Tangled, Oxytocin, Kantshakes Sanabria Tangled, Oxytocin, Kantshakes, State TANGLED SYNAPSES...

Tangled, Oxytocin, Kantshakes

Sanabria

Tangled, Oxytocin, Kantshakes, State

4

TANGLED SYNAPSES

____________________

How Neuroscience and Resilience

Overcome Depression

IGNACIO SANABRIA, M.Ed.


5

WWW.TANGLEDSYNAPSES.COM

Kirkland, Washington, USA, July 2008

ISBN 978-0615-19964- 1

Copyright ©. Tangled Synapses. Ignacio

Sanabria, M.Ed., Author, 2008. All rights

reserved. This book is protected by copyright.

No parts of this book may be reproduced in any

form or by any means, including photocopying,

or utilized by any information storage and

retrieval system without writing permission

from the copyright holder.

*************************

The publishers have made every effort to trace

the copyright holders for borrowed material. If

they have inadvertently overlooked any, they


6

will be pleased to make the necessary

arrangements at the first opportunity.


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TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION……………………………….. Page i

CHAPTER ONE…………………………………. Page 1

When The Going Gets Tough

CHAPTER TWO………………………………… 0

Inside the Brain

CHAPTER THREE………………………………Page 102

The Emotional Environment Within

CHAPTER FOUR……………………………….. Page 138

Character and Personality as Potential Indicators

to Possibly Developing A Mental Disorder

CHAPTER FIVE…………………………………Page 174

Where and How Are We At Risk of Developing

Mental Disorders And What To Do About It

CHAPTER SIX………………………………….. Page 239


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The Hurdles To Change: Overcoming Dysfunctional

Cognitive Processes

CHAPTER SEVEN………………………………Page 276

A New Lease on Life: How Neuroscience and

Resilience Overcame My Depression

APPENDIX…………...…………………………Page 310

GLOSSARY OF TERMS……………………….. Page 345

SUGGESTED READINGS……………………... Page 368


DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to the memory of my beloved

brother, Alberto Sanabria, M.D. Had I known twenty

years ago what I know today, I believe that he and I

would still be enjoying life together. My brother was a

brilliant young medical doctor who possessed

everything a human being could want: intelligence, good

looks, a passion for life, and a noble career caring for

people. He succumbed to a disease that could have been

prevented: alcoholism. At only 30 years old, Alberto was

the victim of a drunk driving accident. Like any

addiction, timely intervention can help one overcome

alcoholism.

I dedicate this book to my mother Azucena, who was the

force behind my recovery. Because of her existence, I did

not commit suicide; my sister Susy, who is my partner;

my niece Pilar, of whose accomplishments I am very

proud; my nephew Albertico, who someday will walk

on the career path of his late father; and my friend

Shawn—we see the world with the same glasses.

This is also dedicated to my muse Simone, my samba

dancing partner (we still need to practice), who engages

with me in meaningful and meaningless pursuits, and

who unconditionally remained at my side when the

going really got tough. Simone has shown me the bright

side of life.

This book is also dedicated to the millions of people

whose lives will be touched, at one time or another, by

depression, stress, anxiety, anger, phobias, substance

addictions, seasonal affective disorder, and other vitality-


sapping mental illnesses. I hope that this book offers

some aid in alleviating their pain and suffering.

Lastly and foremost, this book is dedicated to the Mercy

of God. He made my recovery possible and from now

on, whatever happens or does not happen in my life is

because of His Merciful Will.


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INTRODUCTION

“...The individual is an apprentice

and pain is its master. Nobody

knows himself until he has

suffered…” Alfredo de Musset

“The impaired, distorted ‘reality’ I am

accustomed to experiencing is in full

force. As has been its habit over the last

six years, my depression episode has

taken on a life of its own. It usually

lasts for about two or three hours,

during which feelings of powerlessness,

a sense of discomfort, and unreality

take over—as if I am not here, yet

nowhere—but wanting to be

somewhere. Such confusion dominates

the mind. A feeling that you do not


13

exist as a human being; yet you

breathe. You look, but you do not see;

you do not want to be, but you are.

You try desperately to feel in the

present, but it is as if you are leaving

the scene of life. You are being taken

away from reality, indeed, from the

world. Of course, you hate it you really

hate these feelings. A lot of thoughts

and emotions come to mind. The most

fervent one is that this torture ends

right here, right now. But it does not.

Time, then becomes your master. You

feel that time never passes. Seconds,

minutes, hours, and days become

eternal. Agony, yes, agony, is the best

word to describe this. You give up on

yourself, you give up on life, you care

about nothing and you doubt anyone

cares about you...”


14

The above mental and physical

states were my constant companion

for many years. They became my

existence until I made a

commitment to turn things around.

I was not willing to continue

wasting my life away to the

relentless disorder known as

depression.

After years of enduring a collection

of mental disorders, studying their

neurobiology, and making

dramatic lifestyle changes, I found

a secret to beat them. Inherent in

the concept that we are “biological

machines with consciousness” is

the truth that we are made to

perish. We are made of cells, and

cells have a life span. Individuals

commonly want this biological

machine with consciousness to persist


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indefinitely in the healthiest and

most balanced mental and physical

conditions.

This is a tall order indeed. Disease,

illness, and decay emerge at the

cellular level. There is an

immensely complex interplay of a

vast number of cellular functions,

the proper functioning of which is

as fundamental to human life as air

is to the lungs. Malfunctioning at

the cellular level can manifest as

disease, degeneration, and

suffering. Happiness, true

happiness, is the absence of

disease, suffering, or degeneration.

However, people with severe

physical and mental limitations

have learned how to be happy

despite their limitations.


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Individuals have a natural drive to

seek and attain happiness.

However, there are strong cultural

influences that shape what defines

happiness for each individual. The

Roman Empire, for instance, used

six months of public entertainment

in the ’coliseum’s arena to keep the

people distracted, and sufficiently

‘happy,’ to avoid revolt. This sense

of happiness or contentment can

keep a population engaged with

cultural developments, facilitating

further progress of the society as a

whole.

In modern America, happiness is

tied to fulfillment of the “American

Dream.” The media displays an

unattainable standard of “success,”

and Americans line up and pay for

a glimpse of it. However, lack of


17

fulfillment of basic needs, illness,

and emotional shortcomings can

defy happiness at its very core. The

prevalence of disorders like

depression skyrockets in

populations where physical and

emotional needs are not being met.

To get the upper hand on my

symptoms of depression, I applied

good management practices and

skills from my professional career. I

once believed illness was the

exclusive domain of doctors and

hospitals. In my prior experience,

dealing with an illness had meant

going to the doctor or hospital,

following the prescribed medical

treatment, and then returning

home to continue life as usual.

