Marta here:
A friend called me recently: "There's a new book called, The Cubans. You're mentioned in it." I was intrigued and contacted the author, Fernando Hernandez who very kindly agreed, not only to share his story, but to share his book with MBFCF readers.
First, let's let Fernan tell his own story.
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July 8th, 1962 was the day I left Cuba, my parents, other family members, friends, and all the memories that a nine year old boy had experienced. On that fateful day my life was changed, transformed, I was never to be the same again. It was to be also one of the saddest days of my young life as I waved goodbye to my mami.
My brother and I were among 14,068 young children who left Cuba via Operation Pedro Pan, a clandestine operation from 1960-1962 that brought youngsters from 5 to 17 years of age to the United States by themselves. I am sure the communist authorities knew perfectly well that thousands of Cuba’s youngest citizens were leaving, but I believe they did nothing to abort the operation. Family separation was one of the many tactics the regime enacted, and having heart-broken parents in the island assured them of fewer political troublemakers and contrarevolucionarios. When we left from our hometown of Banes, in the Oriente province (now called Holguin), only mami accompanied us to La Habana. You may wonder, where was your father? He was too despondent, emotionally wrecked to muster the courage to bid us goodbye. He never came to see us, as my brother, mother and I got on a bus for a long ride to the capital. Papi stayed behind, comforted by our abuela and other family members. Sometimes we don’t fully grasp or comprehend the suffering that so many of our parents endured when we left our homeland. The other day a man who knew my dad told me he never met a man who shed so many tears for his children as my papi had. Our separation was close to four years, did he have any tears left?
Mami showed me what unconditional love is as we spent a few days in La Habana, a city we had never visited. She took us to the zoo and went sightseeing while we waited for the departure day. She never cried or displayed any emotional weakness during the ordeal, I can still see her permanent smile and her encouraging words to my brother 11, and I. All that she knew was that we were going to a boys’ camp in Miami and then we would be relocated to either a foster home or an orphanage somewhere in the United States. My parent’s main concern was that we would live in a democratic society and that they would join us in the near future. Her anxiety, anguish, and motherly instinct of being close to us did not cloud her judgment and she proceeded to send us to the promise land. Her pain was secondary; she knew this difficult decision had to be made for our benefit.
The day finally arrived. We were placed in the pecera, a large room in the airport enclosed with glass that resembled a fish bowl. We were the fish and those on the outside looked at us as if we were in an aquarium. Mami reminded us to behave well and to take care of one another. But I do not recall mami kissing or hugging us one last time. She walked out of the pecera firm, stoic, and walked to the upper level to see the plane depart. My brother and I, along with the rest of the people waiting, were notified to board the flight.
As I took a seat in what was my first flight, I glimpsed out the window and saw my mami frantically waving a white handkerchief toward the plane. Then I saw her embrace another woman (perhaps another Pedro Pan mom?) and began to see her collapse in a torrent of tears. Even after 51 long years, I have to dry my eyes as I write this. I cannot forget, and I don’t ever want to forget, that moment when a mother’s heart could not be contained. Mami waited to the very last, possible second to unleash what her heart felt, she could no longer conceal her parental anguish. She thought I could not see her from the plane but my eyes were fixed on my precious mom who gave everything she had for my brother and I. As I watched helplessly, the mother I loved was baring her soul and spirit in a continuous cry. What a great blessing to have Maria Elisa Lorenzo Gonzalez as my mami! Thanks to mami and papi I had an opportunity to live as a free man. May my parents reside in a special place in heaven, a palace reserved for all the loving and courageous Cuban parents who sacrificed all so that we could live in an open, free, and democratic society.
by: Fernando “Fernan” Hernandez
Author: The Cubans Our Footprints Across America (July 2013) Amazon.com.
Fernan has graciously agreed to share his book with MBFCF Readers. So let's do a giveaway!
MBFCF Giveaway:
The Cubans, Our Footprints Across America by Fernando "Fernan" Hernández.
One person will win the book, autographed by Fernan. Please leave a comment on this post for a chance to win the book. Answer one or both of the following questions:
- Do you know (or are you related to) any Pedro Pans?
- Did you ever have your own "Cuando Sali de Cuba" moment?
(The realization of what an enormous thing had happened to your family.)
I'll choose a winner on Wednesday, September 25th, 2013 at 11 am.
Amazing what we are able to withstand. Cuban can thrive anywhere in the world.
I was also 9 when I left in 1962 and I remember it like it was yesterday, watching my Grandparents face trying to hold back the tears and all the time knowing they would never see us again.
