, and set them before us—along with plastic cups of ice and bags of peanuts. We were as stunned as if she had just turned into Santa Claus and filled our laps with presents.

“It's free!” Papa said.

“Free? How can they give it away for free?” Mama wondered.

“Who cares!” I said. I poured myself a drink of Coke on ice and took a long, slow sip. It was the most delicious beverage I'd ever tasted in my life. Then I opened my bag of peanuts and crunched each of them one by one, making them last as long as possible.
If only the boys could see me now!

The stewardess began to collect cups and an intercom crackled to life, and a voice began to ramble in English. As I listened, I realized with a sinking heart that somehow I was going to have to master this language, and that it was going to be very hard.

“It sounds like plates breaking,” complained Esther. “How can people make those noises?”

“We'll have to learn this kind of talk,” I told her.

“Well, how are we going to do that? I can't understand a word!”

“I guess from practicing.”

“Great.”

Then the captain switched to Spanish, a language with which he was clearly not comfortable.

“Hello, traveling peoples!” he said. “You are going now in an airplane. We are going to take a short flight. We are going to Miami of Florida of America!”

We looked at one another, amused.

“The time of our flying will be forty-five little minutes,” continued the captain. “If you are wanting something, just ask the pretty ladies! They help you good. Have nice days!”

“That was the worst Spanish I've ever heard,” Papa said in wonderment.

“He gets an A for effort,” Mama said.

“His Spanish is better than our English,” I reminded them.

Then the plane began to move. I looked out the window as the landscape rolled past, slowly first, then faster and faster.

“Papa, look how fast we're going!” I said.

“Shh, niño! I need to concentrate!” Papa said.

I looked at him. His eyes were shut, and he was gripping the arms of his chair as though trying to fly the plane through sheer force of will.

“Felo! Relax!” said Mama. “You're going to have a heart attack!”

“Let the pilot fly the plane, Papa,” I said. “Your job is just to sit here.”

At that moment, the nose of the plane lifted, and the ground began to fall away beneath us. Papa began praying out loud to Santa Barbara. Mama put her hands to her mouth and watched in disbelief out the window as we rose toward the clouds. Esther and I giggled and nudged each other as we looked down at the ground, now far, far below us. The ocean came into view, breathtaking and dazzling in its glory. Then, suddenly, we were surrounded by mist.

A few minutes later we came out on top of the clouds. At this, I was full of astonishment. I knew airplanes went high, but not
that
high. I stared out at the fluffy white floor. It looked solid enough to walk on.

I had barely had time enough to look at everything when the captain came on the intercom again and prattled in English for a while. Then he switched to Spanish.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said casually, “we have just come inside the airspace of America. Welcome to the United States.”

It took a few moments for his words to sink in, and then we hugged and cried.

We were free!

A
s for me today, I am only a man who is striving to live each day in a state of humility. I live in Tampa, where I own a couple of small businesses. I ran for the office of state representative in 2000, and although I was not elected, I felt a great sense of joy and success in having attempted to give back to a land that I love, the land that had adopted me and granted me freedom. Just being able to run in the election meant a lot to me, because obviously such a thing would never have been possible in Cuba.

Like all baseball fans, I never lost my love of the game. I am now the owner of the Gallo Sports Agency, representing professional ballplayers and providing scholarship opportunities to lots of kids who otherwise would never have the chance to play. I also own a hair studio, work with at-risk students in my community and in the public school system, and am hard at work on upcoming books. And my newest project is the formation of the Tampa West Community Development Corporation, which will focus on developing programs to help youth and less fortunate families.

My life is filled with other gifts, too. On December 9, 2008, Mercy and I celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary. We became American
citizens in 1991—one of the proudest days of our lives. Our sons are both attending universities, to our immense pride. Papa unfortunately passed away on April 7, 1978, at the age of forty-nine. Although too young to die, he lived nine glorious years as a free, family-loving man in what he considered the great United States. Mama is still a tough cookie and has survived the many heartaches life has brought her. She retired a few years ago after working in textile factories for thirty years. She lives with my sister, Esther, who is the mother of two wonderful children and has worked for many years as a customer service agent in the corporate world. Her oldest daughter became a university graduate in May 2008, and her son is a bright twelve-year-old middle schooler. My cousin and childhood pal, Luis, came to Florida soon after I did. He and his wife have been married for over twenty years, and are blessed with two wonderful sons.

Every morning when I wake up, I give thanks because I live in the “Land of Freedom to the north,” as we used to call America. I can hear Abuelo's voice in my ear as if he were standing right next to me, and feel his work-worn hand on my shoulder.
Remember that every day is a gift. Each morning, you should greet the sun as though it were your bride. Take pride in your appearance, and behave respectfully to everyone
. The older I get, the more wisdom I find in the words of this simple, God-fearing man.

I yearn to someday go back to Glorytown when Cuba is free. Tío William, the giant of my youth, is no longer with us. I feel a strong need to sit beside his grave and tell him some of my stories about life in America. I want to bask once more in the presence of the man who vowed not to let the Communists get the better of him, to remind him about the time when, with all the suffering he had undergone, he still
managed to find it in himself to toss me diez centavos, and to be my hero.

Once more, I will walk down San Carlos Street, past the Jagua Movie House; past the front door of number 6110, where my dear grandparents lived; and past our little house across the street. I even want to see the shambling old wreck that La Natividad lived in—and I will not be surprised in the slightest if I see La Natividad herself coming down the steps with her umbrella, ageless thanks to her black magic. And I want to see my old childhood buddy Tito, to tell him how often I still think of him and Rolando, who was killed by lightning shortly after we left Cuba, and those endless days in Glorytown.

Most of all, even though I am an American now, I want to return just once more to the place I often revisit in my dreams, to feel the soft warmth of the Caribbean evenings, to see the turquoise waters and the white sand . . . to the place that I once knew.

My beloved Glorytown!

A
bove all, I give all glory and honor to almighty God. I would also like to give praise to my wife, Mercy, and our sons, Christian and Gabriel. Your love is the essence of my existence. To you, Mama, for your love, guidance, and courage. Sister Esther and her children, Rebeca and Luis, you are dearly loved. Thanks to my devoted agent, Doris Booth, for believing in me. Gracias, Ramón. To my editor, partner, and friend, the author William Kowalski, you brought life and literary quality to my story. To Luis, Tito, and Rolando for the childhood memories, in those endless days under the sun. Special thanks to my clients and friends who through the years encouraged me to pursue the writing of my story. You are deeply woven into the fiber of who I am. To Sandy Berquist and the author Max Courson, and to the memory of Carolyn Benish—this work might never have happened if it wasn't for your enthusiastic support. To Ken Silbert, Bill Boroughs, and Bill Reynolds for your friendship. To Janie Faust and Pat Sexton for your spiritual guidance and support. Lastly, I give honor and praise to the dissidents fighting for human rights in Cuba, who continue to be persecuted but remain peacefully loyal to their cause of freedom. May the world hear your pleading voice through this book.