Through my ordeal with

depression, I discovered that while


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medicine offers important healing

potential, we have the ability to

become self-empowered. It is

possible to take greater

responsibility for our own

behavior, even guiding our own

brains to overcome dysfunctional

environments.

The realization that the experience

of happiness is fundamentally a

biochemical process can be awe-

inspiring. The biology of emotion,

and happiness in particular, is an

ongoing active area of

psychological neuroscientific

research. Nonetheless, evidence for

an organic basis of one’s basic

sense of well-being is clear.

Brain cells, called neurons, interact

through chemical and electrical


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connections called synapses.

Chemical inter-cellular

communication through chemical

synapses in the nervous system

(i.e., the brain, spinal cord, and

peripheral nerves) involves the

release of compounds called

neurotransmitters and

neuromodulators. These affect the

neurons through specific receptors.

Indeed, psychoactive drugs,

including many used to treat

psychiatric illnesses such as

schizophrenia and depression,

affect levels of neurotransmitters or

directly affect neurotransmitter

receptors.

The ability of brain cells to initiate

and respond to chemical signaling

involves the opening and closing of

channels. These channels allow


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charged atoms, called ions, to flow

in and out of cells and subcellular

compartments. Likewise, electrical

synapses involve the flow of ions

through specialized channels

formed by gap junctions.

The most important ions in brain

cell physiological processes include

sodium, (Na+), potassium (K+),

calcium, (Ca2+), and chloride, (Cl-).

The charged nature of these ions

means that they transfer electrical

current as they flow. Thus, the

fluxes of these ions provide and

cause the fundamental electrical

processes of brain cells. Abnormal,

or “tangled,” electro-chemical

activity in the brain can result in

cognitive and emotional

disturbances. Together with a

common sense approach and lots


21

of resilience, neuroscience provides

clues for “untangling” the

offending neurons.

Individuals have long sought

emotional easement through

attainment of balance. Such a

balance has been ideally

exemplified by the ability to attain

a “zero state,” an instant of

complete and total ‘rest’ of the

mind and body. These optimal

states, and the strategies to attain

them—including mediation,

exercise, and healthy lifestyle—are

discussed throughout this book.

The elusive sense of happiness is

inextricably linked to a healthy

lifestyle. It can be attained by

maintaining balance in the three

daily life cycles, namely 1. rest/


22

activity, 2. sleep/wake, and 3.

diet/metabolism.

Research at The National Institute

of Mental Health (NIMH) estimates

that close to half of the US

population will develop a

psychological disorder at some

point in life. ‘Psychological

disorder’ is a broad term describing

a wide spectrum of brain chemistry

dysfunctions (from mild to severe).

Hence, a vast number of people are

vulnerable to experiencing

potentially devastating mental

disorders. Depression is the most

well known among these disorders.

In this book, I share a recollection

of events that ensued after

depression sapped me of my desire

to live. I have focused on mental


23

diseases, or brain disorders, in this

work because this was my burden

to bear. Through the suffering,

suicide attempts, therapies, and

disappointments, my underlying

hope of recovering my zest for life

drove me to study neuroscience.

Neuroscience, as we’ve mentioned,

is the science that encompasses

studies of brain function and

malfunction, and how brain cells

(neurons) communicate with one

another through synapses, that

when tangled, can produce mental

disorders.

Mental disorders and the

behavioral problems that

accompany them result from

dysfunctional brain chemistry.

Dysfunctional brain chemistry


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results when brain cells fail to do

their job, affecting one or more

brain systems.

Numerous brain regions and

circuits have been specifically

implicated in mental disorders.

These include the pre-frontal

cortex, thalamus, hypothalamus,

nucleus accumbens, amygdala,

hippocampus, and insular cortex.

The brain is also sensitive to

information from the body; it does

more than just responding to

information within itself.

Hormones in the body and

chemicals that can cross the blood-

brain barrier, including steroid

hormones and glucose (the

fundamental unit of cellular energy

metabolism), can affect brain states.

Ascending and descending cranial


25

nerves relay electrical signals,

coded messages to the brain, that

concern the body’s state.

Neuroendocrine activity—the

hormones like estrogen,

testosterone, and others—will also

affect emotions and body state.

Brain chemistry dysfunction is

rooted in two potential sources:

1. Genetic predisposition to

develop a disorder.

2. A maladaptive interaction

between the individual’s internal

and external environments. These

manifest as neurobiological and

behavioral dysfunction.

Although genetics may play an

important role in the development


26

of mental illness, the focus of the

book is on the role of intentional or

voluntary behavior. An individual

has little control over their genetic

predispositions. However, each of

us can have a great influence over

environmental factors and habits,

including nutrition, activity level,

and behavioral pursuits.

Human behavior, intentional or

unintentional, may facilitate the

development of brain malfunctions

that develop into mental disorders.

Common disorders in mental

health include depression, anxiety,

chronic stress, panic, phobias,

addictions, and eating disorders.

However, these are influenced

heavily by ‘nurture’ and the

environment a person grows up

and lives in. This creates the old


27

‘chicken and egg’ conundrum. That

is, does human behavior cause

dysfunctional brain chemistry, or

do failed neural synapses cause the

dysfunctional chemistry and

destructive behavior?

Indeed, there is evidence for both.

For example, a negative experience

could have an impact on the brain’s

makeup, such as in the Post-

Traumatic Stress Disorder suffered

by war veterans. Trauma can, and

does, change the brain. On the

other hand, abnormal secretion or

activity of neurochemicals can

disrupt neuronal activity in a way

that manifests itself in one’s

behavior. A vicious cycle of

dysfunctionality could develop

from either possibility, and take the

victim on a mental roller coaster.


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One’s environment may offer

protection or enable such a cycle.

The brain, behavior, and the

environment interact and depend

on one another. The environment

and behavior can protect and

nurture brain chemistry in a

positive relationship. However, in

negative or extremely bleak

environments, mental illness can be

fostered. Without a clear

understanding of how these factors

interact, we are ill-equipped to

make good decisions. In the worst

case scenario, people may give up

caring about themselves and fail to

develop the skills or desire to care

for others. Individuals suffering

from addictions, such as alcoholics,

compulsive eaters, and out-of-

control gamblers, may have


29

damaged or altered the brain

chemistry guiding their decision

making (probably in the pre-frontal

cortex, where decisions are made).

There may have been a genetic

predisposition to develop the

addictive behavioral pattern.

However, healing, and prevention

from these devastating illnesses

requires mastering the interaction

between brain, behavior, and the

environment. A basic knowledge

and understanding on how the

brain functions could keep the

“wrong” genes from combining

with the “wrong” behavior.

This book intends to demonstrate

that we as individuals have the

responsibility to guide our own

behavior, and to overcome our


30

dysfunctional environments in as

much as it is possible. I decided to

make my experience public in an

effort to reach out to the millions of

others who have or may suffer

from mental disease as I did. This

account may be useful not only to

those who walk the thorny path of

solving ordeals like mine, but may

also prevent others from

developing such imbalances in the

first place. I hope my experience

may help those desperately

searching for relief from these life-

shattering disorders.

