In April 1959, when I was all of fifteen and a student at Scarsdale High, I made the trek with by buddies from the ‘burbs to the city to see our new hero Fidel Castro speak in Central Park.
It’s fifty-seven years ago now, but I still remember that night well. How could I forget? It was high drama the likes of which I had never seen, people streaming in from all over New York, klieg lights splayed across Sheep Meadow. The Daily News reported thirty-five thousand people squeezed into the park.