National Holiday
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National Holiday I almost was run over by one of those hulking SUVs on the Beltway yesterday, piloted by someone so remote where they sat at the wheel behind the smoked glass that they could be on Mars. That might be where our energy policy is beamed in from. The SUV honked, demanding me to give way, intent on being in the County before the Holiday Rush begins. People should be going the other way this morning, away from downtown. I’m hoping for a light commute this morning. The Senate had a little filibuster over Josh Bolten’s nomination to be Ambassador to the United Nations, which I found curious, since I thought the World’s Greatest Deliberative Body had struck a compromise on this matter just two days ago. I heard commentary to that effect on the radio as I sat in traffic, snarled in the SUVs trying to get to an afternoon appointment in Reston . I made a mental note to buy some flowers and take them to the Shipmates over at Arlington over the weekend. We are celebrating the Memorial Day Holiday this weekend, and taking Monday as a vacation, though the actual day is Tuesday, the 31 st . That is the day I should take time from work and visit The Dead, the ones who gave the ultimate sacrifice for their nation, and all the others who served in the long line that goes back to Valley Forge. But as all our holidays, the secular mingles with the sacred. The pool at Big Pink opens Saturday morning, and I want to keep my streak going as the first one in for the third consecutive year. I hope the weather cooperates, but good or bad, I am looking forward to plunging in. This might be the best time of the year at Big Pink, the leaves in full, the air still cool at night, the pool lights glowing under the blue water. It makes me think of the color of the Caribbean, near the island of Hispaneola . It is an accident of the calendar that our first big holiday of the season is going to be celebrated with a day off on the occasion of a national holiday in the Dominican Republic . I like the DomRep, and would like to go back sometime and completely unplug myself. There was a season when I served as a sort of travel agent to the islands down there, crisscrossing the Caribbean on commercial and private jets. A cog in a machine, to be sure, but it provided me a great view. Monday will be the anniversary of the assassination of Il Jefe, the dictator Rafael Trujillo. It is celebrated as a national holiday in the Dominican Republic . I remember one final approach into Santo Domingo , late in the day, when the blue sparkling waters had dimmed to dark. I marveled at the monument erected by strongman Joaquín Balaguer to honor the 500th anniversary of Columbus ‘ arrival from the Old World . The Faro de Colón, or Columbus Lighthouse sits imposingly on the outskirts of the capital, a massive cross of concrete and earth. Outlining the cross are powerful searchlights that point straight up. When turned up full, they are said to drain the power reserves, plunging the city into darkness in order to illuminate the heavens. Balaguer had miscalculated. The public work was very expensive, and he failed to recognize that the anniversary of the Columbus ‘s arrival was being commemorated elsewhere as a global tragedy. It is a topic for lively discussion over a cold Presidente beer, the local favorite. It is best, I think, consumed in the square next to the Alcázar de Colon where Diego Columbus lived as Governor. The area was a slum for a few hundred years until the previous strongman Rafael Trujillo had the idea of cleaning up to recognize the importance of this oldest place in the New World . In 1955, he had the shanties ripped down and restored the plaza and the Alcazar to something like their original glory. I drank with a retired Marine. From our table he pointed out where the Dominican snipers were positioned near the docks during the last incursion of the American Marines in 1965. Trujillo was a prototypical strongman, one of a kind with Papa Doc Duvalier across the border in Haiti , which shares this lovely island. Trujillo had been a clerk in the Telegraph Department when the Marines ruled both nations in the 1920s. The Marines were in the Dominican Republic for eight years, and Haiti for nearly twenty. General Smedley Butler was one of the commanders there, and is one of my heroes from the age of small wars. He said later that he had made Hispaniola safe for the United Fruit Company. The Marines strengthened the military of the DomRep to preserve order when they left. Essentially, they turned it over to Trujillo , who pronounced himself Generalisimo and Leader of the Forces- Generalisimo y Jefe de las Fuerzas. So long as American interests were respected, that was the end of it. Trujillo amassed a personal fortune of a half billion dollars. He was not a pleasant man. US Secretary of State Cordell Hull said “He may be a son-of-a-bitch, but he is our son-of-a-bitch.” Trujillo remained in power for over 30 years, but toward the end he succeeded in alienating his erstwhile supporters. Castro was rising in Cuba , and the Eisenhower administration felt that Trujillo ‘s autocratic behavior was encouraging a similar popular movement. He became a threat to order. The last straw was linkage to an abortive assassination attempt against Venezuelan President Romulo Bétancourt. On May 30, 1961, Trujillo ‘s personal automobile was ambushed on the beach road after a rendezvous with his mistress. The Generalisimo was not permitted the luxury of the trip to the airport for the afternoon flight to Miami . They shot him to pieces there by the beach where Columbus might have first seen the New World . I had some time to kill on that particular trip, and the improbably luxury of access to an embassy car and driver. I had myself driven out on the beach road to stand on the gravel at the wide spot off the highway where that season’s threat to order was extinguished. There are plastic bags and broken bottles of Presidente beer, but no monument. But the view to windward is spectacular, and the water an incredible blue. Copyright 2005 Vic Socotra |