It seems that only a small

percentage of people live a

wonderful life: those who have

managed to control their

environments. Perhaps this is why

so many follow the lives of the


31

privileged, while being resigned to

live their own lives ‘as is.’ Those

who constantly struggle to keep

up, to hold on, and to survive may

never be happy because they do

not govern their environments,

their brains, or their behavior

effectively. I posit that the mass

failure of people to take an active

role in controlling their

environments has contributed to

the 25 million or more depressed

Americans and 500 million

depressed people worldwide. Some

may choose to passively endure

their suffering, perhaps out of

habit, without actively seeking

resolution.

I caution against using ‘exceptional

cases’ as excuses for maintaining

an unhealthful lifestyle. For


32

example, I have a 64-year-old

friend who indulges in

carbohydrates and red meat, drinks

beer regularly, loves salty foods,

does not drink water or eat fruits,

vegetables, fish, or grains. Despite

his poor eating habits, he remains

energetic and maintains a healthy

weight, blood pressure, and

cholesterol levels. He may have a

genetic advantage. However, for

most, a lifetime of poor nutrition

habits is likely to have dire

consequences.

I define my zero theory for

happiness as: “the mental and

physical states of experiencing the

present moment, , where nothing is

desired and plenty is experienced; a

state of wholeness.”


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Accordingly, people who are aware

of their own behavioral, biological,

and environmental vulnerabilities

can take full responsibility for their

actions and may indulge in actively

guiding their lives. As of the

completion of writing this book,

July 2008, I am making substantial

progress toward healing. I have

learned not to let my guard down;

otherwise my mental disorders

return with a vengeance. I take

responsibility for my own well-

being, walking a razor’s edge to

keep the vicious circle at bay.

Mental disorders are relentless in

inflicting misery on those

unfortunate enough to experience

them. We, the sufferers, must be

more resilient than our disorders,

empowering ourselves to prevail.


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35

THE OXYTOCIN WOMAN

BY

IGNACIO SANABRIA, M.Ed.

ISBN 978-1456473875

Copyright ©. The Oxytocin Women.

Ignacio Sanabria, M.Ed., Author, 2011.

All rights reserved. This book is

protected by copyright. No parts of

this book may be reproduced in any

form or by any means, including

photocopying, or utilized by any

information storage and retrieval

system without writing permission

from the copyright holder.


36

Chapter One

Astrid woke up very tired,

lethargic, and unmotivated. Astrid

was depressed. She had been

depressed for several years. At the

peak of it, she wanted to commit

suicide. She hardly slept, just a few

hours a day. She ate all the time,

and spent her days lying in bed

watching television, hooked on

silly soap operas. She used to hate

watching TV, but now she seemed

glued to the television.

As a result of eating too much,

watching too much television and

constantly having irrational

thoughts, Astrid ended up looking

and feeling like a ”cow in a bed,”


37

as her cruel neighbors once called

her.

But she could not get out of

bed. Her legs refused to obey her.

She was too heavy and too weak. A

person usually gets out of bed to go

to the bathroom, and most likely to

go to work. Astrid did not even

bother.

She did her toiletry needs in

bed, and she could have cared less.

Sometimes she was aware of that,

sometimes not. She had become the

living dead.

At her forty-two years of age,

Astrid was wasting herself away.

Ten years before, Astrid had

been a very successful and

powerful woman, a well-known

scientist, dedicated to her research

in neurobiology. She was a leading

authority in the research of


38

Alzheimer’s, as well as mental

disorders such as depression—the

very same disorder she was now

suffering from. At the age of

twenty-eight, she went to Germany

to carry out research at the

prestigious Max Planck Institute in

Munich. She took her savings and

left for Germany.

She had always wanted to

travel, to see the world, and

perhaps to find a man—a nice man,

with blue or green eyes, but never

brown. She was absolutely and

completely sure she wanted a man

with blue or green eyes, like those

she saw in fashion magazines and

in the movies.

When she arrived in Germany

from her native South American

country, she felt like the female


39

Christopher Columbus discovering

new worlds.

Astrid also soon discovered that in

order to fully live in the

enchantment of her new country,

she would have to have lots and

lots of Euros, which she did not

have. But she figured that if she

could become a renowned scientist,

she could have the type of lifestyle

she always wanted—including a

man with blue or green eyes, but

never brown.

* * * *

Astrid grew up on her father’s

ranch, the Sochagota Fazenda1.

At first, Dr. Guerrero was an

attorney who could not distinguish

a cow from a sheep. The majestic

zebu cattle fascinated him with

1 Ranch


40

their humped backs. Back then, he

would have never thought of

crossing cold and hot climate cattle.

The result was the Siboney bull,

very common in Cuba, and a

successful career as a cattle rancher.

With years of dedication and effort,

he became a sophisticated cattle

breeder. His bulls were very

expensive, and were used to

inseminate cows in the region to

improve the livestock, as well as

supply the most delicious beef for

churrascarias2. Some of these bulls

looked more like elephants,

weighing close to a ton. He also

bred paso fino horses, similar to the

Andalucía horses from Spain.

On the ranch, Astrid grew up

with Maria José, the daughter of

2 Steakhouses


41

José Martinez, the ranch foreman

who worked alongside his wife,

Maria. José Martinez was an honest

hard working farmer, young and

vigorous When Dr. Guerrero

visited the ranch, he always

brought little Astrid along with

him to teach her the ranch work

and familiarize her with the

animals. Maria Jose was always the

not-so-silent shadow next to

Astrid, soaking up the information

as Dr. Guerrero answered Astrid’s

many questions. Someday, he

wanted little Astrid to take over the

ranch and continue with his cattle

breeding tradition. In the

meantime, Astrid attended primary

school at the nearby village.

Doña Beatriz, Astrid's mother,

was a city woman, who never liked

to visit the ranch. She hated the


42

smell of the cattle, the humid heat,

and the mosquitoes. Instead, she

preferred to remain in the city

shopping and spending afternoon’s

fofoqueando3 with her friends.

The lack of interest Doña

Beatriz held towards country living

greatly bothered Dr. Guerrero, who

always visited his ranch without

her. As you can imagine, he began

feeling lonely. His companion was

Astrid, who loved traveling along

with her father.

Doña Beatriz was a very

meticulous woman, who was

obsessed with cleanliness and

loved to have her house looking

like a royal palace. Dr. Guerrero

usually arrived home from his

3 Gossiping


43

ranch with his boots covered with

cow manure. He sometimes sat in

the stylish living room, staining the

expensive Persian rug. Doña

Beatriz went ballistic when this

happened.

