Jobs were scarce in Miami as a result of the flood of refugees, about eighteen hundred a week. Employers with jobs for unskilled labor found many applicants to be English-speaking, professional Cubans eager to work. The competition for these jobs was keen.
My parents had registered at the Cuban Refugee Center, though doing so was not required. After the failure of the Bay of Pigs invasion my parents evaluated Miami’s economic situation and tallied the number of refugees. They returned to the center, registering for resettlement with Catholic Relief Services.
At the time President John F. Kennedy gave the Cuban Refugee Program with the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare funds to help refugees. Monies were provided for assisting volunteer relief agencies, obtaining help from private and public sectors to find jobs, giving funds for resettlement, and giving financial help to cover basic human needs, including health services.
The U.S. federal government also pumped money into Miami public schools, which were racially segregated at the time. Training and educational opportunities were created. Unaccompanied children received financial aid, and surplus food distribution was enhanced.
Four national agencies joined efforts with the federal government to help with the resettlement process: Catholic Relief Services of the National Catholic Welfare Conference, Church World Service of the National Conference of Churches, a Protestant organization, United Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, and the nonsectarian International Rescue Committee. On a statewide level, civic organizations worked with religious ones.
During the summer of 1962, the U.S. Governors’ Conference met in Hershey, Pennsylvania. In the proceedings from that meeting, the governors acknowledged Florida’s welcoming of about eighteen hundred Cubans each week. They thanked Florida for its hospitality and resolved to urge the people of all states to help in resettlement efforts.
Through Catholic Relief Services, my father learned there were opportunities for employment in the Midwest, specifically Cincinnati, Ohio, Grand Rapids, Michigan, and St. Paul, Minnesota. Three viable jobs opened in Minnesota. Meanwhile, the Lauers, a Roman Catholic family, had read the dossier about our family that Catholic Relief Services provided their church. They decided to sponsor us. Resettlement, in the end, was by invitation only. We were blessed.
As my father made arrangements to move to Minnesota, Luis Gustavo was being treated for Bell’s palsy, a form of temporary facial paralysis resulting from damage or trauma to one of two facial nerves. The treatment, he remembers, was to apply electricity to the nerve in order to activate it. The final treatment was given about a week after my father went north. Then, we went for an airplane ride again and joined him at the Lauers.
About this time, and probably as a result of my brother’s twisted mouth, I remember a porcelain statue of the Divine Infant Jesus of Prague appeared in our living room. I don’t know who bought it, either Great-aunt Carmen or my mother, but it was dedicated to Luis. This is my first recollection of religious statuary in our home. My brothers and I wore gold chains with holy medals; mine bore the image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. My aunt and grandmothers were dedicated to the meditative practice of praying the rosary, so rosaries were familiar.
Meanwhile, other Cuban families who would be on the flight to Minnesota were preparing to move again.
Roberto and Noris Beruvides and their two children, José and Ariana, arrived in Miami from Havana on June 27, 1962. Initially, they moved into an apartment with one of Roberto’s sisters, but it was crowded as other in-laws were living with her too. The Beruvides family transferred to an efficiency apartment on Flagler Avenue. Like most other refugees, they received a government subsidy and surplus food. Not long after their arrival, they understood Miami’s predicament and therefore their own. Resettlement was the best option.
Consequently, the Beruvides family registered for relocation with Catholic Relief Services. San Francisco was Roberto’s first choice. He hoped for opportunities in his profession: he was an actor. However, another family went. There were more willing sponsors with the Protestant congregations. Soon, a Presbyterian church in Philadelphia found sponsors. Everyone agreed to a September resettlement. But then Catholic Relief Services reported sponsorship available in St. Paul.
When Roberto brought home news of having found sponsorship in Minnesota, Noris agreed to resettle there. In a week’s time they would leave the Miami apartment for the Twin Cities.
With a new destination in mind, Roberto went to the Cuban Refugee Center to select winter coats for his family. There, he met Hector San Domingo doing the same thing. They exchanged information about their families and their resettlement plans as they sifted through winter garments at the Refugio. Roberto said his wife, Noris, was petite so he was having trouble finding the right size coat. Hector said his wife, Manola, was also small. They kept sorting through garments. Finally, each man decided on a coat for his wife, then lifted it to show one another the treasure. It was the exact same coat!
My father went to Miami International Airport to catch a Northwest Orient flight to the Twin Cities on August 30, 1962.
Besides being high season for hurricanes, late summer and early fall is a time of scorching heat in Miami. While waiting for the flight to board, my father met three other Cuban families who’d found sponsorship in Minnesota. They were Roberto and Noris Beruvides and their children José and Ariana. Hector and Manola San Domingo were ready with their daughter Ruth. Luis and Virginia Padilla had three boys, Luis, Eddie, and two-month-old Miami-born Miguel.
Luis Padilla was a lawyer in Havana, his wife, Virginia, a home economics teacher. They left Cuba for Miami in 1961 by way of a flight that stopped in Jamaica before coming to the United States. Virginia came a day before her husband. For one night, she stayed with an uncle in an apartment on Southwest Eighth Street. The following day, with help from the Catholic agency, she rented an apartment in the same building. Luis Padilla brought their two sons and soon found a job as a hotel bellboy, earning $30 a week.
The U.S. government had proposed resettlement to Minnesota. Sponsors were available in White Bear Lake. The Padillas had not considered resettlement. Today, Virginia (now Virginia Odio) is a snowbird who enjoys Miami winters and cooler Minnesota summers.
As these Cuban families waited to leave Miami, curious to learn more about his future home, my father approached an agent behind the airline counter. He asked about the current temperature in the Twin Cities.
“He said it was fifty-seven degrees. I went back to the group and said, ‘You have sweated all you’ve sweated in your lives. You will never sweat again,’” my father said.
While everyone chuckled at his comments, I imagine the laughs were nervous ones.
The anecdote is an example of the belief system my father adopted: the past is over. It will never be again. Don’t waste your time thinking about it. Don’t talk about it, either. Why not? Because it doesn’t exist.
How very Zen.
In her book In the Land of Mirrors: Cuban Exile Politics in the United States, Maria de los Angeles Torres writes about exiles and their relationship to memory. “Memory, remembering and re-creating become individual and collective rituals, as does forgetting.”
Beyond the vital winter coats, I suspect staying warm was low on the Cuban list of concerns. At least initially. Employment, English skills, and good schools for the children were crucial.
There are many ways to process the traumatic loss of homeland, like the various ways people mourn a death. I know of a Cuban man who was practicing as a physician in Havana. After many years in exile in the Midwest, he lost the ability to speak Spanish, though comprehension remained. Some exiles were Creoles, that is, the first generation of Cubans born to Spaniards. They may have or do identify more closely with Spain. Many Cubans who resettled outside Miami encouraged their children to Anglicize their names to ease their way in the United States. Some people did not insist on their children speaking Spanish at home.
I don’t know when it happened, but my mother became devoted to St. Jude, the patron of hopeless causes. Our family was silent.