The Southern Genealogists Exchange Quarterly, Vol. 55, No.

229, March 2014 11

Authors note: This article is
representative of the authors
recently published book
Defning Moments A Cuban
Exiles Story about Discovery
and the Search for a Better
Future available at Amazon.
The book has been the subject of
presentations at the Jacksonville
Historical Society, Bishop Kenny
High School in 2013 as well as
other groups and Universities in
Massachusetts and Florida.
As I reached the bottom of
the stairs from the airplane on to
the tarmac, I bent down and
touched the ground that I had last
done 33 years before. My head
was swirling with too many
thoughts that I knew I would
never remember as my son
directed me to the awaiting
buses that would bring me to
the terminal at the Havana
Cuba airport.
What prompts a decision to
return to ones homeland after so
many years flled with uncer-
tainty, distant but sad memories
and fnding out that it was
possible to return to what once
was a forbidden fruit of sorts?
Reuniting with my aunts and
introducing them to my son was
a thrilling experience for all, and
I soon found out that in their eyes
not only I was the young boy
they had seen many years ago
but he replaced me as the object
of constant attention. At the time,
I thought my aunts were my only
relatives back in Cuba. Sadly the
city and the homes we visited
Trees Were Crying Too
Jose I. Ramirez
were in a state of
disrepair, the
economical condi-
tion was seriously
and negatively
impacted especially
since Cuba had lost
the subsidies
provided by the
Soviet Union, and
the communist
government that
had been in power
since 1959
remained a source of controls
and limitations to the people.
A diffcult and equally sad
experience during our eight day
trip was to fnd my former home
occupied by the local police.
This had been the home where
my father had his rural medicine
practice and where I had been
raised with my two sisters. My
son and I were able to enter the
home, travel throughout the town
and the farm that had been
owned by my aunt and uncle
before the government took it
away from them. This part of the
trip enabled him to see frst-hand
the many and special places that
he had heard about for so many
years. For me, the experience
was most emotional and it was
my sons presence and assistance
that enabled me to cope some-
what with all that I saw and felt.
A timeout of sorts from all of
this was found when we visited
the beautiful beach of Varadero
located a couple of hours away
from Havana and about the same
distance from my hometown. My
family had owned a condo there
which of course was lost like all
the other property to the Fidel
Castro regime during the early
1960s. The beach area was a
frequent stop by European
tourists with waters that had
maintained their aqua/blue color,
the white and fne sand and the
lack of a ripple or waves which
made for a wonderful beach
experience. There we did not see
poverty, everything had been
maintained clean and the staff
were welcoming. It felt like we
were in a different country.
continued
Camp St. John, 1962
Jose Ramirez and friends, 1962
The Southern Genealogists Exchange Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 229, March 2014 12
Leaving became an equally
anxious experience but I felt
like I had gone back home,
and so I had.
Nine more trips would
follow that frst travel to Cuba
through January 2013. My
experiences and personal obser-
vations and that which was
shared by family and friends in
Cuba were a source of much
learning. During these trips, I
stayed at local homes, ate what
they ate and used as much of the
local transportation as I could.
My primary exception was to
rent a car for two or three days
when I visited my hometown and
so needed reliable transportation
given its distance from the city.
My elderly aunts health
condition gave me a window into
the health care system to those
that live there. The lack of
medication and reliable medical
equipment, among many things,
brought to light the shortcomings
of a system that only caters to
those who are connected. It
was a sad experience to go to my
local pharmacy and secure the
twenty two pounds of medicine
that I was allowed to bring
knowing that it would not solve
problems but would bring some
relief for a short period of time.
The black market for anything
and everything you needed
including, food and transporta-
tion was always a thriving
enterprise. It spoke volumes to
me when, upon arrival, I could
contact an engineer who, upon
receiving my call, would be
sick the next day and became
my taxi driver charging a mere
$20 US to drive me around
the city for hours. He and I
had lunch together and
talked freely about the
poor economic conditions
affecting them. Over the
years, I saw regulations
changing to the extent that
people could actually buy
and sell properties, but it
remained a diffcult
process which continues to
this day. The ability to buy
a cell phone for $30
became news in the U.S.,
but people asked me what
do you do when the
average monthly salary is
between $10 and $20?
This economic condition
led to some bizarre
fndings, such as the
woman I had known since
I was a child who had not
been to the beach for
years. Her pension came
to eight dollars a month
and entering the beach
premises would cost her half of
her monthly income.
Over the years, dissident
activity experienced an increase,
although it was seldom published
in U.S. newspapers until very
recently. The repressive govern-
ment does not tolerate a diver-
gence of opinion and people
seldom speak out loud in public
for fear of reprisal.
The trips provided an
opportunity to work with the
local church, visit family and
exchange information about life
in the U.S. which was not
normally read about in the
government controlled media.
One of the most signifcant
fndings during these trips was to
learn that I had a number of
distant cousins still living in
Cuba. Meeting and spending
time with them was a source of
great happiness as they treated
me as if we had known each
other all our lives. They took me
to sites where family members
were buried, and where my
father had worked as a young
man. Exchanging genealogical
related information provided the
opportunity to reconnect in ways
that I had not foreseen and would
become a valuable source of
information for my soon-to-be-
written history of my family.
Trees Were Crying Too
continued
Views of Camp St. John during the authors
visit in 2009 showing the former main
Dining/All purpose building and one of the
dormitories.
Church across the street from the authors
former home in his hometown. It is the
site where his parents were married and
he received his religious education and
sacraments in the Catholic Faith.