Dr. Guerrero loved to leave his

cuecas4 scattered all over the

bathroom. Perhaps Dr. Guerrero

did this on purpose just to annoy

her, or maybe this was a way to get

even, as Doña Beatriz loved to

lecture him on minor annoyances

like cleaning his teeth with his

fingernails instead of using a

toothbrush. Doña Beatriz could not

understand, much less accept, that

her cultured husband—he had

studied in England after all—could

4 Men's underwear


44

behave in such a disgusting

manner.

Doña Beatriz had white skin;

she was a little chubby, and stood

at a height of 5’5’’, with blond hair

and blue eyes. She was always

concerned with the way she

looked, she was always groomed,

and she loved to have friends and

guests over to her house. She loved

to visit museums, art galleries, and

attend the movies. She

remembered one day she went to

Galleria Portofino in the Avenida

Paulista in Sao Paulo to see the

exposition of a famed Colombian

painter, Fernando Botero.

Her friend, Tainah, was with

her at the art display. For some

reason, Botero’s picture of Âlta

Sociedad resembled Doña Beatriz’s

more curvaceous figure. When


45

Tainah saw the picture she asked

Doña Beatriz: “Did you pose for

Fernando Botero?” Unfortunately,

Doña Beatriz did not think that was

funny.

Lying at the core of her

vainness and secret feelings of

inadequacy was Doña Beatriz’s not

so secret love of being a socialite

who lived for fofoqueando with her

numerous friends and

acquaintance within the upper

crust of society. Dr. Guerrero hated

this. He was a refined man,

although in his house he behaved

like an immature, spoiled child.

Their neighbors called Doña

Beatriz “Beatriz la emperifollada5.”

5 Someone who likes to overdress, like

Michael Jackson or Elvis Presley in his sequin

jumpsuit and cape.


46

On the contrary, Dr. Guerrero

always dressed like a “filipichin6.”

Dr. Guerrero began spending

more time at his ranch, as things in

his house were not pretty like a

rose garden. After all, he took pride

in his animals and his

surroundings, and he enjoyed the

tranquility and peace of mind his

ranch always provided him. At his

ranch, he felt like a feudal lord

where he had absolute control over

his employees and over his beloved

animals. He loved to ride Don

Pablo, his six-year old paso fino

horse, which was a grand

champion in local contests several

times.

6 A very stylish, wealthy, and conservative

way of dressing. Exudes power.


47

Onix, the black Labrador, could

always be found at his side. Dr.

Guerrero was also a talented guitar

player and singer. He loved to

sleep in his hammock after the sun

set, but some nights he sang. His

servants were delighted to hear

him sing, especially after a day of

hard labor at the ranch. Maria,

José’s wife, was transported to the

moon when she heard him singing

and playing. His voice was music

to her ears. And Dr. Guerrero was a

handsome man, very charming and

polite. He looked a little bit like the

Hollywood legend, Henry Fonda.

It was no coincidence that Astrid

slightly resembled his daughter,

actress Jane Fonda.

* * * *

Dr. Guerrero was an avid

swimmer and fisherman, and he


48

had plenty of water to do both. The

Susacon River, with its crystalline

waters, crossed his ranch. He used

to spend a great deal of time at the

magnificent waterfall, where the

river formed as the water fell from

the mountain. The water made a

tremendous amount of noise when

it hit the bottom. Dr. Guerrero

loved to engage in long sessions of

meditation, yoga, and relaxation at

his cascade.

It was absolute heaven, and he

was very protective of his place of

solitude, even requiring authorized

visits. Dr. Guerrero developed a

meditation technique that consisted

of spending an inordinate amount

of time lying in the grass next to his

waterfall, looking at the trees,

listening to the chatter of the birds,

the macaques, and other wild


49

critters. It effectively cleared his

mind and he loved the feeling.

One Thursday afternoon,

Dr. Guerrero went to his cascade

for his daily meditation session. All

of the sudden he saw Maria, José’s

wife, washing clothes in the river.

He was surprised.

He asked her, "What are you

doing here?"

Maria replied, "Excuse me,

Doctor, but the washing machine at

the house is not working, so I had

no choice but to come here."

"You know that I do not want

anyone here, much less someone

washing clothes and polluting the

river," replied Dr. Guerrero.

"Yes, Doctor I am aware of that.

I am finishing and leaving right

now," Maria replied.


50

Dr. Guerrero had never had his eye

on her. To him, Maria was just

José’s wife—the wife of his

foreman, nothing else. As Dr.

Guerrero began swimming, he

inadvertently saw her underwater.

Her dress was wet and glued to her

legs, exposing her firm body. Maria

had long, firm, well-formed legs.

She was a woman in her thirties,

energetic, charming, and well

poised. Dr. Guerrero never paid

attention to these attributes.

His memories transported him

to his college years when he was

learning how to swim at the sports

compound.

He remembered swimming

behind other students at the pool.

He especially remembered his

classmate Sue, his distant love at


51

East Anglia University, who was

also learning how to swim.

Watching Maria underwater

immediately sent him to a

flashback of the pool in East

Anglia. He became nervous and

excited at the same time.

Meanwhile, Maria continued

washing her clothes, unaware of

his presence. Dr. Guerrero was

slowly approaching Maria. She felt

helpless, but she had often

fantasized about him. She always

felt attracted to him. She found him

‘very fascinating.’

The noise of the waterfall, the

songs of the flying birds, the

distant barking of Onix, and the

tranquil but peculiar noise of

nature created the ideal

environment. They just need a

trigger. Gentle touching was all


52

that was needed, and then nature

took its course.

In the quiet of her nights at the

ranch, Maria let her imagination

run wild. She was a young woman

full of desires and dreams, with

lots of unanswered questions,

ready for an experience she never

thought she could ever have.

Dr. Guerrero was the object of her

desires. She could not help but

imagine Dr. Guerrero, not only as

her boss, but as a handsome man—

elegant, chivalrous, and courteous.

Dr. Guerrero whispered in

Maria’s ear. The sound of the

water, the skin contact, a deep look

into each other’s eyes, the smells of

the body—it is very difficult to

determine at what moment Dr.

Guerrero gently took off Maria’s


53

calzhina7 . He possessed her,

Maria’s loud yelling becoming a

part of the symphonic chorus of the

wild monkeys, birds, and insects.

Maria, for the first time in her life,

had an orgasm, and not just one,

but many.

Dr. Guerrero felt he had come

back to life. He did not recall ever

having an experience like that. Not

even in his college years.

* * * *

Doña Beatriz made sure her

little daughter Astrid would have a

sophisticated upbringing, as some

day Astrid would become a

valuable member of society. Her

education would be instrumental

in achieving success in life. She

reluctantly agreed that Astrid

7 Panties


54

could attend the public school

located in the town nearest to the

fazenda, where Dr. Guerrero

thought it was be easiest to teach

the little girl about the real world.

