Latecomers Will Be Seated at Intermission...

When Fidel and I went to a concert...

In 2000, I had accepted an invite to Havana from my friend Tony Bui for the Latin American Film Festival. As a Sundance festival winner, he was going with a group of other past winners on a cultural exchange, including Karyn Kusama (who directed “Girlfight”), Michelle Rodriguez, (who starred in the film), Rory Kennedy (who is a celebrated documentary filmmaker and Robert F. Kennedy’s youngest), as well as several other filmmakers. The rest of us friends were tagging along and surreptitiously jumping on flights out of Montego Bay.

The week of the festival happened to coincide with 20^th anniversary of John Lennon’s assassination. During this time Castro unveiled a bronze statue of Lennon in a park near downtown, now referred to as Lennon Park (as opposed to Lenin). I learned that week that Castro, probably as a security measure, is notorious for being unpredictable about where he shows up. He often won’t show at a scheduled interview with the press, but next thing you know he’s standing beside you at a newsstand. So I heard.

The Latin American Film Festival is the largest Spanish-language festival in the world with filmmakers and stars from Spain, Central America, South America, and the Caribbean. For the opening ceremony we were bussed to the Karl Marx theater, a massive theater at least as large as Radio City Music Hall. About a quarter mile from the venue, we were made to get off and walk the rest of the way, as security were keeping the roads open around the venue.

Our group of ten, being visiting "VIPs" got to sit about 12-15 rows back from the front of the stage and we took in all the glamorous types chattering in Spanish around us. There didn’t seem to be any “official” seating area for dignitaries and no visible security, so no one really important seem to be attending.

I was wrong.

About two minutes before the ceremony started, people suddenly launched out of their seats and gave a cheering ovation. Down the right aisle strolled an entourage of about eight in single file.

And in the middle was Fidel himself. Wearing in his dress military green with medals splashed across the front. With is chest pushed forward, he walked tall and barely acknowledged the crowd. He took a seat front row and center, about 30 feet from us.

Over the ovation we all looked at each other and pumped our fists, saying "YESSS! It's Fidel!" (Note: not an approval of his policies. Just impressed to be in the company of such a living piece of history. Wouldn't want my Cuban-American pals to misinterpret.)

I remember thinking that security hadn't really patted us down. It's not my habit to carry concealed weapons but I could have shot a rubber band at Fidel's head and become instantly world famous. Or worse.

The opening ceremony was beautiful. It started with a dark stage over which a suspended screen showed clips of Cuban movies from the 50s and 60s, all featuring a young and beautiful Omara Portuondo (the female vocalist from Buena Vista Social Club.) After a few minutes of Cuban favorites Omara herself emerged from the darkness, dressed in white and singing along to the film clips. The entire crowd suddenly began to sing along to every word, filling the hall with sentimental Cuban voices. I got the chills.

Fidel seemed to be preoccupied. Throughout the whole show, a female counsel scurried back and forth, hunched-over, to give him briefings. Fidel would keep his eyes on the stage but nod back and forth at the whispers in his ear which came every couple minutes.

Later we grabbed a car service home from a sweet middle-aged man. When we asked his name, he said “It is very easy to remember. My name is Fidel.”

He learned we were from the U.S. and began to talk about his youth and Castro’s hypocrisy.

“You know, in the Sixties, I had a Beatles party with my friends. Fidel’s policemen busted the party and I went to jail. Now, he is unveiling a statue of John Lennon in Havana.”

Taxi driver Fidel shrugged.

Fidel learned a couple of us were from New York .

“Can I ask you a favor? When you go back to New York, can you place a white flower for me on the Imagine memorial for John Lennon.”

Of course, we agreed.

Later on that trip we went to an unforgettable outdoor concert at El Malecon, the seaside wall. Near a newly-erected statue of Cuba’s National Hero Jose Marti holding a baby Elian Gonzales, Cuba’s top rock and hip-hop artists belted out a tribute to all of John Lennon’s best.

And let me tell you, there’s very few sounds as emotionally affecting as 5000 Cuban youths passionately singing along to the words of “Imagine”.

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