The Southern Genealogists Exchange Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 229, March 2014 13
How different were these
experiences to that one which
brought me to this country
n 1961.
Growing up in a town with
approximately four thousand
people in Cuba, about an hour
and a half away from the capital,
I lived what I considered an
idyllic life. I seemed to know
everybody and everybody
seemed to know me. The fact
that my father was one of three
doctors in town, my uncle a well
respected farmer of sugar cane
and that my mother and aunt
were involved in the local church
certainly had a lot to do with it.
The primary employer in the
town was the local sugar mill
which had been built at the turn
of the 20th Century with up to
2000 employees. Local farms
like my uncles provided much
needed employment and he had
the reputation for paying wages
during the tiempo muerto
(dead season) when it was not
possible to pursue agricultural
work. Local clubs such as the
Lions, the Spanish Society, and
The People of Color, among
others, provided the social venue
for many dances and such
activities. A movie house and the
large gazebo in the center of the
park (across from my house)
delivered entertainment and the
churches were the centers for
worship and many social service
efforts for the needy.
My family included my two
older sisters in addition to my
mother and father and a younger
brother whom I had never met,
who experienced an
increase died as a very
young child. My
extended family was
composed of my frst
cousins and grandmother
in addition to my aunt
and uncle. Family
members on my fathers
side lived in the capital
city of Havana. Work,
worship and local social activi-
ties were where I found my
family occupied. The family was
apolitical except for local
elections to help a friend running
for offce but that seemed the
exception to the rule.
Things began to change as I
entered my teenage years. Cuba
was experiencing a revolution
led by Fidel Castro a well known
activist against the regimen of
Fulgensio Batista a right wing
dictator ruling the country. By
this time, I had begun to attend a
Catholic private school in the
city where my father had built a
house, going back to our town on
weekends. My mother was with
us during the week while my
father stayed behind attending to
his medical practice. Anxiety
crept into our lives as bombs
would explode in the city and in
the rural areas sugar cane felds
were set on fre by persons
unknown. During that time, my
older sister married a young man
in the military (as his father had
been) and they had a daughter. In
the late 50s, my brother-in-law
was jailed by the Batista govern-
ment as he had become a sympa-
thizer with the Castro revolution.
Trees Were Crying Too
continued
All above: Life in St. Johms Camp
in 1962, showing the author at 15.
The Southern Genealogists Exchange Quarterly, Vol. 55, No. 229, March 2014 14
the actions taken by a priest in
the Miami area opened the
opportunity for me to travel
unaccompanied to the U.S. It was
the sacrifce and the love and
care of my parents that enabled
them to make the diffcult
decision to send me away for my
own good, not knowing whether
they would ever see me again.
A short stay in the Miami
area convinced me that remain-
ing there was not the best thing
for me as I understood the need
to continue my education and
learn the language. As soon as
the offer was made to leave
Miami to a newly opened refugee
camp, I volunteered to go.
Arriving along with other
teenagers to the refugee camp
outside of Jacksonville I wit-
nessed for the frst time trees that
seemed to be crying, just like I
was on the inside.
It did not take long for the
population of the camp to grow
as children continued to arrive
from Cuba and dispersed
throughout the country. The
camp housed a maximum of
ninety six children while we
attended Bishop Kenny High
School in Jacksonville trying to
learn a new language, adjust to a
new culture and learn how to live
away from our parents and
everything and everyone we had
known before. Yet, it was an
experience that led to my grow-
ing up very quickly, instilling
self confdence and learning to
value the importance of being
surrounding with people I
could trust.
Trees Were Crying Too
Road to the authors uncles farm
house taken in 2010. The road is
no longer maintained but many of
the Royal Palm trees planted by his
grandmother remain.
January 1, 1959, the Batista
government collapsed (he fed
the country) and Fidel Castro
took power. Everybody seemed
to welcome the change as
democratic principles were
promised and many people were
released from prison including
my brother-in-law. He would be
commissioned as an offcer in
the army in the new regime
under Castro.
Unfortunately, change began
to take place away from that
which was expected. During the
frst two years in power, the
Castro government confscated
many foreign owned companies
including sugar mills, banks and
the like. During this same time,
concerns about the philosophical
change espoused by government
offcials had a defnite leaning in
support of communism. That frst
year saw my brother-in-law leave
the country, soon followed by
my sister and later my niece.
One of the most signifcant
concerns came about in 1960
related to what was believed to
be a proposed legislation that
would in effect place the govern-
ment in charge of the education
and rearing of children. Many
children would be sent to the
Soviet Union for re-education.
This was not lost to many
Cubans of Spanish ancestry who
had known of similar actions
taken by the communists during
the Spanish civil war and so
this led parents to look for
alternative ways to take care of
their families.
My parents network of
friends and relatives along with
As the camp closed, and
following a stay in three different
foster homes, I graduated from
Bishop Kenny with the 1963
Class and moved to Palatka Fl
where I would attend St. John
River Junior College. Working
fulltime on the overnight shift
and trying to maintain a full load
at the school landed me in a
probation status. The future did
not bode well at this point and I
decided to make another move,
this time to the State of Nebraska
where I would stay for six
months working at a local
hospital but yet unable to pursue
my education. A call from my
cousin in Cambridge MA
prompted me to once again make
another move which let to my
reuniting with my cousins and
live within the bosom of my
family for the frst time in
four years.
The rest of my story refects
my ability to pursue and secure
an education, develop a career,
reunite with my parents and
develop my own family leading
to my decision to return to Cuba
after a thirty three year absence.
v