Every year, I love these stories, Marti. Thank you for giving us a voice through your webpage.A few years ago, you posted my parents’ story on your page – my whole family loves it!
SI MARTA, YO CONOZCO A VARIOS PEDRO PANES Y ME IDENTIFICO MUCHO CON ELLOS PPOR QUE YO VINE CE CUBA SOLA A LA EDAD DE 16 POR OTRA VIA PERO COMO ELLOS MI PADRE ME DEJO EN LA PUERTA DEL AEREOPUERTO DE VARADERO Y LO VOLVI A VER EN 1991 CUANDO EL PUDO VENIR DE VISITA A ESTE PAIS. EL TUBO QUE REGRESARSE A CUBA DE NUEVO POR QUE SU ESPOSA E HIJOS ESTAN EN CUBA PERO FUE OTRO ADIOS PARA NOSOTROS Y ESTE SI QUE FUE HASTA SIEMPRE.PUES EL YA TIENE 97 ES CIEGO Y SE LE HACE IMPOSIBLE VIAJAR DESDE ORIENTE HASTA USA.
Thank you for sharing your wonderful story.(Un)Fortunately, I was born in the U.S. and did not go through this experience. Yet, my family did flea Cuba and the stories several members of the family have are moving and powerful at the same time. One story I will quickly share is that of my grandmother. She left in 1962, alone and several months pregnant. She arrived by herself, determined to start a new life altogether. A few months later, my mother was born in Miami, as so many descendants of Cubans are. Together, they set out to establish the best life possible and set a foundation for generations to come. Their struggles have motivated me to be the best I could be in all aspects of life–as a son, brother, friend, student, neighbor, and equally as important, a citizen of the U.S. their story, and those of all who made the journey, or attempted to do so, from the island and settled outside of it, serve as constant reminders of the importance of family and freedom, and as constant motivators to preserve the freedom we have.
I don’t personally know anyone from the Pedro Pan flights but have read many heart-wrenching stories of their experiences. When we left Cuba in 1963 I was not even 2 yrs old yet so I don’t remember but have to be strip searched was a horrible ordeal for my mother especially having not only to go through it herself but more so having to allow it done to her 2 yr old & 7 yr old girls & 12 yr old son. As the story goes I left screaming & bawling uncontrolably over leaving my nanny Blanca who I called Mami also, as well as my grandparents, aunt uncle & cousins. We were then put in the bowels of a cargo ship, the notorious “banana boat” for a stormy, sickening journey to Florida. Those 90 miles could have been 900 for us & the other families –it seemed never ending with everyone seasick & vomiting with no air or sunlight. The sacrifices made by the adults for our freedom is priceless.
Marta,Although I left Cuba in 1967 via Varadero, during the “Fredom FLights”, I have several Peter Pan friends and have shared stories of leaving Cuba. One common thing for all of us is the indellible mark that particular moment, of the departure, has left in our lifes… When we talk about we relive that time as it had just happened.
Marta,I was around 7 years old when I left Cuba with my Mother and older sister. I remember the excitement of boarding a plane to Miami. Arriving and seeing my Tia was a wonderful moment and I was lucky enough to know all my family was now in the U.S. Only now as an adult do I yearn to return and see the place, that I only know from stories, and relive them through my own eyes. One day I will. My uncle Douglas we part of the young generation that left Cuba via Pedro Pan. His stories are wonderful. He was placed in a home where they treated him as one of the family and to this day he is still close to them.
Marta,I was 7 years old when I left Cuba in 1967. I was with my Mom, Dad and younger brother. My parents were young when they left, my mom was 31 y.o. and my dad was 36 y.o. My dad’s
family was already in the USA but my mom left her family behind, including my grandparents. She never saw them again since they died in the late 60’s and early 70’s. I could only imagine the pain she went through and remember her crying. All of us Cubans have a similar story of leaving family behind and some of them dying without our precense. It is very sad.
My parents are still with me and every day I thank God for that. One day I told them of how grateful I was that they took us out of Cuba because the sacrifice was made for us, their children. I will always be thankful to them.
I was 8 years old when we left Cuba in 1961 and still remember la pecera and my grandmothers crying on the other side.My husband was one of the peter pan kids and he left in 1962 at 15 years old. It was hard for him being away from his parents. Today he is a very successful business owner and he put himself thru college with a degree in electrical engineering and master in computer science from USC. He didn’t see his father for 15 years.
We all have our stories.
Mom tells us the stories of her and her fellow Peter Pan children all the time. She was 11 years old, came to US on a plane and lived in a Refugee camp ’till she was placed in the foster care system. Abuela didn’t come to the US until mom was 17 years old. I couldn’t imagine leaving my country without my parents not knowing when I would see them next. I would love to win this book for my mom.There are no words that I could say to comfort her when she misses Cuba or her father (who passed while she was in the refugee camp. I know that this book will bring her joy, good memories and maybe have an outlet about those tough years.
