The Hemisphere: Remember La Coubre

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Under a hot Caribbean sun at 3 p.m. one day last week, stevedores on Havana's eastern waterfront bent to a task of No. 1 priority in Fidel Castro's Cuba. In the holds of the 4,310-ton French freighter La Coubre, were 76 tons of Belgian artillery shells, grenades and small arms ammunition. Most of it never reached its destination. At that hour, a shuddering blast rocked the vessel, hurling exploding shells, steel deck plates and human fragments aloft in a pillar of fire.

A second munitions ship quickly cast off, was towed out of the danger area. Firemen worked close to the burning vessel. Then it exploded again, sending a shower of death through the crowd on the dock—and just missing Premier Castro, who had come whirling up in his helicopter to hover near the stricken ship. The initial counts put the dead at 75 to 100, the injured at more than 200.

Following his left-wing reflexes, Castro immediately blamed the U.S. for the tragedy. His mouthpiece commentators blamed "the interests that place obstacles in the way of Cuba's purchasing arms and planes; interests that bombed our cane fields and cities." The government's Cormbate hit the streets with an extra, calling the explosion "another U.S.S. Maine,"—hinted that the U.S. had blown up the ship to compel Cuba to accept revision of Cuba's sugar quota.

Castro himself milked the disaster for all it was worth. Treating the dead as war heroes, he had their bodies carried to the Palace of Workers to lie in state, decreed 24 hours of national mourning, three days of government mourning. The government, he said, would appropriate $1,000,000 for their families.