The failed strike was a defeat for the Revolution. The reasons for the setback were varied. By announcing the strike publicly a month in advance, Castro had given the Batista regime plenty of time to react. The government didn’t know the exact date, but they knew the strike was coming. In the weeks leading up to April 9, members of the secret police successfully hunted down and executed four of the movement’s top leaders in Havana. Announcements were made by employers and by the government that those who took part in the strike would lose their jobs. Havana was the economic lifeblood of the island; employees in the city were privileged to have solid union jobs and did not want to lose them. This, in addition to poor organization by a depleted retinue of revolutionary leaders in the city, led to a bad result for the forces of revolution.
In the wake of the aborted strike, President Batista smelled victory; he let it be known that he was going all out in an effort to finally crush the rebels. The regime had scored few public relations victories against the Revolution in recent months; they saw the failed strike as an important strategic opening. Military leaders made plans to launch Operación Verano, a coordinated army and air force offensive against rebel columns in the Sierra Maestra. The bombing began in Oriente.
THE REVOLUTION WAS, in many ways, one big improvisation. Some of the movement’s most significant events—the attack at Moncada, the landing of the Granma, the failed strike—had at first seemed like resounding defeats. But the 26th of July Movement had an uncanny knack for turning defeat into victory. Some of their most successful undertakings were born out of necessity or sheer desperation.
Such was certainly the case on the morning of June 26, when a column of guerrillas led by Raúl Castro decided to take matters into their own hands and kidnap a bunch of U.S. citizens.
Raúl and an armed brigade stormed the Moa Bay mining plant in eastern Oriente and rounded up the facility’s employees, mostly Americans and a few Canadians. Elsewhere in Oriente—in a coordinated effort—a busload of U.S. military personnel were also kidnapped. Altogether, forty-eight hostages were taken into custody and held at a camp near Moa Bay.
The Moa Bay plant was one of two large U.S.-owned nickel-mining facilities in Cuba. For years, the island had been a major producer of nickel, which was extracted via an expensive ore-mining process that employed hundreds of Americans and also some Cubans. To the anger of many Cubans, the Batista government had given the Freeport Sulphur Company a virtually tax-free arrangement to operate the Moa Bay mine and another in nearby Nicaro. Together, these two plants supplied 11 percent of the world’s nickel supply.
In the tradition of United Fruit—El Coloso—the Freeport Sulphur Company was a symbol of U.S. imperialism on the island. The company’s board of directors was tight with the Batista regime, and it was said that American ambassador Smith owed his appointment to a cozy relationship with a former company chairman who was still a major stockholder. To the rebels, the Freeport Sulphur Company was a symbol of the “unholy alliance” that existed between foreign capitalists and the corrupt Batista regime—an arrangement, the thinking went, that was contrary to the best interests of the Cuban people.
It would be a stretch to say that by targeting U.S. industrialists in Cuba the movement was striking out against the Havana Mob, but in some ways it is an accurate correlation. As the Revolution evolved, the politics of the Castros, Guevara, William Gálvez, and others broadened and deepened; the enemy was not only Batista, it was the historical tradition of exploitation and plundering in Cuba, the Caribbean, and Latin America that went back to the time of Christopher Columbus. In this sense, the U.S. companies that had been given sweetheart deals to own and profit from Cuba’s natural resources were indistinguishable from the mobsters who owned and ran the casinos. They were all part and parcel of the same occupying force.
The mass kidnapping at Moa Bay also served a strategic purpose. One month earlier, Raúl Castro and his column had bivouacked in the Sierra Cristal, mountains that surrounded the mining facility. Batista’s air force had located Raúl’s column and begun a relentless bombing campaign. The kidnapping of American citizens forced the Cuban Air Force to halt all bombing while an American consul general negotiated for their release.
