Outpouring of grief and hope

By ELAINE DE VALLE, IVONNE PEREZ and ANDRES VIGLUCCI
Herald Staff Writers

The mourners came from all corners of South Florida, and beyond, flowing like a human river down Flagler Street in the largest funeral procession Miami has seen in recent times.

They came to honor Cuban exile leader Jorge Mas Canosa, dead at age 58, his promise of a free Cuba as yet unfulfilled. They came to remember: their own lives before the revolution, the years of struggle in bittersweet exile.

And they came to make certain the cause that fused them to Mas Canosa is not weakened with his passing, but energized anew.

''It is a very painful day, very sad. It is the irreparable loss of a man who was the greatest thing that exiles had,'' said a black-clad Maria Gutierrez, 33, sobbing as she stood in Woodlawn Park Cemetery in Little Havana, shoulders shaking with grief.

But she also said: ''He taught us a lot. And I think the new generation, with his son at the helm, will take the seed he planted and go on with the struggle.''

Words of sorrow and praise filled St. Michael's Church, and filtered through the crowd that spilled over the church's lawn to Flagler Street.

But the clearest manifestation of Mas Canosa's place in exiles' hearts was a silent gesture: thousands of hands reaching out to touch the black hearse as it slowly carried his body to its resting place.

The mourners also cast flowers -- red and white roses -- atop the hearse.

People gave away small Cuban flags. Men wore them in the pockets of their guayaberas and suit jackets. Women held them in their hands.

The church was filled with large flower arrangements, some in the stripes and colors of the Cuban flag, others in the shape of the Cuban island.

When Mas Canosa's casket -- draped in a Cuban flag -- was brought out of the church, all waved their flags. American flags, too, fluttered in the air.

Mourners of all ages

Many of the mourners were gray-haired, some walking slowly with the aid of canes. The owner of La Cubana bus charters -- which usually ferries people between Miami and New York -- sent two buses to the church to take them to the cemetery. Driver Hector Mesa worked on his day off.

Schoolkids in uniform and younger Cuban Americans, children of exiles, also came to pay tribute.

Antonio Sanchez, 26, had flown in Monday from his home in Denver to represent his parents, who couldn't be here. His mother is hospitalized for surgery, and his father, a friend of Mas Canosa, is by her side.

Many Cuban Americans brought their young children, hoping the moment would help them understand Mas Canosa's fight for a free Cuba.

Isabel and Jose Camacho returned to the church Tuesday after staying there late Monday night, toting their 2-year-old, Jose Alfredo, who carried a little Cuban flag.

The Camachos said there will be no Thanksgiving dinner at their house Thursday. There will be no music playing on their radio this week. Their 15-year-old daughter canceled plans to attend a party Saturday night.

''We're in mourning because he was like someone from our family,'' said Isabel Camacho, who never met Mas Canosa.

Debts of gratitude

Yet many in Tuesday's emotion-laden throng were quick to point out they owed Mas Canosa a personal debt of gratitude.

The Exodus program of the Cuban American National Foundation, which Mas Canosa led, brought many to Miami from an uncertain limbo in third countries.

''The first Christmas gift I ever got came from Mas Canosa and the Foundation,'' said Gutierrez, the young mourner at the cemetery, who was brought by Exodus to Miami from Panama in 1988. ''It was $25.''

Aurora Abreu, 65, sat on the wall under the Woodlawn Park Cemetery sign for more than two hours, waiting for the procession to arrive. She, too, had to show gratitude to the man she credits for reuniting her with her family. The foundation brought her three brothers, a sister and a niece from Panama, where they were living in exile for two years.

''My whole family owes him,'' she said. ''I've cried for two days straight.''

By no means was everyone at the procession Cuban. Sitting on the wall next to Abreu, Flerida Rivera of the Dominican Republic dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin over and over again. She could barely speak without bursting into tears.

''It doesn't matter where you came from,'' Rivera said. ''He did so much good. I have a lot of good friends who are Cuban and I believe in their cause.''

Rivera had passed by St. Michael's, but couldn't get in. It didn't matter.

The church's capacity is 2,000 people but seemed to hold many more. Several times that number stood outside, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, listening to the funeral Mass over loudspeakers.

A message from prison

There was also a message from a prisoner still in a Cuban cell.

Two people stretched a banner between them at the cemetery: ''Thank you, Mas Canosa, for your love toward the freedom of our nation. We proclaim you Apostle of Cuban exiles. Francisco Chaviano, Prisoner of Conscience,'' it read in Spanish.

Georgette Chaviano, 23, who held one end of the banner, is the daughter of Francisco Chaviano, a political prisoner serving a 15-year sentence.

''I called my mom last night and she had talked to my father. My dad wanted the family to know that his thoughts were with them,'' she said.

At the grave site, mourners strained for a last look at Mas Canosa's casket as it was lowered into the ground.

Milena Betancourt, 58, could not hold back her tears.

''We physically lost a knight of democracy, of virtue,'' she said. ''He has gone with God because he finished his mission on Earth.''