by Nancy Stout
Not long after this, police had surrounded Silvia’s building (the Aparthotel on the corner of 8th and 19th, in Vedado); Silvia’s husband thought they’d come for his family but they arrested another resident. The SIM took the hotel register, and she and her husband were frightened enough to leave that same night. They went to the home of a politically sympathetic doctor, who welcomed them and their two sons, Sergio and Pepin. But the doctor’s house already had too many people crowded into it. So Silvia began to look in earnest for an apartment she could live in and turn over to Celia following victory. With help from the 26th of July, she found a vacancy on Once (11th Street). The lease restricted children, pets, and Afro-Cubans (at the time, a fairly standard Vedado lease), but the owner saw fit to make an exception, given his revolutionary sympathies. Silvia and her husband and boys moved into Calle Once, No. 1007, at the end of August 1958, along with Ernestina González, Celia’s Afro-Cuban cook from Pilón. Expediency, not design or style or glamour, had been the criterion for Silvia’s selection.
Celia would move there in February 1959.
IN THE WEEKS AND MONTHS that followed the dramatic arrival of the rebel army in Havana on January 8, 1959, the 26th of July Movement was contested by other groups. The Revolutionary Directorate, the university-based clandestine organization originally directed by José Antonio Echeverria, occupied both the university and the Presidential Palace and had done so since Batista fled, and continued to hold these two strategic locales after Fidel entered the city. Its leader, Faure Chamon, complained that Fidel hadn’t consulted them when he set up a provisional government during his victory speech in Santiago. Meanwhile, another group, the Directorio Estudiantil, collected arms and prepared to challenge the 26th of July supremacy. Both opposing groups claimed that unity belonged to everyone, not just to Castro’s group, and that left the third group, and possibly the strongest organization to be won over, the People’s Socialist Party, second in size to the 26th of July Movement, the most prestigious party among the trade workers. Even though Fidel had no intention (because of security) of moving into the Presidential Palace, he didn’t have the consolidated power at the time to do so (a fact that is rarely mentioned). In the end, no one could match Fidel Castro’s charisma, or his magnetism.
IN JANUARY, CELIA WAS OFFICIALLY appointed Secretary to the Commander in Chief and this meant, in practical terms, that the new ministers, formerly members of the revolutionary army, could still rely on her to interpret what Fidel wanted. This may not have been apparent, initially, to habaneros and even to those new rebel army soldiers who, although they might be winners of battles and heroic commanders, hadn’t been there since the beginning; that is, they had recently joined up and were not the elder statesmen of the founding 26th of July, Granma, Comandancia La Plata club. This new group apparently didn’t know how Celia and Fidel had operated in the Sierra Maestra, but original members of Column 1 “José Martí” realized how much Fidel trusted her, and were greatly relieved to see Celia at his side in the capital. They had witnessed Fidel and Celia’s ability to communicate as a team, recalled what it had been like in early days, when he gave her military orders, asked her to do things like build trenches and install a telephone—military duties. Those same rebel soldiers were now somewhat scattered, were taking up completely new and overwhelming duties around Havana, a city they didn’t know, and were reassured to be able to go to Celia to get orders or permission or approvals from Fidel. She could always give them an answer. As in the mountains, they could count on her to explain just what it was that they were supposed to do. It is usually said that Che is the one who initiated this practice in Havana. If he wanted to speak to Fidel, he talked to Celia first, or sent his message via Celia as he’d done in the Sierra. It could have been a courtesy, or a way for the two of them to keep intact their friendship. Anyway, it was a procedure that stuck.
In early January, 1959, days after victory, Fidel, Camilo, and Celia listen to Randol Cossío, who, as a member of Batista’s army, had provided statistics to Celia and Frank as they prepared for the landing of the Granma. Cossío was recruited by Celia in 1956. In this picture, he appears to be advising the three leaders of the 26th of July Movement. (Courtesy of Oficina de Asuntos Históricos)
In early 1959, Celia converses with Commanders Calixto García Martínez and Che Guevara. Following the custom established in the Sierra Maestra, commanders who wanted to speak with Fidel contacted Celia, or sent their messages via her. It is usually said that Che is the one who initiated this practice in Havana by speaking to Celia first, as he’d done in the Sierra. (Courtesy of Oficina de Asuntos Históricos)
Yet, after arriving in the capital, by necessity the small group of commanders went separate ways. Raúl Castro and Juan Almeida left Havana and returned to the eastern end of the island to take up posts with their columns in the regions of Santiago and Guantánamo (to protect the Revolution against invaders). Celia and Fidel became a unit as the others paired off. Raúl got married first (in Santiago); Che married next, but continued to live in the Cabaña fortress. Camilo lived at Camp Columbia. That left Celia and Fidel, of the original five commanders, so Celia gave up on the plan of the house for all of them, which would have been fun, something on the order of a radical clubhouse. It definitely would have been interesting in the evolution of state residences. Biographically, it’s a milestone: she gave up on what she had wanted.
