The international photographer (Jan-Dec 1933)

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January, 1933 The INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER Three PThen Drama Rides in Hungry Eyes Describing Havana Parichy Tells How Mothers ablest ate of^preservatiom The Without Rings Pathetically Seek Familiar Features in Beneficencia's Orphans By ESSELLE PARICHY Staff Correspondent Internatonal Photographer With his own Leica illustrations OLDLY engraved in the annals of Cuban history are the epochal years since her discovery more than four centuries ago, when Columbus landed an impatient crew from the Santa Maria in the harbor of Baracoa. This island was one of the richest gems for the crown of the Catholic king of Spain, when all the sovereigns reached out talons to grasp the silvertine, raw riches of possession in the New World. Cuba's early colonization marched hectickly in a hodgepodge fashion under the cloth of civilization, baptized in blood and wisdom . . . cankered by every swashbuckling pirate and free booter of the seven seas, who ate into her hoarded treasures despite the gallant defense of her early settlers. In 1898 Cuba won liberty from Spain, loosing the last shackles in the Americas of Spanish domination. The die of a great republic was cast in these turbulent years during the fanfare of antiSpanish and piratical conquest, and Cuba's star was in the as cendant till today she stands majestically serene, the most outstanding nation of the West Indies. Closely bound with her holocaust of bloody history are the aged and hoary forts and strongholds that today are in a remark is La Fuerza, built in 1538 by Hernando de Soto to combat the inroads of piracy in Havana. The fort has a fine tower to strike the hour and relay signals from El Morro across the harbor. Fort of Four Centuries El Morro, guarding the harbor entrance, was built in 1597. It stands on a high rocky bluff overlooking the city, with its beacon lighthouse, watchtowers, and deep moat. Little has it changed since the inquisition of foreign dominance, and its dark, dank tunnels and dungeons whisper and echo the tragic terror of Cuban patriots incarcerated and slaughtered for their convictions of independence. As I stood peering down the stone shoot that is called El Nido de Tiburones I could see the gray shadows of the maneating descendants whose forbears had claimed the executed prisoners thrown through this shark's nest. As I walked through the bomb proof dungeons with gated apertures, I could discern stalactites of lime caused by centuries of damp erosion, and as I listened in the crashing silence I heard the melancholy dripping of water that seemed to svnchronise with the trage Left, door of the three hinges, Faith, Hope and Charity, behind which aivaits a Sister of Mercy to receive the foundling passed through its portals. Right, a new arrival held in the arms of a "Goddess of Mercy"