Victims – The Probate Trap

This excerpt from

‘The Probate Trap’ ‘Invisible, No Liberty, Injustice For All’

Marcia Martinez Friedman

Florida

F.A.C.E.U.S. RADIO co-host

From Communist Cuba to True Crime Corruption in The U.S.A.

In Cuba, my father, Faustino Martinez, lost his father at eight years old. My grandfather was a Carbonero, a coal seller. He had a wooden wagon of coal pulled by a horse. One foggy morning he got off the cart and walked to the back to get a load of coal, and a driver, unable to see, ran into him, ending his life. About this time the Virgin Mary appeared to my father to encourage him to sell costume jewelry to help his mother. He felt like she gave him luck, and after she appeared he started selling a lot. This encouraged a lifelong devotion to her.

This was when he met the businessman, Benjamin Bravo, who took him under his wing. I came to know him as my Abuelo (Grandfather) Bravo. My father’s dream was to open his own restaurant. In Cuba, at the entrance of the town of Moron Camaguey, my parents set up a Kiosk in their early twenties selling orange juice and sandwiches across from the famous El Gallo De Maron (The Rooster of Maron), a huge pewter statue of a rooster which was a tourist landmark in the park. The rooster would crow “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” every morning at 6:00 AM, and 6:00 PM so loudly that the whole town heard it.

My parents saved all their money to buy the property on the corner where the Kiosk was, and the corner across the street. They built a restaurant they named ‘LA CARIDAD’ after the patron saint of Cuba, the Virgin Mary, known as ‘La Caridad Del Cobre’, which translates to mean ‘Our Lady of Charity who appeared in the town of Cobre.’

By 1963, the restaurant became a famous landmark, patronized by Cuban Baseball players who came to eat Marisco, Camarones Enchilados, and Arroz Con Pollo when they visited after games. I was nine years old and looked forward to their visits because they would sit me in their laps and sign my autograph book. Because of Cubans’ love for baseball the restaurant became very well known, and this, as well as the quality of the food, meant it was very successful. My father would pray to the Virgin every morning and thank her. My mother and father invested their money wisely in Cuba. My parents’ dream was always to work hard and buy an apartment in South Florida. From the Kiosk to owning the whole block they had the restaurant, our home, rental properties, and buildings. Elsewhere they planted many acres of rice and had a huge rice farm.

When Fidel Castro took power in 1959, he destroyed the landmark known as “El Gallo De Maron,” the rooster known as a symbol of a free Cuba, when he established a dictatorship, and instituted a communist government. The rooster’s crowing was forever silenced. I was 9 years old when the Cuban cops came in and told my parents…

“Castro’s government now owns this restaurant, bank accounts, and all your properties!”

My father, Faustino, told the communist military El Jedo:

“Tell Castro, if he has any balls, to come and tell me himself, because my wife, Lilia, and I have worked hard for years to own these properties!”

… as I watched with fear.

He tore off his apron and threw it on the floor! The communist military, El Jedo, took him away and put him in jail without any due process, no hearing before a judge, and no trial. The price he paid for speaking out against Castro’s abuse of power was to be imprisoned when he voiced opposition.

The next day, my mother, Lilia, and I went to the prison. My mother asked me to beg for my father’s freedom. They didn’t let him out. Through secret channels, my father was told to ask to go to the bathroom when they were transferring him through a small town to another prison, where he was to be tortured, and killed, to get information. Arrangements had been made with the Ambassador of Uruguay. The bathroom window was left open so he could get out immediately. The ambassadors’ car was waiting. He was put into the trunk of the ambassadors’ car and transported to the Uruguayan Embassy in Havana, the Capital of Cuba, where the ambassador got him asylum, saving his life. Mom and I were not allowed to visit, but once a week we could send food. My father notified my mother to send Cuban cigar boxes filled with cigars, with a little bit of food on the top. We would go to where he could see us through a net, but neither of us was allowed to speak or wave to the other.

Inside the Uruguayan embassy was a statue of the Virgin Mary. My father got a picture of himself standing next to her, and forever after claimed it was she who had saved him. He stayed there for about eight months until arrangements were made to fly him and my brother, Joaquin, to Uruguay, then onto Miami, where they took their first steps to freedom since Castro took hold.

My mother and I weren’t allowed to leave Cuba. Castro wanted to disempower people by tearing their families apart. Faustino, my dad, was one of the first Cuban immigrants to get asylum from the United States. He had no family here. He and Joaquin arrived with no money in their pockets, but a sizable stash of sealed boxes of famous Cuban cigars. He was able to sell them for one thousand dollars ($1,000.00), quite a bit of money in those days.

He connected with a friend to get Joaquin and himself jobs at the Moore Haven Sugar Mill cutting sugar cane. The cigar money allowed them to get an apartment, and soon they were sending money back to my mother and me, allowing us to survive. My mother and I were finally able to leave the country three years later, September 21,1966, on the last freedom flight allowed by the Cuban Government.

