Chapter 36

SANDY — Tuesday, January 16, 1962

I think we were both in a state of shock from the size of the award. I followed Steve to the car rental agency, where he returned his car and dealt with the usual paperwork. He got in and I drove to the house, where he collected his luggage. Soon we were on the road to New York City. Finally, Steve asked, "What are you going to do with all that money?"

"I want to put half of it aside for our future. I think we should keep some out for things that I'm sure we'll need once we're married".

"Sandy, love, that all makes sense, but I want you to take a good chunk of it and splurge on yourself; perhaps buy yourself a new car?"

"Maybe, but do you think we're going to need two cars, at least as long as you can walk to work and I may well be able to get to IBM by bus? Besides, I want to splurge on something for you, or at least us!"

"Hmmm. Maybe we should trade both cars for something bigger, but still sporty. We have plenty of time to think about that. You've got a lot of IBM stock now; maybe you should invest what you are setting aside for the future in some other stocks that will grow faster than a savings account. Let's start learning more about investments; I'll ask Dad for some suggestions on how to get started, and you might want to see if Walt has any suggestions".

By then, we had arrived at the museum and parked in the garage. We headed for the café for lunch.

"Tigger, dear, I'm paying for lunch and dinner today; I think I can manage it without making too much of a dent in that check".

He gave my hand a tender squeeze, and we looked in each other's eyes for a few minutes. The moment was broken when our lunch plates arrived. We quickly finished our sandwiches, and, after picking up a floor plan, headed for the second floor, where we found the Impressionists.

They were fantastic, and there were more here than we had seen in Washington; we now understood why Nigel and Sarah had insisted that we had to come here.

"Steve, look at these intense blues that Renoir used here!"

"Yes, I really like those, and also everything by Monet".

We went into the next room, where there were some sculptures; horses, and a ballerina. "These are by Degas; those horses are remarkable!"

"I really like the saucy expression on the ballerina's face".

We spent several hours revisiting our favorites several times, more than once sitting on a bench to take them all in. Finally, he said, "Let's go and have an early dinner at that restaurant that Sarah told us about, and then, unfortunately, you're going to have to drop me at LaGuardia for my flight back to Washington".

"At least I'll be down there in another week and a half".

"I'm so looking forward to that. Do you want to revisit the National Gallery now that we've seen these today?"

"That's a good idea!"

STEVE — Tuesday, January 16, 1962

After wandering around window shopping in midtown New York for few minutes, until we got too cold, we had a very nice dinner and Sandy drove me to LaGuardia. I grabbed my bag from her trunk, gave her a quick kiss, and she pulled away from the curb just before a policeman appeared, ticket book in hand. Since I was not paying for my ticket this trip, I had decided to take a regular American Airlines flight. I was in luck, my plane was boarding and I got a good seat. We took off, and I settled down with my book.

After about twenty minutes, I noticed that there was some sort of scuffle in the front of the cabin. In another few minutes later, the pilot came on the PA system, and announced, "We seem to have two gentlemen who insist that they be taken directly to Havana. Our policy is to accede to these demands, and I want to reassure you that nobody has ever been hurt in one of these incidents. We'll probably arrive in Havana in four and a half hours. The way it works then is that the Cuban authorities will put everyone in a bus to another airport, and you'll be flown back to the United States, probably to Miami in the morning. From there we'll get you to Washington as soon as possible".

There was a chorus of sighs and groans from the passengers. I thought to myself, "Maybe I wasn't so lucky to catch this flight after all!" I tried to pick up my book again, but couldn't concentrate on anything. At one point, the head stewardess announced, "You won't need your winter coats when we land; the ground temperature is expected to be above seventy degrees".

After what seemed like an eternity, I noticed the engines changed pitch, and could feel the aircraft slowly descending. The pilot came on again, saying, "We are now on final approach to Havana. Please fasten your seatbelts".

After a smooth landing, he said, "Welcome to Jose Marti International Airport, in Havana, Cuba. The local temperature is 22 degrees — Centigrade. That's 72 on our Fahrenheit scale. Thank you for flying American Airlines".

