CNN is
running a documentary tonight on Elian Gonzales, once a six years old Cuban boy
who in 1999, was found
off the Florida coast on an inner tube. Conservative relatives in Florida
fought for custody of the boy in a seven month standoff until the Supreme Court
ruled he could go home with his father. In the meantime, he found exile in our Washington
neighborhood.
Sam Smith - Early in the Elian caper, I was asked
whether we would be willing to rent our house to provide shelter for the Cuban
tike and as many of his nuclear family, classmates, physicians and so forth as
could squeeze in. My keen journalistic nose sniffed a possible story and
besides the suggested rent intrigued me.
But I had married the virtue, good sense and neighborly consideration that I lacked and so the notion was soon deflated. I did, however, suggest to my cut-out that Elian consider Rosedale, a farm house on a nearby grassy estate owned by Youth for Understanding. It was, I suggested, ideal for the purpose since it was probably already well wired to the Central Intelligence Agency.
In Washington, you develop a sense for such things. In individuals it is suggested by a certain vague and antiseptic charm, in organizations by a certain vague and antiseptic languor about matters of normal concern, such as public relations and fund-raising. Youth for Understanding, a well-endowed student exchange program, was started in the early 1950s during a time when the agency was being especially solicitous towards the young, co-opting the National Student Association, dragooning Europe-bound Ivy Leaguers and so forth. Among the rogue influences it presumably wished to counter was that of the Experiment in International Living, a progressive exchange program favored by students not all that interested in joining the establishment. YFU became an establishment alternative to the Experiment.
So why would I, of all people, propose such a locale? The story goes back 25 years when Rosedale was owned by the National Cathedral. It had been used as a boarding campus for wealthy southern Episcopalian girls attending the National Cathedral School. The DC riots of 1968, however, had dampened white southern enthusiasm for Washington and the Cathedral found itself with, so to speak, a very white elephant.
At the time, I was one of 300 advisory neighborhood commissioners elected for the first time in the city. Since the commissioner idea had been one of my pet projects, I took my responsibilities seriously, never more so than when word came that the National Cathedral planned to sell the beautiful Rosedale property to the Bulgarians for an embassy and chancery. The neighbors were beside themselves, their favorite position, and I was more than willing to join the fray.
We set about with vigor to block the Cathedral's plan. I was more than happy to take on the Episcopalian bishop. His was, after all, a religion that included among its sins acts of supererogation -- which is to say doing more good works than the Lord demands of you -- clearly not a faith to be trusted in a planning dispute.
We finally confronted Bishop William Creighton in a crowded meeting at St. Alban's School. Noting that the bishop was seated between his treasurer, a CIA official, and the head of his foundation, another agency man, I prefaced my remarks by remarking that it looked as if the score was Caesar 2, God 1. Creighton did not flinch but when it was his turn to speak, he pulled out the stops, suggesting an anti-Eastern European tenor to the community's opposition. When it was my turn, I looked Creighton right in the eye and told him what I thought of the charge, concluding that "on the whole, I have been treated far better by Bulgarians than by Episcopalians."
And I wasn't the most vociferous. Still, the Cathedral held its ground until someone uncovered an ancient written agreement that the Cathedral would not act except upon consultation with the neighborhood. And so, after another commissioner and I wrote the bishop accusing him of "bad faith," the moral hand passed to our side and it was not long before Ambassador Popov and his embassy were gone and Youth For Understanding was making an offer, encouraged -- I did not doubt -- by the two CIA men at the head table, Robert Amory and Richard Drain, the latter one of the brains behind the Bay of Pigs disaster.
I considered myself a practical pol and so had no objections to replacing high-rise diplomats with low-rise spooks. All we now wanted was the historic right of residents and their dogs to wander across the grounds. Easements were eventually signed and the neighborhood enjoyed 25 years of what amounted to a private park. It became the scene of touch football games and amorous assignments and floating Frisbees. And the dogs could run at will.
With so much happy use, it would have been wrong to begrudge Elian an opportunity to enjoy it as well. But he did not come alone, he was accompanied by men in black vans, big guns, and bland faces whom we would be paying (for reasons that remained uncertain) to protect a Cuban kid the way they protect, say, a vice president or a cabinet official. They would undoubtedly tell the neighbors that they could no longer use Rosedale as they have in the past. And the same rules would apply to dogs. The day-glo green tennis balls would thus remain unmasticated behind bushes and in crevices until the administration and the courts figured out finally what to do about Elian.
As then the former commissioner of District 7C, however, I strongly suggested a review by a dog-owning attorney of the relevant easements, particularly those sections relating to the rights of canines. Perhaps the park could be divided in two -- a dog walk and an Elian walk - which is what the Secret Service eventually did with the longest yellow police tape I have ever seen.
