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Sarah Consuelo's Story

After the revolution, when my parents saw that things in Cuba were deteriorating, to say the least, they took us out of school. The way the government was overtaking and making schools indoctrinate the children to be socialist and communist, and even not to believe in God, made my parents very weary of the situation. They would sent us to a private tutor so we wouldn’t fall behind in our studies, something that if we would have been caught doing, they would have been severely punished by the government. I remember we would go to the tutor’s house where we and other children of all ages would receive lessons in grammar, mathematics, social studies, history, and other essential subjects.

They were hoping that the regime wouldn’t last, but by the end of 1961, they learned of this program that would bring children to the US and place us in the care of a Catholic organization, while they prepared their paperwork to come to the US and reunite with us to start our new lives outside of communism.

After a long and hard period of family discussions and finding it necessary to take these drastic measures, my parents made the arrangements to send us. On October 5, 1962, me at the age of 13, accompanied by my younger siblings, Marian, 12, and Tonito, 10, we arrived at Miami International Airport. All I could think of is my father telling me that when we arrived that we should say, “I want to see George”.

There was a lady at the desk where we turned in our documents, I did as my father told me, I asked to see George. The lady instructed us to go down the escalators and that at the bottom we would find George’s desk. When we got to the desk there was no one there. I told my brother and sister that we would not move until George came back. After a few minutes we saw a tall man walking toward us. I thought he was American so I asked him in English if he was George. He began to speak to us in English, as kind of a joke. When he noticed the scared expressions on our faces, he spoke to us in Spanish and told us not to worry that he was also Cuban.

George arranged for a van driven by Perez-Plana and Raul Del Campo to pick us up and drive us to the Florida City Camp. When we arrived some nuns greeted us with cookies and juice. They placed my sister and I in the Velazco’s home. My brother Tonito was placed in Mr. and Mrs. Ley’s home. It was very hard for us to be separated even being just a few houses away. I would say that even scarier for my little brother, only 10 years old and going by himself. At least my sister and I were placed in the same home.

After only a few weeks of being here, at the end of October, the October Missile Crisis took place. All communications with our parents were lost and we thought we would never see our parents again. Me, being the oldest, was already thinking ahead that I would have to start working to care for my siblings if the camp would close or when I turned 18, whichever came first. After a while the only communication we began to receive from our parents was through the mail. Any communication was better than none at all.

I can sincerely say that one of the good parts of being at the camp was having made life-long friends that we care for and love dearly, as if we were brothers and sisters. Also, our house parents showed us love and taught us to be good, honorable, and well mannered. We felt loved, cared for, and disciplined, while making sure we had a somewhat normal childhood. We attended and participated in many memorable social activities. We had fun while learning about our heritage through these dances and recitals we had on special holidays and on the anniversaries of patriotic events.

My siblings and I were at the camp until March 30, 1965. This was the happiest day! We were reunited with our parents, finally, after two and a half long years of being apart. Also, being my mom’s birthday that date holds a great significance in our lives. What a gift it must have been for my mother to see her children after being apart for so long.

Even after all the suffering we endured, I still thank my parents for the sacrifice they made so that we could live in this free country that I consider my home, where I have made my life and my family; daughters, grandchildren, and even a great granddaughter. I will never forget and love my Cuba very much, though I have never been back since the day I left, I would love for one day to be able to take my children and family to see the free Cuba, in which I was born and raised.

May God bless the United States for the opportunities given to us. May God bless Monsignor Walsh for all his efforts and dedication to all the Cuban children he helped and may he rest in peace in the Glory of God where he belongs.