The incident turned out to be yet another public relations coup for the movement. Raúl used the opportunity to reveal to the press that the nearby Guantánamo military base—owned under a lease arrangement by the U.S. government since 1903—was being used by the Cuban Air Force as a refueling depot. Bombs were being dropped on civilians in the area. Raúl and the kidnappers took the hostages to towns that had been bombed and showed them innocent civilian victims of napalm firebombing. Overall, the hostages were treated with deference and care; they were even given a 4th of July party during their captivity.
By the time the unharmed Americans were released under order from El Comandante Fidel, public opinion in the United States necessitated that Batista’s air force no longer be allowed to use Guantánamo (i.e., U.S. property) to launch its bombing runs. Also, during the two-week period of negotiation for release of the hostages, the rebels were able to rest and replenish their forces. This proved to be a major break for the revolutionary army, who survived Batista’s bombing campaign and came out of the ceasefire reinvigorated.
In the following months, there would be many stunning victories. At the Battle of Jigüe, one of the first major face-to-face confrontations of the war, a commanding officer and entire platoon of the Cuban Army surrendered to Castro’s forces. The soldiers were treated with respect and then let go. Some soldiers left Batista’s army and defected to the Revolution. It was the classic guerrilla strategy: win the hearts and minds, and their asses will follow.
Emboldened by successes in the field, the revolutionary army began preparations for a final push. By late summer, Column 2, a group that included Captain William Gálvez, was sent on a dangerous mission to cross the island, skirting Havana, and set up an encampment in the westernmost province of Pinar del Rio. In the province of Las Villas, Gálvez’s column encountered resistance and was hit by an 81-millimeter mortar shell; the captain was knocked unconscious. When he awoke, he had been dragged to safety and was told he’d suffered only superficial shrapnel wounds.
Gálvez and his men continued on. Once they established an outpost in the west, the rebel army would have Havana surrounded and would thus attempt a final advance on the capital city.
Years later, Comandante Gálvez remembered this time with pride. “We could smell victory,” he said.
AS THE NEW TOURIST SEASON approached, hotel bookings in Havana were down. For the first time, it became an undeniable fact that the war was having a negative effect on tourism. Las Vegas odds-makers placed Batista’s chances for survival at less than two-to-one, a prognostication that even the Havana Mob could not ignore.
As a lifelong gambling impresario, Lansky knew how to play the odds. He still had the overwhelming majority of his chips on Batista, but what was to stop him from spreading his bet? Meyer had always planned on expanding his interests throughout the Caribbean and beyond. With Batista’s forces crumbling on the battlefield and El Presidente suffering one public relations setback after another, the time was ripe for Lansky to explore other options.
In the summer and on into the fall of 1958, Meyer and other members of the Havana Mob undertook a series of trips around the islands. These trips included stops in Puerto Rico, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Barbados, and the Dominican Republic. Mostly, they were short trips of one to three days. The word among many in the Havana Mob was that International Hotels, Inc., the Pan Am subsidiary that owned the Hotel Nacional, had made it clear to Lansky and Trafficante that they were interested in expanding throughout the region. The Havana Mob would be given a sizable piece of the gambling concessions at hotels owned by the corporation. Thus, Lansky and Trafficante began to cultivate contacts and establish relationships throughout the Caribbean.
One particular trip to the Dominican Republic in July 1958 seem
ed more important than most. Armando Jaime accompanied Lansky on this trip, as he had on others. He did not ask where they were going; he simply drove Lansky to Rancho Boyeros airport, where they boarded a small Cessna along with Santo Trafficante and a man Jaime did not recognize.
The plane set out over the island, heading east. Lansky read a magazine and Jaime looked out the window as the landscape changed from flatlands to mountains and back to flatlands. Soon they were out over a huge sea, dark blue, almost black, and then they came upon a new tropical landscape. The flight lasted roughly two hours.
When the Cessna touched down at a commercial airport, a car was there on the tarmac to greet the arrivals before they had even disembarked from the plane. On the ground, Jaime stood by as Lansky and Trafficante were met by an American, who led them through the airport without having to pass through customs; everything had been arranged. It was in the airport terminal that Jaime saw a sign that read “Welcome to the Dominican Republic” and realized for the first time that Lansky and Trafficante had arrived as guests of the Dominican dictator, Rafael Trujillo.
