Evening star., 1961-08-02
BY WILLIAM L. RYAN
Associated Press News Analyst

Visit Cuba, land of happy
people," says the lettering on
cardboard boxes of rum Of
tered for sale to travellers.
You smile bitterly. You are
q traveller, a refugee from your
own country. You are one of
yet another 10000 the United
States has promised to absorb.
Before the day is out you hope
to escape, to join the many
tens of thousands who already
have left.
Your goal is close-so very
close. But this will be the
most anxious, the most tense
day of all. You have with you
all the worldly possessions you
can carry on an airplane to
Florida. All the rest is left
behind.
For months you have under
gone the mental strain Of watt
ing-lines for visaS, lines for
exit permits, lines for plane
tickets, lines for everything
lines inching ahead through
the agonizing labyrinth of FL
del Castro's revolutionary bu-
reaucracy. Now, at last, you
are at the airport. It will be
the last day, if you are lucky.
The last hours are the hardest
Of all.
Terminal Hot, Crowded
The plane is scheduled to
leave at 4::30 pm, but the au-
thorities have told you to be
at the airport with all your
baggage and documents at 10
am. It is no time to take
chances.
The terminal is dreadfully
hot, crowded with others hop
ing to be as lucky as you,
others waiting patiently in the
seemingly motionleSs line, wait
ing to get authorizations for
the purchase of tickets for some
other day.
You finally get to check your
baggage. It is sent out to Gus
CONS. There is nothing to do
now but wait and wait. It gets
hotter by the minute as the
afternoon wears on and the
passengers mill about the small
waiting room. Once you are
there you dare not leave. A
window has been broken, and
the rooms air conditioning
does no good.
Pair Of Shoes COnfiscated
One by one, at the rate of
one every 10 or 20 minutes,
prospective fellow passengers
are called to customs, out on
the field under the blazing
sun. You know their baggage
is being gone over bit by bit.
Some things are confiscated.
You don't know why. One fam
lily watches with frightened
aStoniShment as authorities
seize a pair of mems shoes. A
few women'S swimming suits
are taken. Another man won
ders why they seized a deck
of cards.
A tiny girl loses a slim brace
let she had been wearing. No
body takes out gold without |
special permission. Another, |
for the same reason, loses her
siny wristwatch.
You wait and wait and wait. |
Children are wailing, irritated
oy the heat and the long, ex-
hausting vigil. 1t is 4 pm. Anx-
lous eyes scan the skies through |
the waiting room windows, The
American plane hasn't ap-
oeared. !
1t wouldn't have mattered if |
1t did show up on time. The
customs people were a long way
from finished. And then there
were the interrogations by the
G-2, the Castro intelligence
people.
Questions Seem Endless
For many there would be in
tenSive and often seemingly |
pointleSs questioning. There
would be suspicion, the dread
of being turned back, just at
about the last moment. Some
"a relative few-know the bit
terneSs already. The intelli-
gence men are in and out of
the waiting room and all eyes
follow them. One G-2 man
makes a cruel joke. He taps
two young girls on the shoul-
,derS and asks for their papers.
They go pale. Then he laughs
at bis own joke and hands the
papers back. But others are
taken away. Some, though only
a few, will know the bitterness
Of losing at the last minute.
The plane finally appears.
There is excitement. Little
girls hastily put on their hats,
mothers make a laSt-minute
fuss over wailing infants. AS
if they thought now they would
be going.
But on and on goes the search
OF the luggage, one passenger |
at time. On and on go the
questions. Another hour passes,
yet another, and you realize
this is going on every day and
will be for months.
More Children Wall
Many children are wailing
now. Refugees watch with |
hawklike intensity every move
on the airstrip. When will the
luggage go aboard? When will
the plane be called? It is now
a few minutes before 7 pm.