"Happy to Wash Dishes"

Several hundred Cuban refugees are already starting a new life. In the neighboring towns of Union City and West New York, N.J., many storefront signs are written in Spanish, and men sit in restaurants sipping cafe cubano. With 69,000 immigrants, many of whom fled here in the 1960s, this area has the largest Cuban community in the U.S. outside Miami, and many of the established exiles have opened their homes to the newcomers. "I never thought that Castro would let us go," says Ricardo Colas Estrada, 22, who spent seven days waiting in the Peruvian embassy and is now living with a family in Union City. "I had nothing much to eat, nothing to wear. There was no future for the young in Cuba today."

Gaston Rodriguez, who runs a small body and fender business in West New York, last month helped organize the Cuban-Peru Crusade, which raised $120,000 in a few days. The crusade's headquarters in the El Bohio Cafe on Bergenline Avenue is jammed with refugees, who get $50 and all the food and clothes they need. Volunteers take pledges over the phone for jobs, supplies and lodging. One merchant sends over a rack of new clothing, another offers jobs. "The reaction has been overwhelming," says Rodriguez. "We are taking care of these refugees. The Federal Government is not involved."

The area's Roman Catholic churches have been another rallying point for aid. In the basement of St. Anthony's Church in Union City a banner proclaims WELCOME BROTHERS. Some 100 people mill around waiting for public health nurses to take their blood to screen cases of TB and VD. Many are dazed by lack of sleep. One man, who was bitten on the back by a Cuban policeman, has a fever from the festering wound. But for all of them, St. Anthony's is just a way station. "We hope to process 20 a day," says Father Michael Fuino. "That means 20 will leave here every day not only to go to new jobs, but also to lodgings." At week's end two donations amounting to $11,000 enabled Father Fuino to move his charges into more comfortable quarters in a nearby apartment house.

Many of the refugees have relatives here. Mrs. Martha Pina, a psychologist, welcomed her cousin Armando Pavron, 29. The son of a banker, Pavron spent seven years in a prison camp for trying to flee from Cuba. He dropped to 110 lbs. working the sugar-cane fields. He is now employed as a dishwasher at Plaza Dining in Secaucus. "Even though I have a university degree, I am happy to wash dishes," he says as he scrubs pots. "First I will learn English. Then I will go back to college. I don't want any charity."

Such industriousness has earned the Cubans considerable respect, but with a new wave of 5,000 to 6,000 immigrants expected, there is a fear that the local economy can no longer absorb them. North Jersey Congressmen, mayors, clergymen and community leaders met last week to form a committee to request federal aid for the resettlement. Says Union City Mayor William V. Musto: "There's no comparison between the economy in 1960 and in 1980."

Cuban leaders have also been trying to calm fears that some of the refugees may be criminals. Actually, violence of another kind is already established here. Omega 7, a clandestine anti-Castro group reputedly based in Union City, has claimed responsibility for 20 bombings in Manhattan and New Jersey during the past five years. "What happens if some of the refugees coming are Castro agents?" asks a middle-aged businessman. "There will be shootouts all over the place."

But such concerns do not seem to faze the newcomers. In their view, the worst is surely over. Jose Barbarena, 43, spent 14 years in Cuban prisons for fighting against the Castro regime. Says he: "I learned English because I never lost faith that I would some day come here and be free."

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