By Robert Branson
HAVANA, April 11 (NANA)—Maj. William Morgan, Toledo, O., soldier of fortune who gave up U.S. citizenship to stay with Fidel Castro, has ended up breeding frogs, lobsters and alligators for Cuba’s wildlife service.
He is one of some two dozen Americans who, having cast their lot with Mr. Castro in more glorious days, now find themselves playing outcast roles of stripped glamour.
They burned their U.S. bridges when they sacrificed citizenship, yet Premier Castro has rewarded none with the kind of posts they must have dreamed of.
Happy bravado remains their surface attitude—a go-to-blazes defiance toward the United States. Behind the bravado one senses confusion, regret, anxiety over what lies ahead.
If they could turn the clock back, it seems a safe bet that Major Morgan and the rest would be back at their old stateside jobs, their Cuban adventure erased.
Those were the days when Mr. Castro was portrayed as Latin America’s Robin Hood, and newspaper stories of Major Morgan’s exploits were enough to make schoolboys drool. He seemed headed for big things in the Castro regime.
This time I met him beside a sun-scorched frog tank at one of Cuba’s new collective farms on confiscated land outside Havana.
Major Morgan still wears a Cuban major’s uniform and totes a gold-plated .38 automatic. He rides in a blue Oldsmobile hardtop outfitted with three radio telephones, two submachine guns and a glove compartment full of hand grenades. He boasts that “enemies of Cuba have offered $500,000 for me dead or alive.”
The trappings do not disguise the fact that Major Morgan has been relegated to a civil servant’s job of minor consequence. His new Cuban citizenship apparently has not made him Cuban enough to be entrusted with power.
“Lobsters are going to be another big thing. We’re also breeding guppies for home aquariums, and ‘babas’—they’re like small alligators—for the belt and handbag trade. Also bass and ducks.
“They couldn’t have given me a job I’d like better.”
The enthusiasm sounds hollow, especially when you ask Major Morgan about the future.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll stay with the revolution as long as they need me and then go into business here in Cuba, probably. I’ve got a Cuban wife and baby. We couldn’t be happier.”
Major Morgan, 31, earns $230 a month in his wildlife job.
He says he was a $1,000-a-month electronics man in Toledo, before joining Mr. Castro in 1957. He says he came to avenge the death of Jack Turner, “a buddy of mine who was tortured and tossed to the sharks by Batista.” Anger clouds his face when he talks of accusations he is a Communist.
Major Morgan’s position in days to come looks precarious at best. Disowned by the United States, barred from Premier Castro’s inner echelons, he remains a marked man whom more than one Cuban underground faction undoubtedly would like to kill. He claims there have been many death-threats.
The U.S. embassy estimated perhaps 30 other American exiles remain with the Castro movement today.
Their names include John Gentry, U.S. address unknown, who works as surveillance man with Premier Castro’s airport police; John Michaels, believed to be an alias; Juan Osario and Luis San Jenis, naturalized Americans whose backgrounds are sketchy.
Herman Marks of Milwaukee, who directed firing squads which killed more than 70 persons, holds the title of security director at Havana’s Principe Prison.