My father and mother worked hard, saving all their money until we could purchase our first home in Clewiston, Florida. By this time my father was a foreman in the sugar mill. My mother worked for a packing house, where she kept getting very bad colds. One day I was riding my bike and saw this store location for rent, so I asked my father if we could open a store with my mother so she wouldn’t have to work a job where she’s getting sick all the time anymore. He said to me…

“But she doesn’t speak English…”

“I promise to work every day after school, and on weekends, and I will interpret. I can wear pretty clothes to school and bring my friends to the shop!”

That is exactly what happened. We established LA CARIDAD VARIETY STORE in Clewiston, Florida. My father took my advice. We went shopping. He would say…

“Pick whatever you want!”

…then he would buy six of every outfit I chose… We rented the store. I would invite my friends from school, and we would tell them…

“You can lay it away, and pay over time…”

It taught me survival skills, and to believe in my ideas. It worked like a charm. The store became popular and did a booming business. People would come from towns for miles around to buy at our store. At one point we had saved enough money to purchase the building on Sugarland Highway. We kept the store and turned the rest of the building into commercial rental properties. It paid for my college education, brand-new car, and my beautiful wedding. When my parents retired it provided additional income. It was understood that this was to become my inheritance since I was the child who worked so many years to help create a successful business out of it.

I helped my parents achieve their dream of owning an apartment in Sunny Isles Beach. We upgraded to a bigger one in Hallandale Beach, which they purchased to be near their grandchildren and me. My father passed away April 7, 2004. I was their only surviving daughter since my brother, Joaquin had suffered a tragic car accident in 1984. After my father died, I helped my mom with her financial affairs. She was well taken care of.

In 2011, it became clear my mother was showing some cognitive decline, such as short-term memory loss, and behavior changes. At times, she lost track of where she lived. I was concerned she was becoming vulnerable to exploitation and wanted to get her proper medical care. The doctor recommended a neurologist after she got a mini memory assessment. This upset her. She couldn’t reason. A month later I called as her emergency contact next of kin and was told instead of getting an assessment, she changed doctors. He was surprised. She had been his patient for nine years. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went for counseling with the Alzheimer’s Association. I was told:

“Your mother’s showing signs of Alzheimer’s and dementia. Since you couldn’t get her to a neurologist for a CAT scan and neurological evaluation, as her primary doctor recommended, the best thing you can do is file for guardianship.”

That’s what I did, and it’s when all our problems began. The court appointed three examining committee members. One was a Spanish-speaking psychiatrist with a PhD. My mother didn’t speak English. He diagnosed Mom as suffering from Alzheimer’s and Dementia and said that her condition warranted a neurological evaluation. The court did not take action to incapacitate her or order such an evaluation at that time.

The court assigned my late brother’s children limited co-guardians of property only, and health care surrogates, despite the fact mom chose to live near us before guardianship, and the evidence of her incapacity.

In 2014 Mom was told she was going for a 2 weeks’ vacation. Her limited co-guardians relocated her two counties away without a court order. Mom was placed into a room made from their garage. She was isolated from her loved ones for over a decade. A multitude of court hearings ensued attempting to enforce visitation. Mom couldn’t remember the logistics of visitation due to her incapacity. We were helpless because the judge indicated mom will keep her right to decide if she wants visitors. Which seemed unfair to me. The judge granted supervised visitation, and though the magistrates’ orders noted I had her best interest, I was often denied by the limited co-guardians. I was targeted as the bad daughter. Her beachfront property was sold without her consent in 2015. I was also denied when I requested not to sell her property.

In June 2021, my mom was admitted to the hospital. I was saddened to find her dehydrated, with bed sores. When Mom saw me, her face lit up and she burst into joyful tears. She said…

“Alegria! (Joy) …What took you so long?”

She had been told I lived far away and didn’t want to see her. Soon she was moved to a rehabilitation facility. I knew she was becoming weaker and contacted my attorney to urge the Judge to lift the supervision order. Instead, the judge ordered visits with my mother to be supervised. I would find and pay for a supervisor to come with me on visits. I called the courts to provide a list of supervisors, but there was none. Supervised visitation required four hours round trip for a thirty-minute visit with my 97-year-old mom. I had to find and pay for a supervisory person, with travel expenses each time. It was costly, but to be with my mother a few precious minutes was worth it. As a daughter, my soul is crushed, my heart broken that I couldn’t spend the last few years with her. Mom kept saying…

“Don’t Leave! I want you to stay and care for me!”

… words that still cut my soul. I felt so sorry for her and so helpless, this was her cruel destiny. I only had a few visits before being notified she had died alone.

Marcia Martinez Friedman