An Excerpt From: 

A Cuban Caper 

(Bowling, a Strange Request, and a Visit to Havana's Police Station)

By Ken Roy

 


  It was Wednesday, New Year’s Eve 1959. We still had a great deal to do and see in

Havana before heading for home the next day. Early that morning we ran into our friend

Freddie and his pals, who had rented a car for a road trip. Since we all had been to local

beaches the day before, we decided to join them and stretch the adventure further, out into

the Cuban countryside. With nothing particular in mind, we headed east along the shore.

After passing through several small poor towns, but really, in a way, quite beautiful and

peaceful, we stopped for the necessary refreshment: beer.

Continuing to drive for a couple of hours, we ended up somewhere beyond Varadero

Beach and came upon a bowling alley with absolutely no redeeming features but for two

alleys, and a rundown bar. As we bowled it became apparent that it was quite easy, with

some speed on the ball, to make the pins fly wildly. Since the pin setting was a manual

operation, it took considerable skill on the pin setter's part, jumping all around, to avoid

getting hit. Suddenly, we became the “Ugly American”* as we concentrated on him, rather

than the bowling score. Looking back now, I cringe at the callous disregard we showed for

his safety and how our actions could have been lethal to us. The alley management and

associates, if so inclined, could have taken us out back and buried us. After bowling, in

order to soothe any hard feelings, we bought a few beers for all parties, assuring a friendly,

happy and best-case scenario for a quick exit back to Havana.

As we were leaving a couple of bearded guys in green khaki came out of the back room

and joined our group at the bar. (As I learned later, green khaki was the revolutionaries

uniform, worn exclusively by Fidel Castro when he appeared in public.) I remember their

sudden appearance as being quite unsettling since we had no idea who they were or why

they were there. They spoke broken English and quickly identified themselves as rebels

with the 26 July Movement. We didn’t have a clue as to what this meant. They had been

involved in the nearby Battle of Santa Clara and filled us in about the coming revolution.

This battle was a decisive turning point in the Cuban Revolution when then president

Batista’s army was defeated by Che Guevara led guerillas. Their next stop was Havana.

Looking for recruits, they asked for our help. At the time, this didn’t seem like a great

idea, so we declined. However, one outspoken bearded guy became somewhat upset as he

assured us, the cause was just and 26 July would soon be victorious. It now became clear

to us that this Cuban revolution was dangerously close and moving quickly.

A few hours later, in mid afternoon, we had returned to Havana. By then, the alcohol had

seized control of Freddie and he decided to take the car for a spin around the city. The

“Ugly American” reared up again. We whipped around several blocks, tires squealing,

pedestrians leaping out of the way and the rest of us rolling around in the car laughing.

Eventually we came to a stop at our hotel and before we could exit the car, a Havana cop

was there with a change of plans. He told us to stay put, then slid behind the driver’s

wheel. Our next stop was Havana’s Central Police Station.

* a pejorative term describing American pretentious behavior in foreign countries. Please see William

Lederer and Eugene Burdick, The Ugly American, (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1958).