By Mary Lackie

“We are glad the children were too young to remember those days.” These were the words of Alfredo Ledon. Members of the Ledon family are comparative “old-timers” among the Cuban refugees in Atlanta. They arrived four years ago.

Olga Ledon announced to her father, “I must learn to speak English fast so I can talk to the Americans.” She learned in just five months. Olga is a sixth grader at Christ the King School. Her brother, George, is a sophomore at St. Joseph’s High School. An older brother, Alfredo, is a freshman at Georgia Tech and plans to major in engineering. He sat at the dining room table studying while his youngest sister, Ann, entertained her cousins. The Ledon family circle widened Sept. 3, when their relatives, the Perera family arrived in Atlanta. They will stay with the Ledons until they a find a home of their own.

In Cuba, Adalberjo and Georgian Perera were pharmacists. They owned a drugstore near their home in downtown Havana for 16 years. Today Perera is working in the supply room of a local department store. Mrs. Perera is a volunteer at Grady Hospital, learning English and hospital routine to qualify as a pharmacist in Georgia.

Martha Perera, 14, who attends St. Joseph’s High School and her brother, Alberto, a bright eyed third-grader at East Rivers are busy learning their English “fast” aided by their teachers and the Ledons. Mrs. Perera hopes that her children will receive a college education. “We came here for our children,” their mother explained, “and because our relatives are here.” When Mrs. Perera stepped off the plane in Opalaka, Fla., she was startled by the realization that she could speak freely again.

The Pereras were among Cubans “claimed” by relatives in the United States. To be “claimed” by a relative is one of the requirements for departure from Cuba under the strange and complicated airlift arranged through the Swedish Embassy in Havana between the United States and Cuban governments on Dec. 1, 1965. On Dec. 18, 1965, the Pereras filed the necessary forms for departure. The months that followed were measured in red tape. The government closed their drugstore. Martha and Alberto continued to attend classes at the government schools while their parents waited for the important interview with the Minister of the Interior. In March 1966, the interview was granted. This family boarded the plane at Vadedero airport on Sept. 1, 1966, and left Cuba.

During the long wait, how did the Pereras survive? They enjoyed a diet unfamiliar and perhaps, unpalatable to even the most diet conscious, food faddist American: The Cuban Starch Diet. Mrs. Perera knows well about that. Food is rationed in Cuba. The family was allotted one-half pound rice per person per day. Rice and beans are basic ingredients for this diet. Meat? Three-fourths pound per person per week. Milk? One quart per five persons per day. Bread and eggs sometimes vary the menu. No fish. Fresh vegetables when obtainable. Only families with children under the ages of two are allowed chicken: one chicken per month. The Cuban Starch Diet simplifies menu planning for the housewife.

Another problem simplified for Mrs. Perera was one most women dread when preparing to move. What to throw away? What to pack? Will the old clock Aunt Minnie gave us be damaged in shipping? Mrs. Perera suffered no such anxieties. The government takes a complete inventory of all property and household goods. Everything is left in the house.

Perera had no worry about selling his home or rearranging his investments. He could take nothing with him. Now the Pereras share the hospitality of the Ledons and the pleasure of a family reunited. You leave the warm friendliness of the Ledon home, step into the rainy evening and are besieged with questions: “Where do they all sleep? How do they manage?” In search of some answers, they visit Father Raphael McDonald at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception Church. Calm, almost diffident, this Franciscan priest wears a manner that belies his awesome title: “Resettlement Director for the Archdiocese of Atlanta National Catholic Welfare Conference Department of Immigration.” He says, “We do what we can to help.” Father McDonald was a founding member of the Our Lady of Charity Conference, a Latin-American organization established in 1962.

President of the conference is Alfredo Ledon. Following the pattern of its parent organization, the Saint Vincent de Paul Society, this group offers practical assistance to refugees; clothing, furniture, jobs. Social meetings are held on the first Sunday of each month following a mass in Spanish at the church. The conference encourages the Cubans to celebrate traditional “Patriot Days”’; to keep alive the Spanish language, since it is a help to the children to know two languages.

Most important, the group urges new arrivals “to spread out into the neighborhoods and become an active part of the community.” During the talk with Father McDonald, the question of the Perera family arises: “How will they manage?” Father McDonald folds his hands, looks at you and replies: “Go back in four years and visit them. You will be surprised.” The majority of Cuban refugees in Atlanta were professional men and women; they need only to overcome the language barrier and complete specific requirements here to regain their professional status.

Not all aid to the 2,500 Cubans in Atlanta is provided through church and government organizations. Step through the doorway of El Rinconcito Latino on Tenth Street and talk to the customers. Alex Morena emphasizes this point: “We help each other. We help with finding work, with money when they need it. But we don’t wear a big sign, ‘I Gave’,” Morena was outspoken, particularly in his praise of American generous with their hospitality and goodwill. He lit a cigarette and glanced at his young wife.

He shook his head and smiled, “You should have seen her. When I first took her into the supermarket here. I don’t know how to explain -- she made a funny face. She almost cried. To see all that food on the shelves, you know what I mean? All through dinner that night, she could talk about nothing else.” And the cars, “Oh, the traffic on the freeways?” he was asked, “No, no just the cars. The big cars -- that there are so many of them.” His little daughter tugged at his sleeve. She wanted some candy. “And what does your wife want for your daughter?” Without hesitation, Mrs. Morena replied in rapid fire Spanish, “that she should have a good education. Of course, she is too young to know now what professional career she will choose.” To tell the story of the Cubans in Atlanta is like trying to complete a collage. There are too many scraps and snippets of information. There are Cubans representing diverse creeds, races, opinions. Some Cubans are descendants of Americans who fled to Cuba during the Civil War. There is the Cuban political refugee who hopes to return someday to his country and there are the Cuban families who look forward to becoming American citizens.

There are Cubans who cheer for the Yellow Jackets, but are reluctant to discuss aid they are giving to their people: “You might say sometimes there is a discouragement, but you keep on helping. You help the next one, and the next.” There is the Cuban who works eighteen hours a day to support his family. And the vivacious Cuban lady who says, “It would be good to bring the Mardi Gras to Atlanta -- the flowers, the singing.” And just 50 miles off the shores of Florida stretch the beaches of Havana. The lights at night from the Morro Castle crisscross the harbor. In the darkness, there are the other Cubans. The ones who wait and hope for that interview with the Minister of the Interior.