I'm a Child of the 60's

Evolution:

One of my goddaughters turned me on to this video that I'm sharing with all you my friends today. It reminded me of where I come from.

I regard myself as coming from two heritages or backgrounds. My native Cuban heritage, and my second is African American. I say this because when I was brought to this country at the tender age of 4 via the Cuban freedom flights. We entered Miami as the first port of call. As immigrants and exiles we were processed. The process consisted of medical exam, shots, screening, and who knows what else because I was to young to remember most details. Once we were processed we ended up in New York.

I didn't know then, but as I grew, I would come to know that two of my uncles were the first to arrive here in the states through Key West. They lived in the Keys and worked on the fishing ships yearning to earn enough money to leave Florida and go to the North. It was the time were we had to sit in the back of the bus and adhere to signs on public restrooms or other places, which segregated blacks or colored folks from white folks. These two uncles, Juan & Franky, escaped Cuba during the Castro revolution, by way of boat. It was easy for them because they always worked on the river shipyards of Havana. My Dad was a longShoreman on the river docks of Almendares River, were my grandfather was from. It was mentioned that my dad wasn't the rebellious type as were his brothers, so he stayed behind. They left I believe in 1960, because they were part of the anti-castro rebellious group that sprung up after Castro came into power. You see my grandfather was a retired military mounted calvary staff sergeant of the Sierra Mountains of Oriente Province, Cuba. This is were Castro's revolution began. He was anti-castro yet could not do much because of his diabetes & retirement. Out of the two uncles that left. One of them was 18 and able to enlist in the secretly trained Brigade which attacked Cuba. The 2506 Cuban Brigade of the infamous Bay of Pigs invasion of 1961. This was my uncle Juan or John, Franky had to stay behind because he was only 16. I believe he stayed living in the Keys. We all know that the attack ended in most of the men getting killed or imprisoned.

Needless to say, he was released(1962), as part of the deal which included food, medical goods, and money. I guess since they were trained by the U.S. and it was a failure, the U.S. government might have felt a little responsible. The U.S. military backup which was supposed occur never did, and 1500 men whom invaded, ended up being 1200 men; out of 1200 men, 200 more were executed by Castro, and 1000 was the final number which were released. So say the reports. I heard stories of my grandmother going every week to visit her son, at the Principe prison in Havana. I also, heard stories of heavy spiritual and religious work that my grandparents did in order keep their son from making it to the next list of men or prisoners to be executed by the regime. This was also, the period of the 12 days of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Sept 1962. I can truly say that I am a Cuban Crisis baby boomer..hahaha. I was born in 1961 and was 1 year old when all this ruckus was going on. Things must have quieted down a bit by 1964, because this was the beginning of the first exile exodus off the island, the freedom flights. We were called "gusanos", which mean "worms", by the communist regime. I guess we seemed to have looked like worms to them, or we were despised as such. Researching some of this info, I did not come to realize, that the exodus lasted until 1972.

Once processed in Florida, we some how ended up in New York. I believe we arrived here in March 1965. At least this is what I remembered of an old green card of the time, which I saw of myself many years ago. In conversations, I recalled my parents mentioning that we had lived on 145th St. & Jackson Ave. Bronx. As I grew older, learned american english, and became intergraded in american culture and society. I recognized the songs I heard once reaching New York back then. They were; "Stop in the name of Love" Diana Ross & The Supremes; The Four Tops "I'll Be There"; The Temptations "My Girl".

By 1967, we were living on 1313 Brian Ave. still in the Bronx. As a child I knew this address, and will never forget it, because the show which I most loved at the time had an address 1313 Mockingbird Lane. It was The Munster Family. Another show of the era was the Adam's Family. In this house is where I remember seeing my grandmother dressed in white for the year of her Yoruba Lucumi initiation, in becoming an Olorisha priestess. This was in the Bronx at the house of Lenor Dome ocha name "Omi Duro". From what I had heard, she was my grandmothers, godmother's sister from Cuba. My grandma didn't get a chance to become initiated in Cuba, because there was to much political tension or involvement with the family. It would have caused people trouble so I heard. Castro was already instituting anti-religious worship enactments as part of his turn to communism.

After this we moved to where I had my most memorable growing years in New York. I still remember the address, 635 W 141st. in Manhattan. The building was down a hill between Broadway and Riverside Drive. Those were the years of street games such as "ring-o-leave-ya", stoop ball, stick ball, & my favorite "Hot peace of butter come and get your super". These were the New York street games played by all kids, in age ranges. When I first started, I was in the 7 to 9 year old range. We imitated the 10 to 12, the 10 to 12 imitated the 13 to 15, and so on. We were territorial and everyone knew each other up and down the block. We did not need to go anywhere else, we had everything we needed on that block. There wasn't much you could not buy at the corner store as a kid. As long as we had spin tops, spaulding rubber balls, baseball cards, broom stick, firecrackers, a football, a basketball, a belt, chips, cracker jacks and soda; we were set. P.S. 145 on 130th Street was the public school, I think I attended not sure. Not many memories there. Now, when it comes to my 4th grade year, as I entered St. Joseph's Catholic School on 125th St. and Amsterdam Ave. Harlem. 1968-69, this is were my childhood memories seem to awaken. Which brings me to the rhythm in the street which was as sort of soft echo, which you heard everywhere as background. It was the rhythm and sounds of Harlem. From 1966 to 1972, I was living, had lived through one of the most politically active eras in American History. I guess it was mid-civil rights meets the hippie movement. It was "Black Power", red, black, & green mixed with psychedelic rainbows of the peace activists . America's own social, cultural, ethnic, and political liberation movement, or revolution. It's when all activist wanted their voices heard. But, what ignited all this was the earlier civil rights revolution.

My sister and I would walk each morning during the school year, up the block from riverside to Broadway. We would cross Broadway, and continue to Amsterdam Ave. There we would catch the city bus from 145 and Amsterdam down to 125 and Amsterdam, were we would get off on a bus stop on the corner of Morning side Park. We would then walk to the courtyard of the private school. On weekends we would come down and play with friends from school every now then, meeting them at the park. We would walk right by the Apollo theater and check out the billboards to see who was going to be playing next. This is where I grew up. But it was not until I became older and a fan of history, did I not learn to appreciate, what I am about to share with you here.

This is a timeless piece which lets me know that, "no matter how much things change, some things still remain the same".

This is true freedom of expression. Something that some places in this world, even today.... people struggle to attain.