Refugee: An American Story

By Felix Alberto Granados

This book will take you through the improbable, unconventional and entertaining adventures of the author and his family who fled Cuba after Castro took control of their homeland in 1960.The family was led by the author’s father, an ordinary man with no college education, no building experience and very little knowledge of the English language. He was a man who was not afraid to dream big and with sheer determination, boundless energy and drive led his family, like many refugees, to experience the American Dream. Their story takes you through an interesting twist of fate of a man and his family that had lost their home and country and recovered to provide affordable housing and create thousands of jobs for so many in a country that graciously welcomed them. Arriving in Miami in 1960 with only a few personal possessions, this story will take you through the family’s diverse journey experiencing life in America in this fast-paced autobiography.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483481715

Book preview

experience.

CHAPTER

1

CUBA

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My Cuban Passport

I was born in Havana, Cuba March 18, 1954, several years before the Castro regime takeover. By 1960, on the eve of the Castro takeover, my Father, Felix Granados was in his mid -t hirties . He was the only child of Felix and Tete Granados. He was married to Moraima Cuervo and they had three sons. I was the oldest at five years old. My brother Carlos was a year my junior and Roberto was two years old.

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Felix Granados Sr. and Moraima Granados wedding

My father owned a thriving business and was very successful. He was very dedicated to his work, but always had time for the family, especially on weekends. My brief childhood memories of life in Cuba are very happy ones. Little did I know then that everything was about to change. We had a nice home in the suburbs near Havana. The home was very comfortable and had a large yard and swimming pool. My brothers and I would spend hours playing in the yard and swimming in the pool. We had a maid, Sylvia, who was essentially part of the family and helped my mom raise three hyperactive kids. We also had a chauffeur, Lazaro, and he was in charge of driving us to school or running errands for the family. Julio was our gardener and bartender. He would take care of our lawn and landscaping during the day, and at night he would put on his tuxedo and serve drinks at the bar at home when my father would entertain guests.

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Julio and I today, at 85 years old still working for the family

We had a very normal upper-class family life during our childhood years. I have many memories of family dinners, birthday parties and celebrating the holidays. I am still traumatized by one childhood memory. We had what I thought was a pet pig in the yard. I would go out with Lazaro every day to feed and play with the pig. One day we went out to feed the pig and suddenly Lazaro picked up a big rock and smashed it on the pig’s head instantly killing it. I was in shock and later that night we had an asado (Bar-B-Que) and ate the pig for dinner.

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The three brothers: Felix, Roberto and Carlos in Varadero, Cuba 1959

We had a home in Varadero, Cuba which is a beachside town several hours away, where we would spend the weekends. We had a small yacht and a ski boat and spent the weekends at the beach, boating and doing water sports. The beach was very large and had soft white sand and clear blue water. Even today Varadero is a popular tourist destination. The water was calm in the morning before the trade winds would pick up in the afternoon. My father loved to water ski and spend time on his boat. This was his passion which he enjoyed his entire life. Most weekends he would make time to spend the day on the boat with my brothers and I. We would all take turns skiing and then beach the boat and take long breaks on the beach, have a picnic and watch the sunsets.

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Our home in Havana, Cuba

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Dad and his kids on his ski boat in Varadero, Cuba

Like most Cuban families, our family was very close. We routinely had dinner together and enjoyed quality family time. Life was good, but a revolution was gaining momentum and threatened our way of life. Castro had been gradually taking control of the country. He started his revolution hiding high in the lush mountains of the Sierra Madres where he could not be detected. He made his way through the countryside one town at a time until he eventually marched into the capital, Havana, and seized control of the country. As a young boy, I never had any idea what was happening but I could feel the increased presence of the military. It seemed like everywhere we went soldiers were milling around observing and questioning people in public places.

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Fidel and Raul Castro hiding in the Sierra Madres

My father and many other Cubans did not trust the Castro regime and feared the worst. He began to make contingency plans and made several trips to Miami on his boat to transfer some of his savings out of the country. He encouraged other family members that were much wealthier than him to prepare for the worst-case scenario. Most of them ignored his warnings feeling that the U.S. government would not allow the Castro regime to take control of the island. One very wealthy sugar baron gave him two million in cash to smuggle into the U.S. just to pacify him since he kept insisting that Castro might confiscate their holdings. He took the money to Miami and deposited in the bank for them. A short time later Castro seized control of all the banks and all savings were wiped out. That family eventually fled Cuba to Spain having lost all of their wealth with the exception of the money my dad smuggled out for them. They never recovered financially nor emotionally from their sudden change of fortune.

