El Caballo

Alfonso Ulloa, Alfonso Ulloa

• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN: 9781643348834
• eBook ISBN: 9781643348810
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World History
• Index: History

"For what other reason would they give up possessions, all they have known and loved from birth? To go to a new country, new language, new climate. The right answer was just to be free."

Fifty-five years ago in 1965, upon Alfonso's arrival to the United States, he devoted all his spare time to exposing the truth about Fidel Castro and Communism. This historical manuscript is a first-person, true account of what the author experienced during the first six years of communism under Fidel Castro. Alfonso Ulloa made a promise to his friends who had to stay behind that he would write everything that they endured and make sure that those in Cuba had a voice for the world to hear.

"It must not be lost to our grandchildren and future generations. They need to know the truth, the Cuba of their ancestors and what communism stole from them."

Road to Exile

The early warnings about Communism from the Dominican priest from Holland proved to be true. The watermelon is green on the outside and red on the inside.

Each year El Caballo is in power becomes more oppressive and unbearable. Freedom is gone. The norm now is misery, hunger, persecution, killings, and the never-ending lies. Non-Communists are subjects of ill treatment and humiliation, which became intolerable at times. It was difficult to take it and not respond. My wife and I were blessed that in 1961, our son and daughter were able to leave Cuba for the United States and were saved from indoctrination and Communism. Our hearts will forever be grateful to the government and the people of the United States for all they did for so many thousands of Cuban children, including our own. With the children safe in the United States, parents started their own paperwork necessary for someday joining and reuniting their families. To no one’s surprise, El Caballo began making this exodus more and more difficult.

Coexisting with Communist bosses and whistle-blowers was increasingly trying. Twice a week, all workers had to attend long boring meetings requiring Franciscan patience needed to put up with speeches of the worst kind. These meetings were held after work (of course). In one of these meetings, the speaker addressed the worms in the group (the word worms was used very freely). We were all informed that a new rule had been implemented by El Caballo: Future travelers could only take with them three changes of clothing, two pairs of shoes, and as for jewelry, very plain wedding bands (but costume jewelry was okay). All would be searched at the airport at the discretion of the official comrade.

Anyone applying for a passport needed a copy of their birth certificate. It seems like overnight, the lines to obtain a birth certificate became longer than the food lines, all over the island, not just in Camagüey. El Caballo became alarmed at the number of people rejecting his regime. He had received a major blow to his ego. Now it was his turn to punch back. All those wanting to leave the country would be fired from their places of work. I had given notice ahead of this new proclamation since I had received a telegram from my son informing me that a boat named La Tortuga would be arriving in the port of Camarioca to legally pick up passengers whose relatives had paid for them. La Tortuga never arrived, and my young son lost $3,000 he had paid for us.

The moment El Caballo finished his speech, the bosses came in, and those of us waiting to leave were told to go home. We no longer had jobs. The month was almost over, but I received no wages and no sick or vacation pay. In one moment. I found myself with no job, and my savings account had been frozen. On my walk home, I asked God for help. “How are we going to survive?” My daughter was still a minor, which gave us priority to leave, but thousands of other parents were in the same circumstances. We found comfort in our faith in God.

I have always been an impenitent reader. My personal joy was to sit outdoors enjoying Cuban coffee, a cigar, and reading a book while listening to my canaries sing. I belonged to the Breeders of Roller Canaries Association. A few times I had the honor of receiving first place for both color and song. Sometimes, I would have over thirty canaries in large cages. In the morning and early afternoon, their songs filled the house with heavenly sounds.

The rations notebook was an important document when leaving the country. The Communists had a system for checking all transactions your family had taken at the store. Before you are scheduled to leave Cuba, you must go in person to a place called La Regional, where government officials take your notebook and begin to compare dates and amount of purchases with their files. The smallest discrepancy would be enough to postpone or even cancel your exit flight. After a long wait and many prayers, we were given a verification receipt stating that all was in order and we were renouncing our Ration Notebook. The official made it very clear: do not lose this document receipt as the militia at the airport customs will ask for it. The only person in our house taking milk was my elderly aunt of eighty years of age. You have to be over seventy-five years old to be entitled to milk. My aunt walked with crutches, so my wife and I went to a different location to return her milk card. The same as before, they had to check that only my aunt was taking milk since my wife and I are both in our fifties. All in good order, I signed and was handed another verification receipt with the same message as before.

Soon we would be free from oppression and Communism. How sad for those staying behind who must continue to suffer in silence on a daily basis just to stay alive.

One morning, while I was away from the house, my wife received a visit from the inventory representative. He had orders to proceed with the inventory of our house. Since I also needed to be present, he agreed to return at two o’clock that afternoon. He informed my wife that according to new dispositions of the government, the president of the whistle-blowers needed to be present as well. At exactly two o’clock, the representative and the whistle-blower came in and started the tedious process of taking inventory of an entire house. I was pleased that the representative was professional and somewhat pleasant. The whistle-blower took notes but didn’t say much. I was asked if I had an automobile about five different times. Every time the answer was the same: no.

To my surprise, the government official was most impressed by the furniture in my office. No doubt my old desk would go to a higher-up Communist. I sprinkled my desk with holy water as soon as they left. We were happy to have received the first inventory, but no one knew when the next and the final inventory would be. I know of so many families still waiting after one year. With Christian resignation, we awaited the will of God.

