American Notes

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Thus sang female Marines as they marched in cadence through twelve weeks of boot-camp training at Parris Island, S.C. until Peter Berle, president of the National Audubon Society, fired off a letter to Marine Commandant General Paul X. Kelley. "A tough Marine may well consider this as another crank letter from a pansy," wrote Berle, a former Air Force intelligence officer and veteran of 94 parachute jumps. But, he protested, the women could find some way to celebrate their toughness other than "idolizing people who squash birds' heads." Brigadier General Donald Miller, Kelley's top spokesman, promptly sent a "cease and desist" order. So what will the female Marines sing now? It probably would not do for them to take a cue from the guys. Says Miller: "The male Marines are singing and thinking about something that is far worse." No lyrics supplied.

The biggest surprise may be that it took so long. For a full generation, Miami has been populated so heavily by refugees from Fidel Castro's dictatorship that Anglos sometimes call it "North Cuba." But not until last week was its first Cuban-born mayor sworn in. Xavier Suarez, 36, survived a preliminary election on Nov. 5, in which six-term Mayor Maurice Ferre, who was born in Puerto Rico, finished out of the running, and then defeated Raul Masvidal, 43, another Cuban refugee, in a runoff last Tuesday.

For once, no one voiced the cry "Vote Cuban," nor did the finalists compete in denouncing Castro. Instead, they talked about crime prevention and garbage collection. Banker Masvidal, a self-made millionaire and veteran of the Bay of Pigs invasion, inherited most of the black vote that had supported Ferre, but other voters may have perceived him as a bit too elitist. "I was viewed as the populist," says Suarez, who happens to be a Harvard-educated lawyer. He scored heavily among Cuban and other Hispanic voters and also took a majority of Anglo ballots. Shouted a supporter at his inauguration: "¡Un alcalde para to-dos!"--A mayor for everybody.

Adorned in a flowing blue robe and matching skullcap, Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh stepped out of a Portland courthouse last week into one of his sect's 93 Rolls-Royces and was whisked to the airport. After a quick wave and a bow to disciples from his 1,300-member commune, the guru, who had lived in the U.S. since 1981, boarded a chartered airplane and departed for his native India. Unless he gets written permission from the U.S. Attorney General, he will not be allowed to visit the U.S. for five years. Said the Bhagwan: "I never want to return again."

The Bhagwan's banishment is part of a plea bargain arranged with federal authorities. Facing 35 counts of conspiring to violate immigration laws, the guru admitted two charges: lying about his reasons for settling in the U.S. and arranging sham marriages to help foreign disciples join him. He was fined $400,000, received a ten-year suspended sentence and agreed to leave the country. Seven of his disciples still face federal and state charges. The guru's followers, who had virtually taken over a small town near the commune, voted this month to change the name of the site from Rajneesh back to the earlier one, Antelope.