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MSG Memories

Stories and illustrations about/ from embassy duty, shared by those who stood watch worldwide.

Memories

Sharing moments from embassy tours guarding the world’s frontlines. Every post tells a story of vigilance, camaraderie, and honor abroad.

Laughs and memories generated by Artificial Intelligence.

Protests in Panama - 1977

Jack McGarry (Brasilia 76/Panama 77) - "From Panama in 1977 we had massive demonstrations (30k+) These demonstrators passed in front of the embassy, along Ave Balboa. They were protesting the Canal Zone Treaty being negotiated by the US (President Carter), and Panama (Omar Torrijos) The embassy was bordered by a boardwalk and the Bay of Panama (Pacific Ocean). We'd been briefed that Cuba had infiltrators that were trying to goad the protesters into violence. We'd assumed posts around the embassy to monitor the crowds over a 2 day period. Panamanian Guards and MPs didn't do anything to stop folks from running up to the embassy to spray paint, or to prevent them from throwing crap at the embassy. The demonstrations ended without incident. I've friends from the 1978 detachment who faced similar demonstrations with no incidents, however... fast forward to 1989, Christmas Eve, during the invasion of Panama, the Embassy was left entirely undefended except for the MSG force (1/6).
For a powerful recounting of that incident by the then NCOIC Staff Sergeant Pellow go to PostOnePodcast.com Episode 12

RUSSO!!! Cuba 1979

Don DeGarmo III
Dhahran, Saudi Arabia ’77
Paris, France ’78
Havana, Cuba ‘79
"Ruso!!!"
In the summer of 1979, there were a lot of Russians in Havana, Cuba. They were all over the place. Everywhere you went – Russians, Russians, Russians. They were easy to identify. They didn’t have tans or look anything like a Cuban. Unfortunately, neither did I. I am very white and burn easy. Genetic defect, I think. Just kidding.

As I walked around the streets of Havana, I got a lot of dirty looks especially from the older pre-Casto Cubans. It was very common for them to have hatred on their faces and anger in their eyes. They pointed their index finger at me and yelled, “Ruso! Ruso!” Ruso in Spanish just means Russian. But they said it in a very derogatory tone. I would wag my index finger back at them and had responded, “No Ruso! No Ruso!” then point to myself and say, “Americano! Americano!” Since they did not know there were Americans in Havana, they wagged that same index finger back at me and responded, “No Americano! Ruso! Ruso!” Obviously, the pre-Castor Cubans did not like the Russians on their island. I was surprised because I thought the Cubans loved the Russians. Apparently not.

The Caribbean Islands had a festival that traveled to a different island every year. It was called CariFest (Caribbean Festival). It was like a county fair.

During the summer of 1979, the CariFest came to Havana, Cuba. They set it up in a parking lot in front of our building.

The U.S. Interest Section was the American Embassy but because we did not have diplomatic relations with Cuba at that time, it was called the U.S Interest Section. Same building, different name. I watched the Cubans set up a make-shift bar. They made two piles of wooden cases of beer then put a piece of wood across the top. There, a Cuban bar! Before they finished their fancy bar, there was a very long line of people waiting to get a beer. When they opened the bar, I noticed it was one person, one beer.

I was the Bar NCO at the time. My job was to keep the Marine bar fully stocked. So, I asked our interpreter, who we suspected as Cuban Intelligence, “Do you think the bartenderers will let me buy some beer?” He said, “They definitely will!”

He got a dolly and I got some Cuban Pesos. We walked toward the make-shift bar, and I stopped at the back of the line. My interpreter kept walking. I quickly caught up with him. When we came close to the bar, one of the two bartenders glared at us with such a look on his face and an attitude that suggested, “Who do you think you are cutting in line, and with a dolly.” So, we stopped in front of that bartender. My interpreter had his right hand on his right hip and his left hand casually draped over the dolly. He calmly spoke to him in Spanish. While he talked to him at length, I watched the bartender’s face change from, “Who do you think you are”, to FEAR. I mean he was very Scared to Death. I wished I knew Spanish.

After my interpreter stopped talking, he asked me how many cases I wanted. I told him 5. The bartender could not put the cases of beer on the dolly fast enough. I had never seen a bartender move so quickly. When I paid the bartender, the interpreter turned around with the dolly full of beer and walked back toward the U.S. Interest Section.

When we passed all of those people we had just cut in front of, with a dolly full of beer, I noticed the same look of hatred on their faces that I had seen so many times walking around Havana. I pointed to myself and said, “Ruso! Ruso!”

I looked at my interpreter to see if he was upset that I just blamed his Russian Comrades for what a U.S. Marine did. He did not have an expression.