He was a strict and exacting

taskmaster. And while she loved

her father dearly, she often

struggled to meet his standards

and run his errands as quickly and

correctly as possible.

José, the ranch foreman, was

very happy to have a little girl.

They called her Maria José, in

homage to their love and their

names. They did not have an

education, but they were hard

working people who did their best

to provide Maria José with a good

education. She even went to a

public elementary school to obtain

a basic education.


55

Astrid and Maria José soon

became good friends and

playmates. Even though Astrid was

a couple of years older than Maria

José, they became inseparable.

Together they discovered the

animals, nature, flowers, and birds;

they learned how to hunt, catch

butterflies, fish, and play hide and

seek. Astrid and Maria José shared

toys, food and clothes and they

often slept together. They were like

sisters.

As they grew older, they

began developing different

interests, personalities, and

characteristics and they made

different friends. While Astrid was

a quiet and complacent girl, Maria

José was very hyperactive and

rebellious. She always did unusual

and cruel things just for fun.


56

She loved to throw Chucho,

the house cat, upside down into the

air just to see it land on its four

legs. She was curious as to why

cats always land on their feet. She

tried also with puppy dogs, but the

result was disastrous.

Maria José showed an innate

ability to exercise, ride horses, and

do housework, while Astrid

dreamed of traveling and playing

with dolls. Astrid developed a

passion for collecting plants and

animals and began to create her

own botanical garden and zoo.

Over time, this hobby would lead

her to study biology, the science of

life. Maria José, by contrast, became

interested in boys at school,

whereas Astrid had no interest in

them whatsoever.


57

Maria José loved to spend a lot

of time at the cachoeira8 observing

Dr. Guerrero meditating. When she

was a child, she thought

Dr. Guerrero was dead and

exclaimed to her mother, “Mami,

Mami, Dr. Guerrero is dead! He

does not breathe.”

“No, Maria José,” replied

Maria. “Dr. Guerrero is meditating.”

When she asked what meditating

was, her mother answered, “It is a

technique where a person breathes

very slowly to find mental and

physical peace.”

“I want to find peace,” stated

Maria José.

The battle of the sexes begins at an

early age. The school is the

battleground. The “combatants”

8 Waterfall


58

are divided into several groups: the

“nice,” the “ugly,” the “shy,” the

“nerds,” the “papitos9” and the

“cocky.” Upon observation, in most

cases, the papitos and the cocky

boys want to have all the pretty

girls, and leave the ugly ones to the

shy and the nerds. Out of

frustration, the ugly and the nerdy

children team up to lick their

wounds.

Astrid and Maria José were

not the exception. Both were pretty

girls—attractive and intelligent—

traits that both the papitos and the

nerds pursue feverishly. Maria José

quickly learned about adolescent

obsessions.

At fifteen, she got drunk for the

first time. She soon began partying,

9


59

drinking, and smoking. Astrid, on

the contrary, found these behaviors

absolutely “stupid and primitive,”

in her own words. She pledged to

herself that she would never do

those kinds of things. “I do not

need, nor do I want to behave like a

primitive,” she would say. “I really

don’t care about peer pressure,

television, fashion, parties, or any

other type of stupid adolescent

behavior.” She was determined to

conserve her virginity until the day

she married her husband with blue

or green eyes, but never brown.

Everyone at school, including

Maria José, thought that Astrid was

weird. Astrid could care less

because she was focused on her

future; she wanted to become a

scientist.

* * * *


60

At 28 years of age, Astrid was a

very successful young professional,

full of life and ready to pursue her

most ambitious dream: to become a

well-known neurobiologist. But for

this, she would have to go to a

foreign country, where the sciences

are more advanced. She did her

homework on where to go: Europe

or America. In Europe, she could

go to France, Spain, or Germany. In

North America, her choices were

only Canada or the United States.

She decided to head to Germany, a

country that achieved major

advances in biological research.

Although she did not openly

admit it, one of the reasons Astrid

wanted to leave her country,

besides pursuing a scientific career,

was the fact that she was tired of


61

dealing with a machista10 society,

where men think that women are a

¨piece of meat¨ good only for

physical pleasure.

As her research continued, she

found that women are predators as

well—to a lower degree and with

less sophistication—but still,

women want and enjoy the same

urges as their male counterparts.

She also found that a woman will

go to great extents in order to get

what she wants, even if she has to

exercise some predatory practices.

All of these phenomena deeply

intrigued her, and she was

determined to find an answer—an

answer from science, as she was

tired of reading speculations from

self-appointed gurus who believed,

10

Male dominated, machismo, patriarchal


62

or made people believe, that they

had all the answers. She got tired of

watching sensationalist TV shows,

where self-declared experts instruct

the audience on how to

“successfully” exchange flesh back

and forth in the name of happiness.

She set out and prepared herself to

study.

* * * *

That Sunday afternoon on

January 7th, Astrid boarded the 747

Boeing of Lufthansa Airlines,

heading for Germany. It was the

first time Astrid rode on a plane.

The flight went smoothly for

several hours, until it hit a

thunderstorm in the middle of the

Atlantic Ocean between the South

American coast and the coast of

Africa. Astrid became scared.


63

She put herself in the

situation of the passengers who

perish in an airplane crash. She

imagined their last moments. It is

hard to describe the behavior, the

feelings, the emotions of hundred

of passengers stranded in a

doomed airplane. Astrid counted

the minutes and the seconds the

passengers had to wait until their

fates were sealed for good. Sheer

terror came over her. She imagined

surviving an airplane crash and

being interviewed in the TV news.

She imagined being famous.

Several hours later, Mr. Kohl, a

family friend living in Germany,

greeted Astrid at the Frankfurt

airport. They took the train to

Munich, passing far too many

castles from the medieval era along

the Rhine river. Astrid thought


64

about how she would love to live

in one of them with her charmed

prince with blue or green eyes, but

never brown.

At the beginning, Mr. Kohl was

very accommodating and friendly,

but within weeks things changed.

Mr. Kohl wanted Astrid to do

house chores, to cook, to clean, and

to do other activities that are not

proper among friends and guests.

Astrid then found herself between

a rock and a hard place. With no

friends, very little money and no

German language skills, she had no

choice but to find a job as a

babysitter, which at least gave her

food and shelter and a little money

for expenses.

But Astrid soon became bored

with her job. After all, she did not

come to Germany to clean the little


65

rears of spoiled German babies and

put up with their neurotic and

demanding mothers. On top of

that, Mr. Maximilien Frederick von

Paulus, a modern day aristocrat,

was the owner of the house. He

was tall and had green eyes, and

began looking at her in a lascivious

way. His wife Bettina, although

pretty, was harsh, demanding, and

not well-groomed. It was only a

matter of time until he would make

several unsolicited physical

advances to her. These events

forced Astrid to leave that place.

