My Friend John F. Kennedy

From the 18th to the 20th of March, 1963 John F. Kennedy, President of the United States came to Costa Rica for a visit. I was 8 years old and very exited about the president’s arrival in our country.

We went to school very early the morning of Mr. President’s arrival. All of us were clean and scrubbed and wearing our freshly pressed school uniforms. We were each given little flags of Costa Rica and of the United States to waive and were told that we were going to meet the President of the United States and welcome him to Costa Rica.

All the children in my school were happy and excited, but we followed our teacher’s instructions and got into line to board our school bus in an orderly fashion (probably it was the first time ever we all were actually obeying our teachers).

We were then taken to El Paseo Colón, the big main thoroughfare in downtown San José. There we waited for President Kennedy’s motorcade to pass by. Every motorcycle that came along was cause for eager anticipation as we all strained and pushed to see if the presidential limousine would follow.

My two best friends — with last names Villalta and Zuñiga — and I were together in the line nearest the street. With each vehicle that passed we screamed like howler monkeys along with the thousands of other school children lined up along the route.

I don’t remember actually hearing the sirens the announced President Kennedy’s arrival at our vantage point. The crowd was yelling and screaming so loudly that perhaps I didn’t actually hear them at all. In any case, the president’s open convertible suddenly appeared with Mr. Kennedy and several other dignitaries standing up inside and waving to the crowd.

The car passed very close to us and Mr. President smiled as he looked directly at us and waived to my friends and me. Unfortunately Villalta dropped one of his little flags at that exact moment and when he bent down to pick it up he missed seeing Mr. President smiling and waiving to us.

After the president’s motorcade had passed we were taken back to the buses, which returned us to our school. But classes were cancelled for the remainder of the day. As we walked toward home my friend Zuñiga and I chirped away animatedly about how the President of the United States had waived and smiled and looked right at us! Poor Villalta, however, could only lament having missed the whole thing.

Of course, since my sister was then living in California, I was the expert on everything having to do with the USA. She had traveled to many places in the United States and sent me lots of postcards. Her husband was in the US Army serving in Vietnam. I told my friends about seeing pictures of “a really crooked street” (Lombard Street in San Francisco) full of flowers, and the Golden Gate Bridge.

Even though I don’t remember the particulars of that conversation right now I’m sure that I probably embellished my narration a bit. We sat down on the curb at the corner of the street near my house and talked in great wonderment about the USA as any three eight-years-old Ticos who had never been there would do.

Zuñiga, as it turned out, knew a lot about the events surrounding Mr. President’s visit to Costa Rica. He said that Mr. President was going to be in a place called San Sebastian to inaugurate a new housing project that the United States was giving to the people of Costa Rica.

I asked Zuñiga how far this San Sebastian was and he said he was sure it was close enough that we could walk there. Even though I’d been strictly warned many times by my parents never to venture out of our neighborhood, when I saw the elated expression on Villalta’s face at the thought of getting another chance to see Mr. President, I couldn’t find it in my heart to object to our going to San Sebastian.

And so, we set out. It seemed, however, that our friend Zuñiga was not quite the authority on the subject of President Kennedy’s visit that he’d appeared back when we were sitting on the curb near my house. It soon became clear that Zuñiga didn’t even know the way to San Sebastian. Not only that, but he wasn’t sure whether the inauguration of the housing project was to take place that afternoon or the following day. But we were too full of youthful enthusiasm to let such petty details dampen our adventurous spirits.

So there we were, three eight-year-olds with our precious little flags marching fearlessly through downtown San José. We asked a passerby where to find San Sebastian and he explained to us that we needed to go to the Pacific Railway Station. Well, that was easy enough. I’d been there many times with my father to catch the train to Puntarenas. I directed my friends and we blithely set off in the direction of the Pacific terminal. In the lobby of the station we got a drink of water and then continued our pilgrimage to San Sebastian.

Another stranger told us that La Maternidad Carit (now the Women’s Hospital) was on the way. Well, I also knew where this landmark was located so I was growing prouder of myself by the moment as we strode indefatigably up one avenue and down the next street like miniature knights in search of our own El Dorado.

When we reached the summit of the hill overlooking what was then the little village of San Sebastian our gaze first fell upon the lovely parish church standing serenely amid sprawling hectares of coffee plants. Then we became very excited because from our vantage point we could see that beyond the church a huge throng of people was moving in the same direction we were. We clambered eagerly down the hill to join them.

Soon a big helicopter arrived and hovered above the crowd. The police tried vainly to persuade us to move back but few in the growing multitude paid them any mind. However, as the helicopter started its gradual descent, and dust and sand began billowing up in all directions, people did finally move back.