I think about my collection of books, my canaries. Everything inside our house took years to acquire, and we had hoped one day to pass it all down to our children. It was also difficult saying goodbye one last time to our friends and the place of our children’s birth. All we can take are precious memories of what we once had. To break free from the confinements of a Communist regime is well worth leaving all our material possessions behind. I was surprised when they mentioned our refrigerator was worth $1,500; I paid $485. The unexpected happened only one week after the inventory was taken. We received a telegram informing us of our departure flight for the United States in two days. First, we had to embark to Havana since the final flight would leave from the Varadero Airport. Maybe my office furniture did the trick.

Not long after receiving the telegram, an official in charge of the second inventory came by to go over a few last-minute instructions. The final inventory was set for two o’clock that afternoon. It should take no more than two hours since other clerks were coming, and they just needed to verify that all was there. I also had to give them three money orders. Our luggage had to be ready because once the inventory was finished and all was in order, the government representative would close our front door and put a seal on it. It would be government property from then on.

We had no time to be happy or sad. There was so much to do in just a few hours. Little did we know last night when we went to bed that it was the last night in our house. The group from the government arrived on time. Room by room was examined and compared with the first inventory. My eyes wanted to absorb all I was looking at to keep in my heart and in my memories forever. As time went by, the officials moved about quickly and found everything to be in order. As requested earlier, I gave them the three money orders they had asked for. Then I was told the rules had changed and they wanted only cash, no money orders, and I personally had to bring it to the police station.

The clock was ticking. Now I was full of anguish and fear, not expecting this last-minute complication. Earlier in the day, I had made reservations for Havana for a flight leaving at five o’clock that same afternoon. It was now three o’clock. The inspector phoned ahead to the police station and asked that my documents and money be processed immediately, and thankfully they complied. As soon as I arrived at the police station, I was escorted to the head of immigration, and yet another problem emerged. The cash had to be deposited in the bank. I mentioned to the immigration official that it was past three o’clock and the banks were closed. To my good fortune, he called the bank who also agreed to allow my last transaction. When I arrived at the bank, the militia guard in front would not let me in. Just then, the teller in charge came and opened the door. By the grace of God, I was able to complete my task, received my three receipts, and rushed to another taxi. We had very little time to head to the airport.

When the inspection had been completed at our house, I signed the government documents and the house was sealed. My wife and elderly aunt waited at a neighbor’s house with our luggage while I went to take care of the last-minute obstacles. The taxi stopped long enough to pick up my wife and aunt, and off we drove to the airport in Camagüey.

Ignacio Agramonte International Airport, Camaguey, Cuba

Years waiting for this moment, and instead of being elated for the upcoming reunion with our children, all we felt at this moment was grief-stricken, a deep sadness not for our material things but for leaving our life behind. We had no time to say goodbye to our dear friends. Our sweet memories of happy times and rocking chairs on the sidewalk will always be in our hearts. We are well aware that chances are we will never see Cuba again. All we had is gone. We will forever be thankful for what we had and grateful for what lays ahead.

We didn’t speak one word on our way to the airport. We were all deep in our own thoughts. When we arrived at the airport, an employee friend smiled when I asked him about what kind of plane we were taking to Havana. An airplane bringing a Russian mission had arrived earlier; the plane was Russian made and had been converted from cargo to passenger and was returning to Havana empty. We were the only three passengers. With no other choice, we agreed, and in no time at all we were in the air. We were one step closer to reuniting with our children. My daughter is now nineteen years old. She left after her fifteenth birthday. My son is twenty-two years old now. He was eighteen years old when he left.

Our flight from Camagüey to Havana was turbulent. There were dark heavy clouds and pouring rain. How appropriate, so in tune with how we felt. Anyone leaving their homeland forever feels a great sadness in their soul. Other joys may come our way, but this moment will remain with us for as long as we live.

When we arrived at Rancho Boyeros Airport in Havana, they were experiencing torrential rains. We were provided with large umbrellas. Never knowing if there were taxis or any form of transportation, we stepped outside and found one man with a car willing to take us to El Vedado where two dear cousins of mine lived. This was where my son lived for over a year when I had to get him away from Camagüey. My daughter also stayed with them for two months before leaving Cuba. The man driving the car was silent, and so were we. I cautioned my wife and aunt to stay quiet. We never knew who was a whistle-blower, and anything we say could spoil our exit. The highways leading to the airport...

Table of contents

• United Fruit Company and Sugar Mills
• Sin of Omission
• Alphabetization
• Now the Truth
• The Rations Notebook
• The Agricultural Reform and Industrialization
• Latin America Invasion
• Whistle-blowers Chivatos
• Whistle-blowers Chivatos
• The Russians Feast and the Cubans Go Hungry
• Buying Low, Selling High
• Refrigerated Railcars
• Che Guevara
• Pharmaceutical Companies
• Cuban Doctors and Communism
• Hospitals
• Catholic Tribulation
• No More Privileges
• No More Private Clubs
• No More Private Schools
• No More Christmas
• No More Three Kings’ Day
• Funerals
• Changing History
• Cultivating Cotton
• The Bear’s Trap
• El Caballo and Sports
• Road to Exile