Aside from the dueling street-party atmosphere at Little Havana's Versailles restaurant and Westchester's La Carreta, there are the satellite trucks from local and national news operations standing by. Day 3 of Fidel Castro ceding power to his brother Raul, and you're struck by the chicken or egg question of the ages: Are people congregating at these spots in a spontaneous expression of joy for what they hope will happen or are they showing up because they know the TV trucks will be there and they want to mug for the cameras?
At least on Monday there was no reason to pose the question. Then, as news spread about Fidel's surgery, there was genuine excitement. Miami Herald reporter Susannah Nesmith was in the thick of it that first night at Versailles. Here's a tick-tock that shows not only the growing excitement of that night but how different generations of Cuban exiles and Americans of Cuban extraction celebrated the moment:
At the Versailles Coffee shop, three women struggled to keep the crowd supplied with
cuban coffee, cigars, water and croquetas. Outside, cars, SUVs and even a dump truck inched by, their passengers waving flags while their drivers honked horns. On the sidewalk, the chant was "Libertad!'' Liberty in Spanish.
Little Havana celebrated with flags waving - Cuban and American - and hearts hopeful. The crowd started small but quickly swelled as the news spread and Miami's exiles began to wonder what it might mean.
10:30 p.m.: While a yonger generation snapped photos with their cell phones, the gray haired men of the counterrevolution huddled. "We're not sure this is it yet, he could come back, but we have to prepare, we have to be ready," said Gerardo Lopez. He wouldn't say what he and his friends might be preparing.
10:38 p.m.: "This is the beginning of what we've been waiting for," said Lazaro Guerra, 75, as he
discussed the implications of Castro's announcement with friends. "I have four brothers still there, and another who was killed. I was in prison for years. But its almost over," he declared triumphantly.
10:42 p.m.: The crowd was still small but energetic, ringing cow bells and honking horns. Some worried the celebration might be premature. "He's not dead and he could always come back," said Carmen de Los Santos. "I hate or everyone to get so excited. What if he comes out of surgery and takes over again?"
10:51 p.m.: Miami police Sgt. Freddie cruz estimated about 600 people were gathered on the sidewalk, with another few hundred cruising the neighborhood in cars. "This is very peaceful, he said. "Everybody's loud and happy. We're letting them
celebrate."
11 p.m.: Miami police had a dozen officers directing traffic and corralling the
crowd.
11:15 p.m.: Someone finally showed up with what this party was lacking: music. Carlos Treto balanced on crutches as he banged out a rhythm with a spoon on a cookpot. The pot was passed around as older exiles took their turn dancing in the streets.
11:45 p.m.: A city bus worked its way down Calle Ocho on its regular route. The two men
inside waved and the crowd erupted, cheering anything and everything. One man held a sign, "Down with Fidel'' and wore a triumphant grin. The crowd cheered him too.
11:55 p.m.: One group danced a conga line, banging pots, as the crowd finally closed 8th Street.
The crowd began to chant, "Hey, hey, hey, goodbye." Mayor Manny Diaz arrived to a cheering reception. Deputy Police Chief Frank Fernandez was on Eighth Street, helping his people keep things under control. But he said it wasn't a difficult job. "Everyone's celebrating, but we haven't had a single incident so far," he said. "No arrests. No problems. People are just happy."
He said the department was prepared for more demonstrations to continue this week.
Midnight: Finally, someone arrived with a sound system and began blaring the
Willy Chirino song "Ya viene llegando" - "The time is coming'' in Spanish. The whole
crowd jumped in for the chorus, "the time has come that the world has been waiting for."
During a break in the song, others started up with the Cuban national anthem to the
accompianment of spoons on pots.
The sound system was supplied by local disc jockey Lazaro Valledares, who hooked the
speakers up to his Jeep Wrangler. The voice of Celia Cruz followed Chirino, with couples dancing on the outskirts of the crowd while everyone young and old clapped and sang along.
And then a group of shirtless young men wearing orange life vests and carrying a
cardboard raft plowed through the crowd. On the raft they had written "Fidel is screwed."