El
Lector Remembers Jose Marti
by Gail Ellis
Once I was a reader in the cigar factories, but
those days are long over. They ended in 1931 when
the factory owners banned us. We were too political
they told us. It did not matter that we read what
the workers asked us to read. I am an old man now.
My voice is still strong, but my eyes are not as
sharp as they once were. My hands shake and my step
is slow and unsteady.
When I heard they finally had a statue of Martí for
the park in Ybor in his honor, my heart soared as
it did when I heard him speak when he first visited
Ybor in November of 1891. I remember it all so well.
I was a very young man, an apprentice lector, so
young and so idealistic. He spoke, beseeching us
to contribute our support and help fund the cause
for freedom for Cuba. It was a galvanizing speech.
We all cheered his words and mission to achieve freedom
from domination by any country and a future "with
all and for the good of all".
I knew I would come to the park for the dedication
of the statue today unless I, too, had departed this
earth. We had waited so long to get one for our park.
I held my breath as they unveiled his statue. It
is so magnificent tears stream from my eyes.
Someone in the today crowd asked me where I was
on another day which is also burned into my memory
as firmly as that November day. It was a day in late
May 1895 when we heard from the Partido Revolucionario
Cubano in New York that Martí was indeed dead.
He died for the cause in combat in Cuba just as the
war was beginning.
A few in the crowd remember that I was a lector
in the factories and gather around to hear my answer.
I remember my walk to the factory. My plans for
the morning readings quickly changed as I remembered
Martí and his ideals. I tell the listeners.
I hold clutched in my hand my memories of the day
I tore from my journal. I began to read from my notes,
as if I was once again on the lector's platform.
As I enter the factory on this warm and still May
morning, the smell of the sun warmed tobacco is pleasant,
but I cannot appreciate the fragrance today. It is
a sad day for all of us. The sounds in the factory
are different from the usual trivial conversations
and laughter I hear as the workers begin to cut and
roll the first of many cigars for the day. Voices
ring out shrill from the rage of injustice. Soon
followed by moments of silence as despair descends
as a cloud. Eyes turn to follow me as I make my way
along the rows of tables. Hats are tipped and murmurs
of greeting are muted. In the eyes of many I can
see a wistfulness. It seems they hope I will tell
them it is all a lie. In other eyes I see resignation.
My eyes must also reflect the realization that death
has stilled the voice of our mighty freedom fighter.
Everyone has heard by now of the death of our beloved
José Martí in Cuba on May 19, 1895.
My announcement will only be a formality. The laying
to rest, if you will, the hopes and dreams of many
along with the body of the brilliant man who wanted
freedom for Cuba from any dominion and for all people.
As I stand beside my chair on the platform for a
few moments everyone is looking toward me. Slowly
they begin to rise one by one until all are standing
motionless waiting for me to speak. I know that they
stand not to honor me for I am such a young man.
They stand in respect for the news I bear.
"It is with great sorrow I must begin this
day with this sad news." I paused to still
the tremble in my voice. A few whispers floated around
the room as they anticipated my next words. "Don
José Julián Martí y Perez has
died at Dos Ríos, Cuba, in battle for our
freedom cause." Cries of anger and grief erupt
again. Outside the windows the women who had gathered
close to hear the news they already feared was true
were sobbing and wailing.
"Do you remember," I shouted to be heard
by the mourning workers. "November 27, 1891?" A
resounding "Si!" filled the air. "Martí came
to Ybor to visit the factory workers on the train
that Mr. Plant had recently built to Tampa. The speech
he delivered, Los Pinos Nuevos, was inspired by a
vision he saw from the train."
"Let us sing today an anthem
to life before their
well remembered graves.
Yesterday I heard it, rising from the earth itself
as I crossed the dreary afternoon on my way
to this faithful town...
Amidst the shredded clouds, a pine tree defied the storm
and thrust the stately trunk upwards.
Suddenly, the sun broke through a forest clearing,
and there, by a swift flash of light I saw, rising from the
yellowed grass amidst the blackened trunks of the fallen pines,
the joyful shoots of the new pines.
That is what we are: new pines!"
(José Martí - 1853-1895)
I fold the paper and return it to my pocket and
remove a handkerchief to wipe a tear from my eye.
"What else?" someone asks. "What
else do you remember?"
I stare at the Martí statue and think for
a moment.
"I remember el viente de mayo." I recall. "May
20th, 1902. There was much celebration when the war
was victorious and Cuba was freed from Spain. It
was seven years and one day after his death."
"A great celebration took place in Ybor City.
At the club Nacional Cubano, a twenty-one gun salute
honored the first President of the new Republic – Tomás
Estrada Palma. The streets were decorated festively
and pictures of many of the heroes of the revolution
including Martí, Máximo Gómez
and Palma hung from windows and doorways. The cigar
workers were given the day off to enjoy the holiday.
Many speeches were heard throughout the day, speeches
of hope for the future of Cuba. At noon there was
a special lunch at the Cuban National Club with Mayor
Wing speaking. It was a day of parades, music and
joy. It was a day ending in fireworks." I paused
and looked into the faces of the crowd.
"Our happiness, it is sad to say, was short
lived. Cuba was not to be the free and equal place
Martí envisioned. That is a story for another
time. It is not why we are here today. We are here
to celebrate the person who had great dreams for
our native country. Dreams that could not be kept
alive without the man."
I got slowly to my feet. "It does not matter
that the white roses we planted in his honor are
gone and the gates will be locked as we leave. Let
us remember his wish for our people." I walked
away from those who had gathered near me to hear
me speak again. I stood at the statue and looked
into his face.
"Martí, if only you had lived. What
might we have today?" I asked.
The Lector in this story is purely fictional.
Any resemblance to any actual person, living or
dead is a coincidence. The historical sources are:
From Cuba to Florida, Miguel A. Bretos. Miami: Historical Association of Southern
Florida, c1991.
The Immigrant World of Ybor City, Gary R. Mormino and George E. Pozzetta c
1998.
Tampa Morning Tribune, 1902, 1960
Tampa Times 1960
Writings of José Martí
 "El
Lector Remember Jose Marti" by
Gail Ellis appears in Volume 1, Issue 2 of Cigar
City Magazine.
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here to order the back issue >
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