Angelica, I too wish that you will win my book. I devoted an entire chapter to the Pedro Pan generation (about 50 Pedro Pans) and what theirn lives are like in the United States. I am sure your mami will love reading about others who went through the same ordeal. Best regards, Fernan Hernandez, author The Cubans Our Footprints Across America. P.S. If your mom is interested, I can send her a signed copy, contact me.
I have a dear Sis-In-Law, Alicia Rodriguez Williams who came on a Pedro Pan flight and was raised by a beloved Aunt until her parents were allowed to leave Cuba after years.If the wonderful story told in this novel should be won by me – I would love her to have the book. I will definately buy a copy to read for myself. My brother calls Alicia a Warrior and brave because her house came under fire when she lived on the island. Her aunt is in her 80s and lives in North Florida.
What a touching story…thank you for sharing!
Fernando,I loved reading a part of your book…I can totally relate to the feelings all of us Pedro Pan still feel…forever till the day we die.
Beautiful writing, I look forward to reading the book.
Congratulations,
Emma Botet
Pedro Pan Sister, Georgia
I was 9 years old in 1970 when I left Cuba. I remember on that horrible day the entire town of La Maya, Oriente came to bid us farewell, or to make sure we were leaving. I told my mother that I wanted to stay with my Grandmother, and that when I got the airport I was going to tell police that I wanted to stay. She told me that she would kill me first. We left our entire family behind to pursue a better life. It was just my mother, father, sister and myself. That dreadful day has affected me for the rest of my life.
Thank you Marta,The stories are always so touching, specially when there are family separations. I was 6 years old when I left Holguin Cuba, it was October 1970. I was fortunate to leave with my parents and sister, leaving behind my two brothers because they had “edad militar”. My parents wanted to reside in Miami having a relative here, but instead we were sent to Indiana after four days. There it was freezing weather, two and three feet of snow and 35 days in this country someone mugged my father and left him for dead, and in a coma. He only carried the bus money which was $1.80, suddenly the comfort of family, costumbres, the warmth of the sun was cut short. Thank God Cubans are strong, persistent, persevere, and move on. Forty three years later, we made it, we survived. I love this country, I am it’s daughter but I am also a tremenda Cubanaza. Besitos para todos.
One of my dearest friends left La Habana when he was twelve. He went to Mexico and it took two years for him to be reunited with his parents in the US.Personally, I was left behind in the Philippines when my parents left for the US because of the difficulties brought to our family during martial law. My heart broke as I watched my parents and two brothers cross the tarmac to get on the plane bound for Honolulu. I never was the same after that, I was 18 years old and I didn’t know when I would see them again.
Thank you Emma for the kind comments. One of my goals before I depart this existence is to see erected a statue in a free Havana honoring our Pedro Pan parents, their suffering during the separation period from us was incalculable.
Hola Fernan y Marta,Yo naci en Cuba, lamentablemente mi familia salio cuando you tenia a penas 4 meses y mi hermano 2 años. Vivimos en Nicaragua por 7 años, y en ese tiempo mis padres no nos dejaron olvidar donce nacimos, la historia de nuestra isla y la razon por la que no vivimos ahi. Crecimos mi hermano y yo, muy cubanos. Con mapas de Cuba en la pared, fotos de Jose Marti, y constantes recuerdos de fechas importantes en Cuba, como 20 de Mayo, mi mama dibujaba banderas cubanas con la fecha atras, y las ponia en cup cakes. El sueño de mis padres, al igual que muchos, era regresar a Cuba. Los dos padecieron sin hacer su sueño realidad. Yo al igual que mis padres les enseño a mis tres hijos, la historia de nuestra isla y el porque estamos aqui y no alla. Nuestro sueño es visitar todos juntos a una Cuba libre. Mis hijos estan muy orgullosos de ser cubanos. Mi hijo mediano hasta se puso cubanboy en su email. Me encantan los libros de Cuba, y tengo varios. Me encantaria agregar el de Fernan a mi coleccion. Gracias por mantener nuestra cultura cubana viva! Laura
Laura, gracias por tu correo. Tus padres eran ejemplares, inculcando cubania y sentimientos patrioticos que tu heredaste y tambien ahora tus hijos. No podemos olvidar nuestras raices y la razon por la cual salimos de Cuba. Te aseguro que a ti y a tus hijos les gustara mi libro. Gracias de nuevo….