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Dad making runs to Miami

As things in Cuba got worse he decided to send my mother and his three sons to Miami while it was still permitted to wait and see what direction the government would go. He would stay in Cuba for as long as he could, trying to protect our homes and the business that he had worked so hard to build. My father put us on a large cruise ship that would take us to Miami. At the terminal, the soldiers searched all of our luggage and confiscated any valuables that they could find. The trip to Miami was uneventful except for one incident that I have never forgotten. My mother had placed several chairs together so that my brothers and I could lie down and sleep off the floor as the ship sailed slowly to Miami. Soldiers were placed on the Cuban ship to keep order. Several of them were standing near us and had no place to sit. They came over to where we were laying down and attempted to take some of the chairs my mother had gathered for us. She immediately stood up and started yelling at the soldiers to leave the chairs alone and not to disturb us while we were lying down. The soldiers backed off immediately and did not bother us again. When I think of my mom I often remember that moment fondly.

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Celebrating my fifth birthday, which would be my last in Cuba

My dad would stay in Cuba for several months until he was finally forced to leave. His business, homes and property were all seized and he would never return to his homeland again. It is impossible to imagine what emotions and despair he must have endured during those trying days and months.

His parents were older and did not want to leave their home, they decided to stay in Cuba. His mother eventually moved to the U.S. because she missed her only son and grandchildren. She was a strong and wonderful woman whom I was lucky enough to spend plenty of time with as a child. His father loved his farm in Cuba and lived there the rest of his life. He never came to visit the United States.

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Dad’s mother, Dad and Mom at my Baptism

CHAPTER

2

MIAMI

M y mother and her three sons arrived in Miami in 1960 for what we thought would be a short stay. Like many Cubans, we believed that the U.S. would restore order in Cuba and not allow the Castro regime to remain in power. We moved into a small two -b edroom apartment on South Beach, Miami. We were among the first arrivals of the Cuban refugees. Since we did not know how long we would be staying, my mother enrolled all of us in Catholic school where I eventually received my first commu nion.

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My First Communion

I was five years old and my American experience was about to take off. My brothers and I struggled the first few years trying to assimilate and adapt to a foreign culture. We went to school during the day and played in the ocean in the afternoons. At night, we would have dinner with Mom waiting for our father to tell us what our future would hold. The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, the reality was beginning to set in that we may never see our homeland again. Thankfully, my brothers and I were young and had no idea the emotional strain and stress our parents were enduring during that time though it would eventually take a toll on my mother’s mental health.

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Playing in the ocean

I remember sitting in class and not understanding anything the teacher was saying because I did not speak English. I immediately fell behind the rest of the class and did not enjoy school. The only thing I liked about school was the physical education period. I was very active and took out all my frustrations out on the athletic fields. This was a trait that has stayed with me my entire life. I was one of the best athletes in any of the sports I participated. I had good basic athletic skills, but my biggest strength was that I was a relentless grinder. If I did not succeed by being good enough I would constantly compensate by outworking my competitors. This was a trait I inherited from my dad and it would serve me well my entire life. Like my dad, if I set my mind on a goal I would eventually get there no matter how long it would take. I would never sit still and would spend endless hours practicing whatever sport had my interest at the time.

To deal with my general dislike of academics I began to rebel. I was constantly fooling around in class and not paying attention. I was usually in trouble and the teachers would discipline me and report my bad behavior to my parents. This pattern continued until I was ten years old. For the next eleven years, my father’s and my brother’s lives went in two separate directions.

CHAPTER

3

THE INCORRIGIBLE YEARS

I was ten years old and our family had now moved into a home in North Miami Beach. My father had a building business that was slowly moving north as South Florida was beginning to hit a growth spurt. The pattern of bad behavior in my Catholic school continued, but my actions were becoming more serious. I remember going to the church on Sunday where they stored the school bus that would pick us up and take us to school during the week. I would open the hood and remove engine parts, the bus would not start on Monday morning and we would be late for school. Although I never got caught sabotaging the bus, I was in plenty of other trouble and my parents decided to send me to Miami Military Academy for the summer. It was my first time away from home and I missed my mother and brothers. I was very homesick and refused to stay in school