Country Boys in Town

Cuba's country boys came to the big city last week, their feet squeaking in stiff new shoes, their machetes dangling in leather scabbards at their sides, their floppy straw hats tilted back in wonder at the apartment buildings and tourist hotels along Havana's seaside Malecon Drive. Their hero, Fidel Castro, had hauled them to town, 200,000 strong, in an egotistic political maneuver calculated to prove his mass support and scare his enemies. The poor dirt farmers, called guajiros, were delighted to yell their vivas in return for such a show.

Castro was celebrating July 26, the anniversary of the day six years ago that he fired a 12-gauge shotgun to signal the start of an abortive attack on Dictator Fulgencio Batista's Moncada Barracks, in the eastern Cuban city of Santiago. He also needed a display of hero worship so that he could accede to "popular demand" and resume the post of Prime Minister, which he had quit the previous week during the histrionics that preceded the purge of President Manuel Urrutia (TIME, July 27). He got it, and returned to office.

Room for All. A full week ahead of the big day, the guajiros began arriving--the first few by plane, then big shipments by train. Navy ships, buses and private cars brought in the hordes. One column of 1,500 rode into town on horseback. FARMERS, THIS IS YOUR HOME, read the signs on public buildings.

The government built tent camps at army bases all over town, filled Havana University with cots, bedded down 122 lucky guajiros in the presidential palace's Hall of Mirrors. Merely by flashing their identification cards, issued before they left home, the guajiros got free food, shirts, laundry, bus rides and movie tickets. "Our Cuban revolution is very good," grinned Calalu Nistal, 54, as he checked into the luxurious Comodoro Hotel. "I never thought I would be doing this," said another guajiro as he accepted a free Cuba Libre at the Havana Riviera bar.

At midweek Castro reminded the guajiros that they were in Havana to do a political job. Railing against the "infamous" foreign press and "foreign plutocrats," he defended his one-man rule as "Athenian democracy" and warned that "the guajiros are here with their machetes to defend the revolution, and their machetes are sharp." Next day Castro's labor leaders closed down the city for an hour with a general strike, "demanding" that he return to office.

"Strike Three!" The Castro adulation grew. Appearing one night to accept a gift machete and to toss an inning of exhibition baseball for an army team, Castro marched to the mound in high spirits. A onetime sub at the University of Havana, he unleashed a wild fast ball, got a friendly reading from the umpire. With the count at 3 and 2, Fidel whipped a high, hard one over the batter's head. "Strike three!" the umpire said.

On the eve of the big day, police banned liquor sales. Radio and television stations boomed excerpts from History Will Absolve Me, Castro's defense speech when he was brought to trial for the Moncada Barracks attack. At midnight, churchbells tolled across the island, and Castro's soldiers opened up with a barrage of rifle and pistol bullets that ricocheted through the streets, sent strollers ducking for cover, nicked a ballplayer at a post-midnight overtime game. The guajiros sat calmly, keening their machetes on the concrete curbs.

On the 26th, as a crowd of a half million poured into the streets for the show, Castro's jet trainers and British-built Sea Furies strafed, rocketed, bombed and, after an hour, finally sank a tiny target boat floating just 300 yards out from the Malecon. Castro directed the fire from atop a tank, and then adjourned to the Plaza Civica, where 200,000 machetes flashed in the glaring sun. Attendants greeted his arrival by releasing 1,000 doves and 1,000 gaily colored balloons. "Fidel or death!" read the placards above the sea of faces. Castro grinned and waved from his reviewing stand, and soon his puppet president, Osvaldo Dorticos grabbed the microphone to make the predictable announcement: death would not be necessary because "Dr. Castro has agreed to return as Prime Minister." Castro himself took the podium to frenzied cheers. "This is not the glory of a name," he said unctuously, "but the glory of a people." As his high-pitched, frenetic voice raced on far into the night, no listener doubted that in name or in fact the man at the mike was alone the law in Cuba.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.