The men were met in the airport parking area by a familiar face—Charles White, aka Charles “the Blade” Tourine. White was the Miami gambling expert and nightclub owner who had been brought to Havana to run the casino at the Capri. He would also be one of the most visible participants—a sort of public relations advance man—in efforts by the Havana Mob to establish a web of contacts throughout the Caribbean.
In a convoy of three cars, Lansky and Jaime, Trafficante, White, and others drove from the airport, through the city, and along a road to the outskirts of town. They stopped in front of a large wooden gate behind which stood a huge mansion. Armed guards met the cars at the gate and allowed them to pass into the courtyard area. The guards carried rifles and sawed-off double-barreled shotguns. In the courtyard, a group of men waited for the leaders of the Havana Mob. Armando Jaime remembered:
The first surprise I had was that the estate, with all those impressive shotguns and rifles, seemed like a garrison. I have never seen so many armed characters. Never. People that I didn’t know, that I had never seen before, neither in Havana nor Las Vegas. They were all there to greet Lansky—mostly white men, North Americans, elegantly dressed, between forty and forty-five years old. When the Old Man [Lansky] stepped out of the car, they came to greet him, one by one, with consummate respect, I would say with a little bit of emotion. And Lansky was offering them his hand, with a greeting, a phrase, some words that I couldn’t hear from where I was.
As the group moved indoors, Jaime saw the familiar faces of Wilbur Clark, impresario of the Casino de Nacional, and Joe Stassi. It was then that he realized this was no quick routine trip around the islands but rather a major gathering of the brain trust.
If Jaime needed proof, it came less than thirty minutes after their arrival, when two black Cadillacs drove up to the gate. Trafficante received the call from the guardhouse; he authorized the two Cadillacs to enter the property. Out of the lead Cadillac stepped a tall, muscular black man dressed in a Dominican officer’s uniform. He was an aide-de-camp representing the Trujillo government. The man greeted Trafficante at the door and he was led inside, where Lansky waited for them both in the library.
The men had a brief private meeting, lasting maybe ten minutes, and then the emissary from the Trujillo government left. Jaime got the impression that it was an official welcome of some sort, a recognition by all parties involved that whatever transpired in this gathering of businessmen and mobsters on the island, whatever deal was struck, it would take place courtesy of the Trujillo government, and would therefore be subject to the same sort of graft or “taxation” that the mobsters extended to Fulgencio Batista.
Jaime was introduced to the host of the gathering, an American who was the proprietor of the Dominican Goodrich Tire factory. The host had a group of servants lead Lansky, Trafficante, and Jaime up to their rooms. They convened in a room that was to be shared jointly by Lansky and Jaime. It was in that room, away from the other guests, that Jaime detected a change in mood. He remembered:
Santo gave me a .45 pistol with several cartridges and said, “This is to be used here—if necessary. But you cannot use it outside this house for any reason.” It was the first time that I saw Trafficante armed. He was there with a pistol in his belt, and later a machine gun. He looked like a madman.
Back in Havana, Santo always showed himself to be very elegant, genteel, mellow, whether it was at the Sans Souci, the meetings at Joe Stassi’s house, or the Hotel Nacional. But this Trafficante here at this house was a different man. He revealed himself such as he was.
Lansky entered the room, and Trafficante also handed him a .45-caliber pistol. Jaime was in for another surprise:
It was the first time—and the only time—that I saw Lansky with a pistol. In a drawer at his suite in the Hotel Nacional there was a gun, but he never touched it. And I knew that there was also a pistol in an armoire in the living room of Carmen’s house, but I never saw him touch that weapon either. Now, here was Lansky, who I had never seen touch a weapon before—not even the guns that were in the glove compartment of the cars; he took the pistol and checked the cartridges. Then he put the gun in his belt and the cartridges in the pockets of his jacket.
