Highly recommended read, T.J. English’s “Havana Nocturne ( How the Mob Owned Cuba…and Then Lost It to the Revolution)”, an inspirational read that will show how a nation enslaved to a despotic tyranny and plundered routinely by American Mobsters, can be freed by the might of a people unwilling to accept foreign rule or the tyranny of another U.S. puppet regime and grown impatient by the lies and schemes of the Fat Cats who live off of the common people’s labor, Fat Cats so immersed in the plundering of the Cuban people, that these mobsters and their allies were blissfully unaware of the Revolution raging around them, and the fact that they had ultimately lost control of their Banana Republic, when Che Guevara , Fidel Castro and his fearless "Barbudos" seized the day and reclaimed the nation for its rightful owners, the Cuban working class.
--- Rory Dubhdara, "The New Brunswick Bolshevik"
(This excerpt highlights the last day of tyranny, when the 26th of July Movement advanced upon the city of Havana, and the “Habeneros” took to the streets to celebrate the Cuban People’s victory ) :
The two Americans stepped outside and talked quietly, standing in the shadows between two columns of the portico along Neptune Street. Jaime watched from the front entrance of the hotel. After a few moments, the two men parted, with White hurrying off to find his car.
Lansky walked back to Jaime. “He’s gone. The Barbudos (“the bearded ones”, a term often used to refer to the Revolutionaries) have won the war.”
The Mob boss need say no more; Jaime knew that “he” was President Batista. The bastard had waited until the entire nation was occupied with the New Year’s celebration and then fled under cover of darkness…..
Jaime knew that the Havana Mob kept a number of vehicles in the garages of many of their hotel-casinos. He retrieved a car from the garages and picked up Lansky in front of the Plaza. “Fast”, said Lansky, once in the car, “before the people take to the streets. We need to make the rounds to all the casinos and secure the money. First stop is the San Souci.”
It was 3:00 A.M. when Jaime and Lansky sped down 51st Avenue in the direction of the Sans Souci nightclub and casino. The streets were eerily deserted ----- no cars, no pedestrians, no police. Nothing. Jaime pressed down on the gas pedal and reached speeds of over 100 kph. They were at the Sans Souci in no time. Both Lansky and his valet entered the casino. They headed toward Trafficante’s booth. The Tampa Mob boss, seeing Lansky’s arrival, had risen to meet them.
Apparently no one at the Sans Souci had yet heard the news. Jaime saw Trafficante flinch when Lansky told him that Batista was gone. Lansky repeated what he had been told, that the rebels had taken over Las Villas and could be advancing on the city as early as the following day. In a calm tone, he told Santo, “Make the rounds at all of your casinos. Get the money. All of it. Even the cash and checks in reserve. Take it to Stassi’s house for safekeeping.”
Lansky added: “The best thing now is to pull back, to be absolutely invisible. Close the casinos ---- and fast. Because at dawn the crowds will take to the streets and nothing and nobody will be able to stop them.”
Trafficante nodded and motioned to someone in the distance. Lansky turned to Jaime. “Let’s go”, he said. “Swing by the Nacional and then on to the Riviera.” The two men left the Sans Souci in a hurry.
Unfortunately for the Havana Mob, neither the manager at the Plaza nor Trafficante fully understood the urgency of Lansky’s instructions. They secured the cash but were slow about closing their establishments. Within the next few hours, both casinos would be trashed.
The Cuban people did not wait till dawn to take to the streets. By 4:00 A.M., news of Batista’s departure had begun to spread. At first, people merely left their homes and gathered spontaneously in the streets; there was much cheering and singing. People honked their car horns and, as in any good Cuban celebration, buckets, sticks, and cymbals were used as impromptu percussion instruments. As the minutes wore on and the magnitude of what had happened began to sink in, the mood turned angrier. There were sporadic clashes between police and rebel militia, who came out of hiding to begin the process of taking over the city now that Batista was gone. In Parque Central, across from the Plaza Hotel, a wild shoot-out ensued between the rebels and members of Los Tigres. The Masferristas were in a building on Manzana de Gomez Street and the rebels were firing at them, hitting balconies and windows on the second and third floors. People in the street ran for cover.
The years of frustration were bubbling over now, anger mounting and being directed at anything and everything that symbolized the Batista regime. Among the first things to go were the parking meters.
The meters were associated with Batista’s brother-in-law, Roberto Fernandez Miranda. Along with the ubiquitous slot machines, Fernandez Miranda’s other profitable patronage plum was the meters that soaked up the centavos of the Cuban people. It was common knowledge that this money went directly into the pockets of Batista’s brother-in-law. With hammers, lead pipes, and baseball bats, the Cuban rabble went after them, whacking them until they were separated from the metal poles that held them aloft. Some sought to crack open the meters and steal the coins, but this was, for the most part, not an act of robbery; it was an act of revenge against one of the city’s most obvious symbols of corruption.
Next came the slot machines. People stormed into the corner bodegas, cafes, and bars, uprooted the machines, and dragged them into the street.
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