My Gun Went to Cuba

by John B. Anderson

[This is not strictly a “Stique story. This story started in Manistique in 1958 and ended in Cuba ten years later in1968.]

My grandfather, Charlie Bretz, was an avid outdoors-man. He had a cabin on 80 acres adjacent to the Seney Game Refuge. Grandpa loved to hunt. He would go to the cabin for 3 weeks at a time, sometimes stealing my dog. He and Grandma got along famously. Grandpa owned four guns, a pistol; a lever-action 30-30, Winchester '94; a 20 gauge pump shotgun, Winchester model 1912, and a .22 Remington single shot Targetmaster. Sandy and I really enjoyed going to Grandpa's cabin, and we might stay there for 3 – 4 days at a time.

Grandpa died when I was eight-years-old. Grandma sold the pistol and the 30-30 rifle. Amazingly, some years later, the Michigan State Police showed up at Grandma's door. Grandpa's pistol was used in a murder downstate, and Grandpa had been the last registered owner. Grandma had no idea to whom Grandpa had sold the pistol. Grandma gave me the 20 gauge pump and the .22 single shot. It was not unusual for me to own a couple of guns when I was 12; we all had guns. I used the 20 gauge as my all-around gun for rabbits, partridges, woodcocks, ducks, geese, deer, my hat, and other various and sundry items.

When I was 16, I wanted a high-powered rifle for deer hunting. Roy said that there was a lever- action .32 special, Winchester model '94 for sale at his parents' store in Gulliver. The gun was exactly what I was looking for – a cowboy gun. The gun had been his mother's, and they sold it to me for $54.00. I shot one deer with that gun, and that's about it.

Fast forward: I graduated from Western Michigan University, got married, and a couple of year's later, had my first son. When I was at WMU, I decided to marry Sally, but I didn't have enough money for a down payment for an engagement ring. I was weekend manager a Walwood Student Center, so I wasn't making a lot of money doing that. My .32 special was not legal to use in the lower part of Michigan, so I sold it to Tom to get my down payment.

Tom: What an interesting friend! Tom lived in the dorm behind Walwood Union. He would bring his guitar to the union on Saturday afternoons when we would pour some vodka into the lemonade dispenser, sing some songs, and enjoy a otherwise-slow afternoon.

Tom was the son of a chemistry professor at WMU. He had quit high school when he was sixteen-years-old, when he joined the U.S. Merchant Marine. After a couple of years in the Merchant Marine, Tom took the GRE, (Graduate Record Exam). His score was to high, that he entered the Sociology Department at the masters level. Tom graduated with honors with his masters. At that point, Tom enrolled in the doctoral program at The University of Oregon. He lived in a log cabin along the Columbia River, but this turned out to be a problem. The Columbia overflowed its banks, washing Tom and the cabin downstream. Someone pulled him out of the water, but he had contracted pneumonia. He gave up on his studies and returned to Kalamazoo and WMU.

He taught a couple of Sociology courses at Western, then took a teaching job at Laurus College in Iowa. While he was in Iowa, he married a stripper and her daughter. After he taught a year in Iowa, he returned to Kalamazoo. Tom took a job as program evaluator at the Fort Custer Job Corps Center. I had just graduated from WMU. Tom called me one evening, and told me to go to the Job Corps Center and tell them that I wanted to be a, "Group Life Foreman.” I didn't know what that was at the time, but then I was one of those, (a dorm counselor). I moved from that job to property control, and, after two-and-a-half years, our Job Corps Center was closed.

When the center closed, I checked in all of Tom's Job Corps property, computer, bicycle, etc. On that day, I invited Tom to our house for supper. Over a few shooters, Tom told us that he had had his marriage annulled, and had sent his wife and her daughter back to Iowa. He said that his wife was a drug user, and the mafia was pressuring him to work for them running some statistics. Tom had refused, and he had run away to Tennessee, where his car was peppered with shotgun pellets. He came back to Kalamazoo, but now Job Corps had closed. Tom said that he was planning to borrow his dad's car, and drive to Florida.

Three days later, the headlines were, “Professor's Son Hijacks a plane to Cuba.” There goes my gun.

Tom worked a couple of years in Cuba. He requested the government let him do sociological research, but Fidel wanted him to cut sugar cane. He got sick, and decided to return to the United States. Tom and three civil activists flew to Canada, walked across the border to Plattsburg, NY, and all three were arrested by the Feds. As Tom was the first hijacker, he was not tried for air piracy, but for kidnapping. He was assigned to the federal pen in Atlanta. When I last heard from Tom, he had served five-plus years, and was before the parole board to be released.

In his letter, Tom said, “Sociology didn't work very well for me. Maybe I'll try psychology next time.”