Six months after her arrival in

Germany, Astrid felt as if she was

wasting her time; she was going

nowhere, and while studying

German, she was making barely

enough money to survive. Her

personal life was also a disaster,


66

but she was determined to fulfill

her dream of becoming a scientist,

no matter what kind of sacrifices

she had to make. At that time in

her life, pursuing her studies was

the only thing that kept her alive.

She repeated to herself over and

over and over, "My God how could

I have been so stupid, how could I

be so unprepared, how?"

Meanwhile, the rhythm of life

continued as it always does, a

monotonous rhythm unfortunately

for Astrid. On weekends she went

to Marien Platz, located at the

Sparkassen Strasse—a popular

gathering place in Munich—to

attend concerts featuring major

German and international

composers. She was attracted

particularly to the tragic and


67

intense musical vibrations of

Wagner.

After the concert, it was

customary to drink hot wine to

fight off the intense winter cold of

Germany, as winters in there were

a nightmare. And when a lot of

people get together to drink hot

wine, interesting conversations and

unusual behaviors arise. People

switch to hard liquors such as beer,

whisky, brandy, cognac, tequila,

cachaza11, even aguardiente12.

In the middle of the euphoria

and excited by the music—the

German folk music is quite

engaging—people become

inhibited and begin making

advances towards each other.

11

12


68

Munich was celebrating

Oktoberfest, where Germans and

people from all over the world

attend a beer festival to drink all

kinds of beer in enormous

quantities and eat all sorts of

frankfurter


69

30,000 days for Mr. William Kantshakes

A Novel

By

Ignacio Sanabria


70

ISBN: 978-1456473921

Copyright ©. 30,000 Days for Mr.

William Kantshakes. Ignacio

Sanabria, M.Ed., Author, 2011. All

rights reserved. This book is

protected by copyright. No parts of

this book may be reproduced in

any form or by any means,

including photocopying, or utilized

by any information storage and

retrieval system without writing

permission from the copyright

holder.


71

Days Years 1,000 2.74 2,000 5.48 3,000 8.22 4,000 10.96 5,000 13.70 6,000 16.44 7,000 19.18 8,000 21.92 9,000 24.66 10,000 27.40 11,000 30.14 12,000 32.88 13,000 35.62 14,000 38.36 15,000 41.10 16,000 43.84 17,000 46.58 18,000 49.32 19,000 52.05 20,000 54.79 21,000 57.53


72

22,000 60.27 23,000 63.01 24,000 65.75 25,000 68.49 26,000 71.23 27,000 73.97 28,000 76.71 29,000 79.45 30,000 82.19


73

Chapter One

My First 5000 Days

From Birth to 13 and a half years of

age.

The protagonist of this story is

time. Although an individual can

skip a thought here and there, she

would never be able to skip time,

unless she enters the world of the

dead. Even in the world of death,

she enters the world of merciless

and infinite time. Time is a

constrainer, time is a facilitator, but

time can cause agony. In fact,

agony is measured in time; so is


74

happiness, and so is pain. Pain and

happiness are measured in time,

and so is life. Life, then, is the time

we spend switching between

happiness and pain.

“Have a good time,” is a

customary salutation when we say

good-bye to each other, or we

might say, “Excuse me, do you

have the time?” “Which one, yours,

or mine?” is a very unlikely

answer. “It is time for lunch,” is the

most likely answer.

This short verbal engagement

would take place between Mr. Pete

Schoppenhauer, the successful but

lonely male jogger at NY`s Central

Park. It was usually witnessed by

Fifo, his faithful companion (who

by the way is unaware of time) and

the cute passerby whom he is

trying to engage.


75

As time and space are our

tyrants, we must fight them with

happiness. Time and space will

then lose their grip on us.

Mr. Ford used to brag about

the twenty-five years of

uninterrupted happiness he

experienced while working for the

government as a taxman. Ms.

Pineapple remembered all the

happiest times when she gathered

her numerous family for

Thanksgiving celebrations, where

half a dozen turkeys were

slaughtered for the sake of

happiness. “It was the happiest

time of my life,” Mr. Bush, the

skilled butcher, used to say, but I

never knew what these happiest

times were for Mr. Bush. It

certainly could not be for the

countless sheep, cows, pigs, and


76

goats, even horses, Mr. Bush used

to slaughter in the name of

happiness. But grilling Mr. Bush’s

steaks on a sunny Sunday

afternoon brought us a lot of

happiness, indeed. We had a good

time, so was Mr. Bush right?

Mr. Einstein also had his

brushes with time. He used to say,

"Only two things are infinite: the

universe and human stupidity, and

I am not sure about the former."

It is now the time to begin

keeping track of my own time. This

is the story of the 30,000 days I

stayed on this earth.

* * * *

The minimum time someone

has stayed on this planet is less

than one day, maybe a few minutes

or hours. The maximum was 46,355

days, which was lived by Ms. Jean


77

Calvet, who died in 1997. I was

assigned 30,000 days, exactly. My

good friend, Gabriela, was

assigned 24,465 days. Methuselah,

the longest living individual

according to the Bible, had 353,685

days, or 762% more days than of

Ms. Calvet, and 848% more time

than myself.

The question still is what to

do with all of these days available

to us, whether it is one single day

or 400,000 days.

In any case, once a day is

gone, it is gone forever. So, it is

understandable that the wonderful

days are desired to last forever and

the painful days should end

quickly, even before the end of the

day inexorably arrives.

The story of my days is

exactly the same as someone else’s


78

days, as we all do exactly the same,

day in and day out. It does not

come as a surprise that half of

humanity is obsessed in finding out

what the other half is doing with

their time. The days of dignitaries,

high profile figures, celebrities,

sportspersons, and actors, are

meticulously accounted for, even

on an hourly basis. So are the days

of prison inmates.

But pesky husbands and wives

are also obsessed with what the

other half is doing. Obsessed

parents are also fixated on what

their kids are doing at any given

time, although there are parents

who do not give a damn about

their kids. The latter, unfortunately,

was my case. My parents gave me

away to my grandparents.


79

In a sense, there was some

sort of scandal associated with the

origins of my life. This story of my

time and my life began that fateful

night of Christmas Eve in

Leavenworth, Washington, a small

town a couple of hours drive from

Seattle. That evening, everybody

was happy, cheerful, and ready to

open their gifts.

My father, William Kent,

was the typical All-American boy

who loved to listen to rock music,

to wear hair brilliantine, to drive

my grandpa’s red Bel Air 1956

Chevrolet, to chase the girls and to

take them to watch drive-in

movies, accompanied with hot

dogs, pizza, and of course, Coca

Cola and Marlboros. It did not

matter that the pesky smell of

tobacco would chase some girls


80

away because of the bad breath.

Chiclets Adams would easily solve

the problem of bad breath. Many

generations of Americans owe their

existence to Chiclets Adams.