AT HOTEL HABANA LIBRE, members of the rebel army patrolled the lobby. Journalists wanting to see Fidel killed time in Las Canas, the big second-floor bar that faces the swimming pool, although Fidel did not use this bar. He favored the deeply shaded, grass-ceiling-and-walled Polynesian Room, oddly reminiscent of the interior of the Comandancia La Plata in its materials and dark protectiveness. After all the lean years (in prison and as a guerrilla) he liked the luxury of pork loin slowly cooking in barrels. Fidel was the conquering hero, glorious, not about to resist pleasure. He started an affair with a young woman, Marita Lorenz, the daughter of the captain of a German cruise ship, who moved into an adjoining room on the top floor of the Habana Libre.
AT THE END OF THE FIRST MONTH of 1959, the 26th of July government had secured its place as victors; and Celia felt she’d made her mark, done her duty, and declared that she was happy with their victory and was going to get on with her life. From the 23rd to the 26th, she visited Venezuela as part of a large delegation invited by President Larrazabal, to commemorate Venezuela’s first anniversary (after having overthrown Marcos Perez Jimenez). In photographs documenting this trip she’s the elegant face of the Revolution, dressed beautifully, with the look of refined elegance. She’s attending receptions, or speaking to the Venezuelan president, or riding on a tank. She created a stir, and the men in the rebel army were proud of her.
Flávia says that when Celia got to Havana, she had very little to wear except her uniform. She hadn’t worn a dress since October 1957, and wouldn’t have wanted to go back to her zebra dress or any of her clandestino clothes, even if they had been shipped from Manzanillo. She went to El Encanto, the best department store in Havana, where some of her friends—members of the 26th of July underground—were saleswomen. There she bought four dresses, one in navy blue silk chiffon with white polka dots, and purchased several pairs of high-heel shoes with pointed toes. Havana had expected a woman who was tough and heroic, but Celia turned up looking delicate, lovely, and expensive. Many people remarked on this, impressed. Writer Miguel Barnet saw Celia Sánchez for the first time at a cocktail party. He says that he had been unprepared for her elegance; although everybody talked about her, nothing had given him the idea that she would be so refined, how softly she spoke. He explained that drinking martínis was in style then, and that people in Havana felt the very act of drinking this cocktail signaled modernity and sophistication. He’d been stunned that she drank nothing, remembered how thrilled he’d been to discover she’d be representing his country, and soon after this composed a poem about her—inspired when he saw her d
riving down Linea in a jeep, completely alone. In Havana, Celia made sure to appear as the woman the world wanted to see. Or, as Maria Antonia Figueroa described it: “The people knew only that she could withstand the life in the Sierra, which is hard, isn’t the same for a woman. And then they found out that she was a sophisticated, educated woman, who had traveled abroad. There is a big difference there.”
CELIA LEFT THE HABANA LIBRE when the Revolutionary Government got back from Venezuela. She wanted a place of her own and moved into the Calle Once apartment in the first days of February. Not missing a beat, or unable to function without her, depending on how you want to look at it, Fidel started showing up there, daily.
RIGHT AWAY, WITH A PLACE to spread things out, Celia hauled out her collection of documents collected in the Sierra. There were battle plans, pieces of correspondence, tapes from her adding machine, notations for her expenses dating back to the landing of the Granma, messages from her Manzanillo helper Elsa Castro, Fidel’s and Frank’s letters. She’d kept this collection close at hand for such a long time. It is a collection of materials that Pedro Álvarez Tabío describes as “born in Celia’s knapsack and the most precious treasure of the Revolution.” This collection, from its inception, is something she had gone about making with the steadfastness of a woman on a personal mission. She’d argued her way around any and all opposition, including Fidel’s, and less than a year before, on May 3, 1958, as they began the offensive, she’d written a letter from Las Vegas de Jibacoa describing exactly why she wanted this collection: “There are many papers without importance today but in the future and for history, they [will] have great value. I am interested in this; when history is written it is real and there is no more proof than documents, for all are important later.” From the storage vault constructed under a trapdoor in the floor in her section of the house at the Comandancia, to the battlefield she’d carried her documents from one place to the next inside a nylon bag during the last stages of the war. That bag came with her to Havana, stuffed into a canvas postman’s bag she kept under her bed until she was able to begin to organize its contents at her new Once apartment, in the early days of February 1959.
The members of the new government went to New York City in April 1959. Fidel accepted an invitation to address the American Society of Newspaper Editors in Washington and a large delegation accompanied him to the United States. Here, Celia was photographed by Raúl Corrales as she made notes and took phone calls in a room in the New York Hilton on 54th Street and Sixth Avenue. (Courtesy of Oficina de Asuntos Históricos)
About a month after this, writing from her new abode, she told Camilo Cienfuegos, “I am making an archive of the war with the original documents. Afterward, the archive will be filmed to be used and for our museum, it will be complete, from before Moncada. I also want to be sure that Fidel, all his speeches, all his writings, his letters, to the last paper [is included]. You could help me. Agreed? I’m interested in all your writings, your letters which are interesting because you write well and interestingly. A hug, Celia Sánchez M. [P.S.] Don’t put anything in order.”