Beautiful story….should have heeded your tissue warning. Have met several Peter Pan kids throughout my life…their stories break you heart. I was born in the USA but know the stories.I had a coworker who sent her son to live with family in Puerto Rico so he would not enter the military before she was able to leave Cuba. 50 years later and she still carries the guilt of having sent her son away even though she knew it was for the best. They were eventually reunited and have a great life here…but the heartbreak is never forgotten.
God bless all our parents who sacrificed so much so their children would have freedom.
Growing up, I always knew my mother’s story. My Grandmother lived with us and anytime we’d clean the closets, she’d open the trunk where she kept la ropita that her four children left Cuba in. They came during the freedom flights and she was terrified that my mother, her oldest, wouldn’t want to leave and would choose to stay with her grandmother. As a “Grandma’s girl” myself, I cannot imagine the pain she felt leaving her behind. They arrived in Miami, stayed a week and then came to California, where she always dreamed of.My father’s story, however, was one I didn’t know. We knew he’d arrived as a boy but not much else. It wasn’t until my mom introduced me to your blog (my favorite!) that I learned what Operation Pedro Pan was. As we sat around one evening, my children playing a game as we all watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding (loud, proud people, what?!) I mentioned my new discovery and wondered why I was never told about this in all the stories I heard growing up. My dad visibly tensed. The strongest man I know, the first love of my life turned into a scared boy right before my eyes as he recounted his tale. So thank you, Marta. I don’t know that he would’ve ever shared his heartbreaking story with me had I not mentioned it first.
I would love to win the book so I can learn more of the beautiful stories of our proud people. I’m sure my father would enjoy it as well!
-Stefanie
Martica, por favor aceptame como miembroLorenzo Martinez
Love this post..made me wonder about my cousins’ flights. Although my whole family was able to leave Cuba together in Dec. 1960, I have several cousins that came with the Pedro Pan program. I now want to make sure to ask them for the details of their stories next time I see them!
My mom left Cuba in Jan 1961 with 3 babies( my brother 2 1/2, myself 1 1/2 and my sister, who was only 3 months old)and a suitcase full of diapers.My father was suppose to be with her but was caught trying to smuggle a gun(in a book)and was taken political prisoner for 3 years. I can’t imagine what it was like for my mom at that moment, but she was a strong women(and still is).
I had my own Cuando Sali de Cuba moment on October 28, 1960. On that day I left Cuba with two cousins never to return. I was 13 years old. My parents Alejandro and Caridad took me to the airport in Havana. I had one small suitcase, a lot of advice, a story to tell the authorities, and instructions to say as little as possible. My cousins Rene and Roberto were 18 and 19. They had the same instructions from their parents. The story was that we were going to Key West on vacation, to be met by an uncle. We were going to visit my uncle and returning home after a short visit. We knew it was not true. The people who inspected our bags and documents must have also known that, but we had our story and held on to it for dear life. We went through a process of separation from our parents that was scary for anyone, but for a young girl like me, was disturbing to my core. I was so young to understand fully , but old enough to have heard heard and understand what a false step could mean. I was afraid to leave and not see my parents again. I was afraid to be stopped and not be able to go. My cousin Robert was separated from us for a while to be checked further. It was finally all a go. We boarded the prop plane from Cubana and flew away. I looked out the window at my country of birth for what has been the last time. I am 66 years old now and remember that day with amazement at my parents bold actions to send their only child on such a scary venture with two other young men who were barely more than children. But that was the courage and the desperation of the Cuban parents….to save their children from the horror that was to come. We landed in Key West and Padrino ( who was my uncle and my father’s youngest brother) was there for us. There were the hugs, the tears, the road trip to Miami and the telling of the story of our journey. I remember being profoundly tired. My parents came shortly after that and eventually the whole family left Cuba. It took years for all of us to come. Stories of struggles to leave and of painful separations from those who died without being able to join us.my life began as a Cuban refugee. We went on a further adventure to live in Syracuse, NY. My parents and I relocated there and achieved the American dream. We became citizens when I was in college. My parents are gone now but I have two sons and four grandchildren. They know my story and the story of the Cubans. They proudly claim their Cuban story as an important part of their heritage….we talk about it and hope to someday see a real Cuba Libre. Until then I will wait to visit, and then see my country of birth once again.
Wonderful story Dagmar…I too wait to return to a free and Castro-free Cuba.
OMG! Mr Hernandez, it is truly an honor! Thank you for your kind words! I know for a fact that my mom would love a copy of your book. How can I contact you directly?
We left Cuba when I was 2 years old and we have never been back. I still feel Cuban inside and out.AnaMaria B