At last the helicopter came to rest and when its blades had stopped rotating I whispered to my friends to move closer to the front where we could get a better look at Mr. President when he stepped off the aircraft. But it was difficult for us to move through the dense crowd of towering adults.

It was then that the resourceful Zuñiga noticed a speaker’s podium that had been set up off to one side. There was almost no one around the podium and Zuñiga said, “I bet that’s where Mr. President is going to give his speech. Why don’t we just go over there and wait instead of trying to fight our way through this mob?”

“Great idea,” I said. And the three of us sped instantly off in the direction of the platform.

When we reached the spot, since no one was nearby to prevent us, we climbed onto the platform and sat down right in front of the speaker’s podium. From there we could see Mr. President walking right towards us. But of course he was not alone. Secret Service agents surrounded him. We realized that they would probably make us get down, so we moved to the edge of the platform and sat with our legs dangling demurely over the side.

We tried to be as quiet and inconspicuous possible. But soon, a Costa Rican policeman did come over to tell us to move. Then someone in the presidential entourage said in Spanish that it was OK for us to stay there since we were just harmless little kids.

We were on top of the world! We smiled and waived our flags back and forth. When Mr. Kennedy stood up to walk to the podium I somehow found myself in the way of his left foot. His shoe brushed against my leg and he bent over, touched my head and said “sorry.” I did not know what had just happened. My heart was racing with excitement! Mr. President himself had just spoken directly to me and Villalta and Zuñiga were there to witness it!

After the speech everyone rushed to see the helicopter take off and we did too. Then it was all over and everybody was going back home. It was only then that my friends and I realized how far we had walked. Now it was late in the afternoon and we were tired. But despite the long walk back, we were the happiest eight-year-old boys in the wide world. We could not stop talking about how tall he has was, and I mentioned more then once how shiny his shoes were. I also remember his dark blue suit.

We walked slowly home and by the time we got there it was late evening. The first thing my Mother said to me was, “And just who, may I ask young man, gave you permission to go wandering off to San Sebastian?”

“Why, what do you mean, mother?” I replied, putting on my most innocent face.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she declared, seizing me by my right ear, “don’t play dumb with me. Now, answer me. Who gave you permission to go to San Sebastian?”

My eyes where wide with disbelief. How on earth could she know where I’d been that afternoon? I simply replied that nobody had actually given me permission and tried to explain that Villalta missed seeing Mr. President, so we decided to walk to San Sebastian so he could have another chance.

Nonetheless I was ordered to go to my room and wait until my father got home. But I did not care. My face was bright and I smiled when I passed by my Mother. “The President of the US touched my head and spoke to me.”

“Yes, we know,” she said. “We saw the whole thing on television.” Then I saw the smile starting to spread across her face and I knew that really she was proud of me. But still she told me to go to my room and she’d be along in few minutes so I could tell her everything.

Presently she came up to my room with some milk and cookies and I told her all about my big adventure. She laughed, and once I noticed her eyes brimming with tears.

President Kennedy’s visit meant so much to Costa Ricans. It was a sign that the United States, embodied in the person of this great man, wanted a better relationship, a partnership in fact not just with Costa Rica, but with all of Latin America.

It was like the dawn of a new day. We believed that we had found a great friend in President Kennedy. So, you can imagine how shocked and devastated we were and how many Costa Rican tears were shed when he was assassinated just eight months later. The USA had 180 million people at that time and Costa Rica less than 2 million. But we felt that the Alliance for Progress truly made us partners with this great nation.

Me? I thought I had a personal friend in the white house that day so many years ago. I wish I still had those two little flags, but I’m sure by now they’ve disintegrate on the wall of my bedroom.

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Written by Daniel Soto who was born in San José, Costa Rica. As a boy he learned much about the rest of Latin America due to the fact that his father worked for the Costa Rican diplomatic service and was posted to many national capitols throughout South and Central America.

Daniel now lives in Bloomington, Indiana in the United States, but maintains a Costa Rican residence in Santo Domingo de Heredia where he spends several months of the year.

Look out for Daniel’s compilation of articles about Costa Rica which will be available as an EBook in late 2009.

Andrew Makarik

to@welovecostarica.com

Andrew Makarik is the main editor of WeLoveCostaRica, a fan of this sunny country. He is also a loving husband and a has a lovely daughter. By being a devoted family man and the biggest Costa Rica fan, he wants to make more people feel at home there. WeLoveCostaRica unites people and helps them find new home or a new travel destination. This website is a friendly community where everyone can find not only information, but also new friends and travel pals. Andrew is also passionate about IT and programming, so he himself maintains a friendly atmosphere in this cozy environment of WeLoveCostaRica.com.