But I had married the virtue, good sense and neighborly consideration that I lacked and so the notion was soon deflated. I did, however, suggest to my cut-out that Elian consider Rosedale, a farm house on a nearby grassy estate owned by Youth for Understanding. It was, I suggested, ideal for the purpose since it was probably already well wired to the Central Intelligence Agency.
In Washington, you develop a sense for such things. In individuals it is suggested by a certain vague and antiseptic charm, in organizations by a certain vague and antiseptic languor about matters of normal concern, such as public relations and fund-raising. Youth for Understanding, a well-endowed student exchange program, was started in the early 1950s during a time when the agency was being especially solicitous towards the young, co-opting the National Student Association, dragooning Europe-bound Ivy Leaguers and so forth. Among the rogue influences it presumably wished to counter was that of the Experiment in International Living, a progressive exchange program favored by students not all that interested in joining the establishment. YFU became an establishment alternative to the Experiment.
So why would I, of all people, propose such a locale? The story goes back 25 years when Rosedale was owned by the National Cathedral. It had been used as a boarding campus for wealthy southern Episcopalian girls attending the National Cathedral School. The DC riots of 1968, however, had dampened white southern enthusiasm for Washington and the Cathedral found itself with, so to speak, a very white elephant.
At the time, I was one of 300 advisory neighborhood commissioners elected for the first time in the city. Since the commissioner idea had been one of my pet projects, I took my responsibilities seriously, never more so than when word came that the National Cathedral planned to sell the beautiful Rosedale property to the Bulgarians for an embassy and chancery. The neighbors were beside themselves, their favorite position, and I was more than willing to join the fray.
We set about with vigor to block the Cathedral's plan. I was more than happy to take on the Episcopalian bishop. His was, after all, a religion that included among its sins acts of supererogation -- which is to say doing more good works than the Lord demands of you -- clearly not a faith to be trusted in a planning dispute.
We finally confronted Bishop William Creighton in a crowded meeting at St. Alban's School. Noting that the bishop was seated between his treasurer, a CIA official, and the head of his foundation, another agency man, I prefaced my remarks by remarking that it looked as if the score was Caesar 2, God 1. Creighton did not flinch but when it was his turn to speak, he pulled out the stops, suggesting an anti-Eastern European tenor to the community's opposition. When it was my turn, I looked Creighton right in the eye and told him what I thought of the charge, concluding that "on the whole, I have been treated far better by Bulgarians than by Episcopalians."
And I wasn't the most vociferous. Still, the Cathedral held its ground until someone uncovered an ancient written agreement that the Cathedral would not act except upon consultation with the neighborhood. And so, after another commissioner and I wrote the bishop accusing him of "bad faith," the moral hand passed to our side and it was not long before Ambassador Popov and his embassy were gone and Youth For Understanding was making an offer, encouraged -- I did not doubt -- by the two CIA men at the head table, Robert Amory and Richard Drain, the latter one of the brains behind the Bay of Pigs disaster.
I considered myself a practical pol and so had no objections to replacing high-rise diplomats with low-rise spooks. All we now wanted was the historic right of residents and their dogs to wander across the grounds. Easements were eventually signed and the neighborhood enjoyed 25 years of what amounted to a private park. It became the scene of touch football games and amorous assignments and floating Frisbees. And the dogs could run at will.
With so much happy use, it would have been wrong to begrudge Elian an opportunity to enjoy it as well. But he did not come alone, he was accompanied by men in black vans, big guns, and bland faces whom we would be paying (for reasons that remained uncertain) to protect a Cuban kid the way they protect, say, a vice president or a cabinet official. They would undoubtedly tell the neighbors that they could no longer use Rosedale as they have in the past. And the same rules would apply to dogs. The day-glo green tennis balls would thus remain unmasticated behind bushes and in crevices until the administration and the courts figured out finally what to do about Elian.
As then the former commissioner of District 7C, however, I strongly suggested a review by a dog-owning attorney of the relevant easements, particularly those sections relating to the rights of canines. Perhaps the park could be divided in two -- a dog walk and an Elian walk - which is what the Secret Service eventually did with the longest yellow police tape I have ever seen.
Before
Elian left our hood, there was a party
for him and his father, with the kids in the basement and adults upstairs. I
had a pleasant talk with Senor Gonzalez, and told him of my plan for Cuban
economic success once the barriers between our countries were lowered: namely
that they should sell their magnificent collection of old cars for high prices.
He understood exactly since he owned a classic 1950s vehicle .
No comments:
Post a Comment