She was finding a suitable role for herself and writing her own job description, as she began her new life as a member of the Revolutionary Government.
A COUPLE OF MONTHS LATER, from April 15 through May 8, Celia was in the United States, a member of a large Cuban delegation. Fidel had accepted an invitation to address the American Society of Newspaper Editors, and traveled at the behest of the American media, not the U.S. government. Still, he wanted to shake hands with the president. Eisenhower did not meet with him, and left that up to his vice president, Richard Nixon. Castro’s biographers and historians have dreamed about what would have happened if the young warrior had met the old general. The new 26th of July government, a.k.a. the Revolution, was reaching out to the United States. Two months earlier, Camilo Cienfuegos and eight members of the new Cuban government had visited New York City on a goodwill tour scheduled to coincide with George Washington’s birthday. Camilo’s trip was unnoticed but important: it prepared the way for Fidel’s grand tour and sent a message to the United States that Cuba would like to be friends. In photographs, Camilo and his group look more like members of the Parks Department than representatives of a country; in contrast, Fidel and his entourage are somewhat stately.
They visited Mount Vernon, George Washington’s home, where Fidel talked to women volunteers and visiting schoolchildren, and they went to the Lincoln Memorial. Celia stood alone, contemplating Lincoln’s statue, and was photographed by Alberto Korda (although this photograph is rarely shown). They traveled to New York and were met at Penn Station by a crowd of 20,000 people, there to catch a glimpse of revolutionaries. They attended an event in Central Park and Fidel received the ceremonial keys to the city; they went to City Hall, the United Nations, the Empire State Building, Columbia University, and the Bronx Zoo. They took a train to Princeton and Fidel spoke before a group of students. Celia was given a wrist corsage, which she wore on the upper sleeve of her uniform, converting it into a floral armband. They headed to Boston. In Bridgeport, New Haven, and Providence, Fidel got out of the train to shake hands. In Boston, he spoke before 8,700 students at Soldiers Field, while Celia went to see a Girona cousin who worked as a librarian at Harvard.
Celia was the caretaker of Fidel’s cigars, and had brought along a few extra boxes of Havanas. In Boston, they had enough to give a few to railroad porters and policemen as an expression of gratitude. These were not normal cigars. Fidel had found a shape he liked that was not too thick (that is, it wasn’t a fat businessman’s cigar, like the Churchill), long, and a bit like a knife and slender, a shape he called lancero. For security, it was rolled by one man. This cigar was made differently, too, rolled from a leaf that was blond as opposed to dark brown, and tasted smooth but was strong from extra fermentation. Fidel’s cigar had a new look: it was slim and new and powerful, like the Revolution. It was a young man’s cigar.
In one of these cities, Fidel met an Argentinean psychologist named Dr. Lidia Vexel-Robertson and started an affair with her of sufficient heat that, according to biographer Leycester Coltman, Dr. Vexel-Robertson made plans to move to Havana immediately.
31.
See the Revolution
WHEREVER THEY WENT, Fidel urged his audience to visit Cuba and promised they’d find a low-cost, see-the-Revolution-at-firsthand vacation in the sun. If speaking to college students, he’d invite them to come to Havana on July 26th. Celia and he hatched this plan for a new kind of tourism, then went back to Havana and worked out the details. Here, for the first time after victory, she seems to have found a modus operandi. It became a pattern for how she worked with Fidel: he’d express an idea, and she’d put it into action. In the decades to come, she would play out the role of facilitator, the person he could count on to get his projects off the ground—and she threw some of her own into the mix.
“She was the engine,” Raúl Corrales, who worked many years for her, explained. On a practical level, this meant that Fidel would articulate a dream, a proposal, an idea, then he’d go on to the next meeting to address other issues, and Celia would pick up the phone. In this instance, directly following the trip, she started to work in INIT, the national tourist institute. There, she began spearheading their new kind of tourism for Cuba. (First, however, she and the rest of the delegation flew from Boston to Canada on a friendship tour, then on to Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and Trinidad and Tobago.)
The first tourist project under her authority was the installation of 8,000 lockers at Varadero Beach. It was a supremely practical and political gesture, and neither her idea nor Fidel’s, but one that had been proposed by the Orthodox Party leader, Eduardo Chibás, a decade earlier. The lockers were quickly installed and quite soon those fabulous beaches—with sand literally the color and consistency of refined sugar at the edge of miles of shallow, aqua-tinted water—were, for the first time ever, available to every Cuban. The beach front had previously been priv
ately owned by U.S. or European citizens, and, as strange as it sounds, most Cubans had never seen it. Nor had the beaches been developed. Soon the new government decreed that workers had the right to have a vacation at the beach, and instituted buses that went there daily. “Elegant, affordable buses that served coffee and sandwiches on the trip,” my translator, Argelia Fernández, told me, with a tone of longing in her voice. Not long after installing the lockers, Celia had tree houses, or more precisely a series of sleeping platforms, built into some of the palm trees along the beach, so people had a place to sleep high above the sand. At the beginning of the Revolution people camped in tents on the beach for long periods, several weeks or a month, whatever vacation time was allowed them.
