Great Scott, Marty! You found an Easter Egg!
Now that you’ve met my dad as he is today, I felt it only fair that I share a bit more about his earlier days.
1937 - My father was born during the Spanish Civil War in the small town of Penas Agudas in Xove, a mountainous region in the Galician province of northwestern Spain. His was a simple and hard childhood. My grandparents were farmers, sowing crops of potato and corn, and raising livestock such as sheep and goats. At the age of eight my father suffered a complete acute paralyzes, having contracted what was believed to be polio. It would be one year before he regained muscle movement and five years before he could walk without assistance. Treatment came in the form of painful jolts of electricity which my father endured along with the 30 mile trip to the Capital…on horseback!
With World War II there came government rationing of raw materials, food, and livestock. Bitter infighting over land among my grandfather and his siblings caused my grandparents to seek a different life elsewhere. It took over 30 days for their ship to reach Cuba, Spain’s first real foothold in the New World.
And with that, my father’s future was set on a different course. He now lived in Havana where he met my mother, graduated from the Cathoiic run Marist school, learned English, played baseball and jai alai, and would eventually work as a head accountant for an American run company. These were good years.
What would follow - both good and bad - is an equally engaging story, one for another time.