Clearly, something big was going down at this mansion in the Dominican Republic. “I had the feeling anything could happen,” remembered Jaime.
The main guests began to arrive the following day. Jaime recognized these men as Sicilians, either native Italians with heavy accents or Sicilian Americans from places like New York, New Jersey, or Chicago. These men were also stopped and searched at the gate, which made many of them angry. Charles White was there to greet the new arrivals at the porch, with an apology for the search and seizure of all guns.
Inside, Lansky sat in a chair in the library and received the men, one by one. As on the day before, these men greeted Lansky with a respect bordering on reverence. Those who were not able to get through to the Little Man met with Trafficante, also in the library. Later, this entire crew of businessmen, mobsters, and mafiosi—perhaps forty or fifty men—reconvened in a room at the back of the house.
“Go for a ride, if you want,” Lansky told Jaime. “Take one of the cars here, with Dominican license plates, and go familiarize yourself with the city. Stay out all night, if you want. You won’t be needed again until tomorrow morning.”
Jaime was given the keys to an Impala. He got behind the wheel, started the engine, and approached the gate. Magically, the gate opened, as though the guards had already been informed of his every move. He drove away from the mansion, through the capital city and beyond. He spent the night at a bordello in the town of Santiago de los Caballeros.
At 7 A.M. the following morning, Lansky’s valet returned to the mansion. Again, the gates parted and shotgun-toting guards nodded as he entered the compound.
Inside the house, Jaime was surprised to hear the voices of the men in the back room. They had apparently been up all night. Some of the voices were loud, argumentative—speaking Italian or Italian-accented English. Jaime headed upstairs, undressed, and climbed into bed.
One hour later, Lansky abruptly entered the room and told him, “We’re leaving.” Just like that. He seemed annoyed. Jaime got up, dressed, and packed his clothes. Without saying good-bye to anyone, he, Lansky, and Trafficante went immediately to the airport. In the same Cessna they had arrived in, they left the Dominican Republic. Lansky and Trafficante did not say one word to each other during the entire two-hour flight.
Armando Jaime never did figure out what had gone wrong during that gathering of mobsters in Trujillo’s front yard. There were other short trips in the Caribbean, even a few more to the Dominican Republic, though none as fraught with tension as that overnight stay at the mansion of the businessman from Dominican Goodrich.
Others in the Caribbean had been hearing stories about Lansky’s plans for expansion, and some casino owners were worried
. Joe Stassi Jr., the son of Joe Stassi and a dealer at the Sans Souci casino, had befriended a casino owner from the Dominican Republic who went by the name of Pat Slots. Joe Jr. arranged for a Havana sit-down between Pat Slots and Lansky. Slots was told by Lansky, “Don’t worry. If you own a casino in the Dominican, nobody’s gonna take it away from you.” The casino owner was highly appreciative.
Stassi Jr. was one of a new generation with direct links to the Havana Mob. His father was an important player in Cuba, and Joe Jr. could expect a commensurate level of deference in local gambling and even political circles on the island. This was partly because Stassi Jr. had married his way into the Batista regime.
The kid was sixteen when he first came to Havana in early 1957. Though he was the son of a reputed mafioso, Joe Jr. was not an aspiring mobster. He was a high-school student on vacation who came to stay with his father for a week and wound up spending close to three years on the island. He became one of the youngest dealers at the Sans Souci, hung out at the Tropicana, and quickly fell in love with a Cuban woman who happened to be the daughter of Senator Miguel Suárez Fernández, a notorious official from Batista’s inner circle. In 1958 Joe Jr. got married, and he and his wife were soon parents.
The experience of Joe Stassi’s son in Cuba was most likely a harbinger of things to come—that is, if things worked out for the Havana Mob. Lansky, Trafficante, Stassi, and others had put down roots on the island. Their commitment to plundering Cuba was a long-range project; it was supposed to carry on for generations to come.
Havana Nocturne Page 30