As was customary, my

father, who was 8,000 days old at

the time, took one of his favorite

girlfriends, Emmanuelle Chase, a

cute and shabby 7,000 day-old girl,

to the Paradise Drive-In.

The Paradise Drive-In was

the gathering point for all boys and

girls looking to have some fun.

Attendees remember that during

and after the movie , it was

customary to see all the vehicles

moving and waving like they were

boats on the high seas. It was funny

to see fifty or perhaps seventy

vehicles lined up, rolling like ocean

waves. You could see heads and


81

toes through the car windows, and

you could hear the frantic and loud

yelling.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh,

my God,”—most similar to the

sound a pig makes when it is

slaughtered at the slaughterhouse.

My father William Kent,

who was under the effects of

smoking Marlboro and drinking

tons of cans of Coke, chewing

Chiclets gum, initiated a wrestling

match with my mother

Emmanuelle in the back seat of the

old red 56 Chevy. My mother later

on confessed me that she loved to

lie on the back of the Chevy

because it was comfy and loved to

spend a lot of time there thinking

about nothing. All of a sudden, the

Chevy was waving, and during the

confusion, I was conceived.


82

Bystanders cheered and

applauded, as if they were

watching a sport competition, but

while it initially appeared to be a

scandal, it was just business as

usual.

The oxytocin secreted by my

father and my mother that night in

the back seat of the 56 Chevy was

enough to change the world, at

least my world, my father’s world,

my mother’s world and everything

in between. I was always curious to

find out how much of the oxytocin

secreted by all people jammed in

these vehicles at the Paradise

Drive-In ended in babies like me.

Perhaps someday we could form

an association, an association of

babes made at the Paradise Drive-

In. It could be named “The

Paradise Drive-In Baby Boomer


83

Users Group, Leavenworth,

Washington, 1965.”

A lot of babies around the

nation were manufactured in drive-

ins, hosting Chevys, Fords,

Dodges, and Mercurys. All the

participants were under the

influence of hot dogs, Coca Cola,

Marlboro and Chiclets. The Bureau

of Statistics, the office in charge of

keeping track of numbers about

anything and everything, called

these babies the “Baby Boomer”

generation.

Some sociologists credit the

boom of the baby boomer

generation to the fact that after

World War II, all of these

combatants had nothing better to

do but to engage in oxytocin rituals

with the girls who were crazy

about boys who’d survived the war


84

and wore uniforms. My father was

one of these irresistible war

survivors, and he was ready to

spread his name around.

Nine months after that

fateful Christmas Eve I was born

out of wedlock. My grandparents

Joe and Louise, my mother’s

parents, were fuming. It took them

a while to accept this disappointing

news, as they wanted my mother to

go to college, to save some money,

and then get married with a boy

“worth her while,” as my grandma

used to say. Once my grandparents

overcame the disappointment

about the reckless behavior of my

parents, they had no choice but to

accept their new fate and help to

put them through college.

Meanwhile, my grandparents


85

raised me, while my parents went

to college.

As early as I can remember,

that is, when I had lived a mere

1,000 days, all I did was to play

with cars, to wet my pants, and to

cry and scream for almost

anything.

By the time I had lived 2,000

days, I was climbing to my tree

house in the backyard of the house.

Grandpa Joe built it for me. Years

later, I discovered that he wanted

to get rid of me while he was

seated in the living room, reading

the newspaper, watching endless

sport games on TV, and smoking

like a chimney. Meanwhile,

Grandma Louise secluded herself

in her kitchen. I became addicted to

her cookies. My tree house and

Grandma Louise’s cookies with


86

pasteurized milk were my universe

for years.

I loved to spend inordinate

amounts of time in my tree house,

doing nothing but playing with

cars and imagining fantastic stories

and scenarios. I loved imagining

myself as a bird. I could fly far and

away and see the world with a

bird’s eye view. I also imagined

that I was a great white shark. Or

better, I was Marianella, the

relentless killer whale, so I could

swim the entire ocean and eat all

the fish I wanted. I loved to

imagine being abducted by an alien

and taken to outer space, where I

could play with little aliens. But I

wondered how their alien dogs

would look. I wondered how they

would move their tails.


87

When I was in my tree house, I

dreamed and dreamed and

dreamed. I imagined how the

bottom of the ocean would look or

how the earth would look from

space.

Instead of coming down to

interrupt my own day-dreaming, I

told Grandma Louise, “Grandma, I

am sending you my bucket. Please

put some milk and my favorite

coconut cookies in the basket.” I

had a bucket attached to a cord,

Grandma Louise put my snacks in,

while I hauled them up. Pick up

times were 9:15 AM, 12:00 Noon,

2:45 PM, and 5:45 PM every day. It

worked religiously.

Other than that, I was glued to

my tree house. But occasionally,

Grandmother Louise called me for

lunch or a snack, a situation that


88

greatly disturbed me. Pete, my

black Labrador, was always

barking, because he always wanted

to be with me in my tree house. I

bribed Grandpa Joe to bring the

dog to my tree house. He did it

only a couple of times per week.

The rest of the time, he spent sitting

in front of the TV, watching boring

sport games and smoking.

Grandmother Louise spent

her days in the kitchen, cooking all

sorts of dishes. She cooked very

tasty cookies, especially the

coconut ones which I loved to eat

very much with milk, so my bones

would grow strong, as she used to

tell me. One day I asked her why

she loved to cook so much, and she

told me, “because I love to cook,

and besides a woman wins a man’s

heart through his stomach.”


89

Grandma Louise

occasionally abandoned the house

to go to the supermarket, to mass

on Sundays, and to visit her

longtime friend Mary, a 24,386 day-

old widow. The rest of her time,

she remained at home.

When I completed 5,000 days

of existence, my father William and

my mother Emmanuelle decided

that I was ready for elementary

school, as I’d previously refused to

go to kindergarten. But I refused to

go to elementary school too. I

thought that it was not of useful

purpose to go to these places to

waste my time fighting kids my

age for a Coke, a hot dog, a pretzel

or a bagel. I could get tons of these

at home, but without the fighting.

Besides, I was not interested

in learning how to write or how to


90

read. I always thought that the real

meaning of life was to lie in my tree

house and to think about nothing. I

mean, what else is there in life but

to entertain your thoughts at will,

instead of wasting time at school? I

used to tell them what Bertrand

Russell, the philosopher, once said:

"Men are born ignorant, not stupid.

They are made stupid by

education," but they always

refused to listen to me. But my

grandparents and my parents

insisted. They bribed and

threatened to send me to my aunt

Eduvigis, who lived in Hawaii, a

stingy woman of bad character.

So, reluctantly, I entered

school. The first few months were

fun, as I played a lot with my

unruly friends, but when I got


91

home from school, all I did was to

go to my tree house and stay there.

