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| Dreaming of My Fidel Castro's Birthday in Chicago | |
| 2025-03-07 | |
| [JOHNKASSNEWS - article by Pat Hickey] Yep, I seem to recall the bearded presence of the future dictator of Red Cuba, when my uncle Bart brought him home to meet the family on November 8, 1959. I had just turned seven at 10 AM and my Dad was at one of his three jobs ( Illinois Medicals Psychiatric Center, The Beverly Theatre, or Home for the Blind) – Ike was about to part the White House, the White Sox won the American League Pennant, but the LA Dodgers took the Series, I was in second grade, JFK was a Catholic running for President and Castro visited the US.in 1959. Castro went to zoos and ranches in NYC, DC, Texas and Canada and generally hung around with Chicago Tribune's Latin Affairs Correspondent Jules Dubois. Dubois had been a Panama suit and hat reporter in Panama and later became an Army spook during WWII. After the war, Dubois worked to overthrow governments in Central America and also hated Cuban dictator and Mafia puppet Batista. Bart S. Hickey was a magnificent man. My Uncle Bart was the tallest of my dad's six brothers and as Mary Garvey once said, ‘That Bart is strictly MGM.' Bart had been a Buck Sergeant in the Marines during the Korean War and afterward worked as a Stationary Engineer. I am given to understand that during one of his not too infrequent visits to Mr. Kelly's that Uncle Bart pal-ed up with Col. Jules Dubois. The Colonel and Bart hit it off and met up for beers periodically. A few weeks after the Sox lost the World Series, the two ran into one another and met for steaks at Stockyard Inn. Dubois told Bart about the guy who had kicked Batista and The Outfit out of Cuba in January and had charmed the britches off of the Manhattan swells and the likes of Lenny Bernstein. Castro had visited the States on his own, in full beard and Army fatigues many times. He was quietly encamped at The Blackstone Hotel. Uncle Bart cried Bullshit. The Colonel protested, "On the Square, Batty. Want to meet him?" It was arranged. On November 8th, 1959, Fidel Castro wiped his feet on the mud mat in the hall of the Hickey Manse on Marshfield, right here in Chicago. My Granny, Nora Hickey, was ministering to the "shower of bastards." This was two scores of cousins all of baby boom. Granny welcomed her son and his friends and presented the trio with tea and Lorna Doone cookies, in the living room. The place was generally off-limits to kids who were trooped in the dining room, kitchen or the back basement. All of my cousins were there but Eddie who was a freshman football player at Notre Dame and it was my birthday; besides, which meant cake. The cake was from the bakery on 79th & Laflin, and it was okay but for the coconut flakes, which I have hated with a generous passion – Lo these many years. Cutting off perfectly good frosting because of coconut flakes is just wrong. Most of the cousins did not seem to mind and swallowed the stuff without so much as a blink. In walked Uncle Bart and two guys – one a geezer and the other dressed in Army clothes and beards. In the left hand of future dictator and sworn enemy of America was brown paper bag full of beards and paper Army hats, purchased by Uncle Bart at Riley's Trick Shop at 79th and Carpenter. Marine Sgt. Hickey intoned, "Split-tails and goofs, quiet down. This is Col. Jules Dubois and he's a pal and this is his pal, Fidel. Fellas, this is my brother Pat's boy –Patsheen -he's what? Sixteen?" "Seven, Uncle Bart," I corrected. "Did I ask you, wise guy? Close your hole and give your ears a chance until you're talked to . . . it's his Birthday, Chief. What did you bring for the kid?" Into the excitement and up from the basement came FATHER – Grandpa Hickey, formerly of Crinnie Hill, Castleisland County Kerry, a founder of Engineers Local 399, father of seven boys and six girls and a pioneering rage-aholic and unfiltered vocalist. " Bateen, who's your pals, so? I heard ye come in the front door when the back way is good enough for Monsignor McMahon and most Christians. Hello, I'm Lawrence Hickey, Bart's father, like the shtory." Like what story? A Kerry man pronounces Bart as Bayart, said fast and says ‘Like the Shhtory' for no good reason. BTW – Bat is short for Bart, which is short for Bartholomew, and it's diminutive in Irish would be Bat-een, like I am Padsheen, or Patsheen. The Hickey clan from Crinnie also known as the Batty-Lars, due to the fact that our tribe always names two male off-spring Larry, or Bart. Grandpa took in a full eyeful of Fidel Castro. "Fwhat are you doing here in my living room dressed up like Tom Barry's Flying Column?" quizzed the original Crinnie Rage-aholic. Uncle Bart answered, " He's Castro, Father (with undiminished irony) – the guy on Time Magazine from Cuba." "That's near Florida, so?" It was agreed. Hands were shook all around and Fidel Castro was seated at the dining room table next to our Chicago Pater Familias – " How's things with that crook Batista off in the jungles somewhere?" Col. Jules Dubois translated for the English challenged revolutionist – Castro lit up like one of his virgin-thigh rolled cheroots – " Ah Bueno, Senor Hickey! Muy bien! Las personas que saquearon mi pueblo para este año madres Mañana no será bienvenido en Cuba. Al igual que los Medias Blancas y la Sra. Rigné, Ha, ha, ha! " " So, that's the way of it." A County Kerry declarative/interrogative sentence answer. On it went, I suppose, in this manner, until the large brown paper bag was opened with my birthday present from the liberator and future dictator of Cuba. We all got beards and imitation Army caps made like those paper painter's caps. Some haul, huh? Uncle Bart decided to put El Jefe on the spot, "That's all you got for the Kid? It's his birthday for Crissakes. Dig, Fidel, and come up with some folding money for the little guy." This was dutifully translated by Col. Dubois. Castro feigned a smile of resignation and oiled these words in his native tongue through his gums and whiskers, "What is this? A Capitalist trap? You Yankees! Very Well, here is five Gringo dollars for your homely nephew with the gapped teeth. I am out of here! Say good-bye to your foul tempered Irish father. Basta Ya! Yanquis!" Within a few months, Time Magazine's Boy, Castro, was locked in an embrace with Soviet Communism that still breathes lustily today. Alas, Fidel shed his mortal husk. I got to tickle the real whiskers of Castro and pocket a 1959 value 5-$pot from a Commie and never really caught the desire to cut sugar cane. Hey, it could have happened. Ask Uncle Bart and Jules Dubois. Oh, yeah. They're passed. So is Castro from what I hear.
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| Posted by:Mullah Richard |
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| #1 Full o’ the Irish, that John Kass. :-D |
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