That provoked a few laughs and groans. We taxied to a remote area of the airfield, and a ladder was wheeled up to the front door of the airplane. When it was opened, several scruffy looking bearded soldiers, wearing fatigues and brandishing assault rifles, came in and crowded around the cockpit door. Soon they roughly escorted the hijackers out of the airplane, leaving one soldier behind to guard the rest of us.

In about twenty minutes, another soldier, apparently an officer, entered the plane. In heavily accented English, he told us, "Please accept the apologies of our government for this change in your travel plans. I assure you, we did not plan or encourage this, and the hijos de putas will be in prison for a long time. Please take your belongings and leave the plane by this exit. A bus will be along shortly".

Nobody said much as we collected our bags and went down the steps. It was pleasantly warm outside, and we were herded into an area surrounded by soldiers. Soon a TV truck drove up and a cameraman emerged; two assistants quickly set up powerful floodlights. An announcer who apparently was filming footage for the local news station, stood in front of the camera. Every now and then, the camera would sweep around the area, occasionally stopping on one or another of the passengers or crew members.

I noticed a man looking quite annoyed, apparently that he was being ignored by the cameraman. He looked familiar, and someone next to me said, in a low voice, "Isn't that Allen Funt, of 'Candid Camera'"?

I said, "I knew he looked familiar!"

Eventually, the camera stopped on him. Someone in the group called out, "Smile, Allen, you're on Candid Camera!"

There were a few laughs at that, but just then a bus drove up and its door was opened. The soldiers motioned us toward the bus, as the photographer recorded the scene. We were driven to a terminal of sorts, and unloaded. Soldiers were guarding all the exits, although we were allowed to use the rest rooms. Soon the lunch counter opened up, and many of us bought cups of coffee. It was strong!

The officer entered the room and said, "I'm sorry, but this is where you'll have to stay until morning. It's now one o'clock, and the bus will board at half after six. You'll be driven to another airport, and flown to Merida, in Mexico. There, an American plane will meet you and fly you to Miami. For your convenience, the duty free shops will be open before you leave, and there will be a free breakfast".

There were more groans as we all realized that it would probably be late Wednesday before we even got to Miami, and we had no idea how we would get from there to Washington. At least I would be able to call Sandy and Murray from Miami.

SANDY — Wednesday, January 17, 1962

I was really worried about Steve! I called him several times last night, and again when I first woke up this morning, but there was no answer. I ate breakfast, and drove in to work. I went to my office, and picked up the folder for the lesson I was working on. This was particularly interesting to me, since it addressed most of the VFL unit. However, I was finding it hard to concentrate. Paul appeared at the door to my office, and asked me, "Have you talked to Steve since he left?"

"No, not since I left him at LaGuardia for his flight back to Washington last night. I expected to talk to him late last night, but he didn't answer his phone then or this morning".

"I guess you haven't heard the news today. An airplane, I think it was American Airlines, was hijacked to Cuba last night".

I was speechless, my mind in a turmoil. "I'm not sure what flight, but I know I dropped him at the American terminal".

"I'll let you know when I find out anything more. In the meantime, is there anything else that I could do?"

"Can you call Murray? Steve might be in his office for all we know, or he may have heard something we don't know".

"I'll do that now, and let you know what he says. Please, don't worry".

MURRAY FELDMAN — Wednesday, January 17, 1962

I was in my office, handling a backlog of paperwork, when my phone rang.

"Murray, this is Paul Napoli at IBM in Poughkeepsie".

"Yes, Paul, I remember. What's on your mind?"

"Have you seen Steve today?"

"No, why?"

"Sandy says that she left him at the American terminal at LaGuardia last night. Since then, he hasn't answered the phone in his apartment. I'm wondering if he might have been on that plane that was hijacked to Cuba".

"Damnation! I'll make some inquiries, but I'm not sure that anyone here can tell us much more than what you've just told me. Do you know if he had anything related to Reaper with him?"