The Arab Connection Story

1974

A True Story

Written 6/2012* 1,531 Words*

By Howard Yasgar

It was in the summer of 1974, when my wife had planned to take our kids to a summer camp for two weeks.

That gave me a perfect opportunity to make a long-awaited business trip to New York.

While I was planning my itinerary, I had a brilliant idea.

I had an employee, who was also my good friend, his name was Miguel Marquez.

Miguel was a Cuban refugee that had escaped from Cuba with his family back in 1963, and he had come to work for me when he arrived in Miami.

Miguel and I were similar in many ways; we were both over 6 feet tall and we both had wavy black hair.

Miguel had a darker complexion than I had, but other than that, we could have been brothers.

Miguel and I got along perfectly together, so I had started teaching him English, and he taught me his Cuban Spanish.

By 1974, Miguel and I could converse together perfectly in a special language that Miamians called Spanglish, but I doubt anyone else could ever understand what the heck Miguel and I were talking about.

Miguel had come from a small island on the North coast of Cuba, and before he met me, he had never been anywhere other than making shopping trips to Havana for supplies.

Once Miguel came to work for me, and we became such good friends, I became determined to teach him as much about what living in America was all about.

Miguel had often said he wanted to see my hometown of New Haven Connecticut where I was born.

So, I had an Idea, I could take Miguel with me on my trip to New York, and I could show him New York City, and then we could make a side trip to Connecticut, and I could show him where I had lived.

When I mentioned it to Miguel, he was excited to go, but he said he couldn’t fly, because, at the time, too many airplanes were being hijacked to Cuba.

I said that was not a problem as I felt we could travel to New York by train.

Miguel agreed, so I bought us two round trip tickets to New York on Amtrak.

The Amtrak train turned out to be quite an unusual experience for both of us.

Our railroad car was always sweltering hot or freezing cold, and the train was constantly bumping and banging as new cars were being added at every stop.

Fortunately, we found the club car, and after a few drinks the trip became bearable.

Once in New York, we rented a car, and I then took care of all the important business that I needed to do.

Everything went very smoothly, and I decided to drive to Westville Connecticut to show Miguel my former home.

I felt that once that was done, we could return to New York City and stay there a few days as tourists.

I wanted Miguel to have a good time. I could show him 42nd Street, and then we could also walk around Times Square.

So once, we had a hotel room in New York City, I started showing Miguel the crazy night life of New York.

I knew Miguel was a country guy and he had never seen anything like New York City before.

After two days, Miguel said he had seen enough for a lifetime, so we decided to leave for Miami, and

that’s when the hotel desk Clerk advised us that the railroad had just gone on strike.

He suggested we hurry to the Greyhound terminal and try getting bus tickets to Miami.

At the bus terminal the line of people buying tickets extended for the entire block, but fortunately we did get two tickets to Miami.

The bus trip to Miami was far worse than the train trip to New York ever was.

The bus stopped at every small hick town, letting people off and picking up new ones up.

Many of the people they picked up hadn’t showered, and sitting next to them was quite an experience.

Every time the bus stopped for food or for restrooms, you had no assurance of getting your same seat back.

After a stop, I saw Miguel sitting crooked in his seat, there was a young girl sitting next to him.

In Georgia, the girl sitting next to Miguel got off, and so did the person that was sitting next to me.

Miguel got up and came over and sat down next to me, he was pinching his nose with his fingers, and he was crossing his eyes.

He said if that if the girl didn’t get off the bus when she did, her stink was so bad he thought he was going to pass out.

We were sitting two seats behind the bus driver, and there were two dark complexioned Mid-Eastern looking young guys sitting right behind us, I had first noticed them when we got on the bus in New York.

To me it was obvious that they were from some foreign country.

Because of our being seated in front of them we couldn’t help but hear them talking, but we couldn’t understand even one word of what they were saying.

After more than an hour of listening to them, my curiosity got the best of me, and I looked over the back of the seat and asked the two guys where they were from.

They said in English that they were from Lebanon.

I introduced myself and I told them Miguel was from Cuba.

That started us on a lengthy conversation.

They were both 19 years old and had come to the United States to become helicopter pilots, so they could get jobs in Saudi Arabia.

They both spoke fluent English, French and Arabic.

They said that their families had scrimped and scraped every dollar they could, to pay for their flight school.

All the money they had was packed in small bundles in their suitcases.

When the boys changed planes in Paris, they met two French girls.

When they woke up in the morning the girls were gone and so was their money.

All they had left was a small carry bag with several bundles of U.S. $1.00 bills.

The two guys were afraid to tell their parents what had happened, and they asked me if I knew of any flight schools in Miami.

I said I knew that there were several schools in Miami, but it would be Sunday when we arrived in Miami, and they would have to make a list of schools from out of a phone book, and then start calling them all on Monday morning.

They asked me If I could help them?

I told them that when we arrived in Miami, they could come with us to get my car, then after I dropped Miguel off, they could come with me to my house and use my phone book.

They were both very appreciative of my help.

Once at my house I wrote down a list of flight schools for them.

My wife and kids were still away, so I asked them if they were hungry?

They said yes, as they hadn’t eaten in two days to save money.

So, I cooked up some hotdogs, and as it was getting late, I suggested that they stay overnight at my house, and in the morning, I would drive them to one of the flight schools.

In the morning, I looked in their flight bag and all they had was a few bundles of U.S. Dollar bills.

As we were getting ready to leave my house, they handed me a Lebanese business card.

There were several phone numbers written on the back.

They said, “I should call the first number and mention their name, and the person would sell me all the counterfeit U.S. $50.00 bills I want for only $20.00 apiece”.

I didn’t know what to say so I told them I wasn’t in the counterfeit money business.

They both looked at each other and one said, “If that’s the case, call the second phone number, the fellow there will ship all the cocaine you want”.

I said, what are you crazy, many people in Miami are arrested here for smuggling cocaine.

“Not these people they said”, so I asked them how they were doing it?

They said, “In Lebanon, they wash clothes and blankets in hot water or something containing dissolved cocaine, and they add a chemical that changes the smell.

Once the stuff arrives here, they rinse it and recover the cocaine”.

I didn’t want to listen to any more of their conversation, nor did I want to hear what the third phone number had to offer.

I dropped them off at a flight school near my office and wished them good luck.

Today they are probably either helicopter pilots in Saudi Arabia or they are in prison somewhere.