My problems began when

my teacher, Ms. Rosenberg, began

asking for my finished homework.

I did not even care to watch

boring TV programs, not even

Sesame Street or The Simpsons. My

tree house gave me all I needed. I

had my toys, my bed, my blankets,

Heriberto my clown, and Pete, my

unruly and noisy black Labrador.

But within weeks, they

forbade me to stay in my tree

house until I did my homework. As

I continued to refuse it, my

grandparents were summoned to

the school. They became very

furious with me, and threatened to

eliminate my tree house privileges

forever. I became mad, really mad.


92

I hated school so much that I

plotted a strategy to get expelled.

One day I told Ms. Rosenberg,

my cute 19,000 day-old teacher,

“Ms. Rosenberg, you either give me

a passionate kiss, or I will poke

your butt with my fork.” But she

laughed like a dwarf instead, and I

got really furious. She was not

taking me seriously.

The next day, I did the same

thing. This time she just smiled,

and she told me, “Billy, this is not

appropriate for a teacher. Besides,

you are too young for a kiss.” The

next day I furiously told her, “You

give me a passionate kiss, or I will

poke your butt with my fork.” And

I pinched her butt.

She screamed and sent me to

my seat. She wrote a report to my

grandparents. The next day, I did


93

the same thing. This time, Ms.

Rosenberg got a cut, and she had to

go to the infirmary for a bandage.

My grandparents were

summoned to the school. The

principal told them, “This kid

needs some restraining, as this may

get worse instead of get better.” I

was diagnosed with Attention

Deficit Disorder by the school

shrink, and placed on medication, a

nasty tasting thing called Ritalin. I

took one or two pills and faked the

rest. I did not want anything of

this. I just wanted to be at home,

spending my time in my tree house

and playing with my cars, with

Heriberto, Pete, and eating coconut

cookies with pasteurized milk. I

was mad these grown-up people

could not understand something as

simple as this.


94

But it didn’t work. So, I

invented something stranger and

more dangerous. I brought a huge

bag full of cookies from Grandma

Louise to the school and gave them

to the boys in exchange for having

them to yell in chorus, “Ms.

Rosenberg, give us a passionate

kiss, or we will pinch your butt.”

It got nasty. Seven kids

pinched her at the same time. Ms.

Rosenberg was taken to the

infirmary, as she was bleeding, and

the police came afterwards.

The shrink dictated that the

Ritalin was not working, that I

needed a straightjacket. Ritalin was

not working because I replaced the

medication with Chiclets Adams,

the same brand my parents chewed

in the infamous escapades at the

Paradise Drive-In.


95

After a week of being held in a

straightjacket, I began crying so

loud that I finally got my wish. I

got expelled from elementary

school for abnormal behavior. By

then, I had the solution to my

problems. I told my grandparents,

“You get me a private tutor, chosen

by me, or else.” That else was for

me to become an illiterate, ignorant

for the rest of my life, which I

thought was fun. Finally, I told

them what Jacques Rousseau, the

French philosopher, used to say,

“Men are born good, but they are

corrupted by society.” So why risk

being corrupted by society if all I

want to do is to stay in my tree

house? And by doing so, perhaps I

could avoid corruption and

another host of bad maladies.


96

Seven people applied for the

job of becoming my private tutor. I

chose Ms. Tucker, currently living

her 7,300th day of her existence.

She was a gorgeous redheaded

energetic teacher from Boise, Idaho,

who moved to the Seattle area to

pursue a career as a school teacher.

I liked her from the first moment I

saw her, and she felt the same.

Besides, the pay was good, and she

desperately needed the money.

Within months, I was

reading, writing, singing, playing,

having fun and enjoying my life.

All my classes were held in my tree

house.

"I like this place and

willingly could waste my time in

it," I told Ms. Tucker when she first

entered my tree house. She was

curious about my quote.


97

“Where did you learn this?”

she asked.

“I have no idea,” I replied. I

guess I heard it from someone.

By the time I had lived 3,000

days, I was very proficient in

English, math, French, Spanish,

physics, chemistry, geography and

history. My parents were so happy

that for Christmas, they gave me

the complete works of someone

that sounded like Milk Shakes, or

something like that, and the book

Critique of Treason by Manolo Ken,

or something like that. I felt that

was a silly idea for them to give me

books as a Christmas gift. Besides, I

was expecting something like

Superman, Batman, Snow Whites

and the Seven Dwarves, or Peter

Pan.


98

The 2,000 days I spent with Ms.

Tucker were instrumental in

learning the basics of life. In fact, I

was more mature than kids that

had lived the same days as I,

thanks to Ms. Tucker who taught

me a lot of things. She also taught

me about how women think and

feel. Many days later, I discovered

that women hold the key for

survival. It took me the entire

30,000 days of my existence to

figure that out. In fact, the very last

day of my life I learned something

that I could not have learned

otherwise. By then, it was too late.

But at the time, I did not

understand a thing about what she

was talking about. She flat-out told

me, “Billy, when you grow up,

your success or failure in life does

not depend on how smart or how


99

stupid you are. It won’t depend on

your fate, destiny nor luck, but in

how well or how badly you interact

with women. Women are either a

real pain in the neck, or they can be

the best friends you could ever

have. Your success or failure in life

may depend on the kind of women

you get involved with.

“Someday, you will fall in love,

and then you will understand what

I am talking about. Have you been

seen those little cute bears called

the Tasmanian devils? I would

suggest you research them. They

are unique. Someday you will

know why. Also, always

remember, Billy, what Martin

Luther King, Jr. once said: ‘Nothing

in the world is more dangerous

than sincere ignorance and

conscientious stupidity.’”


100

I could not quite understand

these words, but I guessed life

someday would show me the

wisdom of these words. But I was

more confused than ever. I did not

understand anything of what she

was talking about. She finally told

me, “Billy, study the

neurophysiology of women and

the neurophysiology of men, then

compare both, and you will find

clues as to why men and women

find it so difficult to get along with

each other. Also, remember that

men and women behave differently

according to the cultures they are

living in. In the end, a woman will

always be a woman and a man will

always be a man. Although, some

men have this secret, and

sometimes not-so-secret desire to

dress like a woman.”


101

“Yes, I know that. They are

called drag queens,” I told her.

“How do you know that?”

she asked.

“I saw it on TV.”

“But, you told me that you

hate to watch TV!”

“Yes, I do hate to watch TV,

but it was one day I was doing

some errands for Grandpa Joe. I

was bringing his cigarettes, and I

could not help but to watch what

he was watching. I accidentally

saw a carnival in a country called

Rio de Janeiro, where I saw men

dressed like women.”

“The country is called Brazil,

and the city is called Rio de

Janeiro,” Ms. Tucker told me.

I asked her, “Ms. Tucker, it

seems that you know a lot about

how men and women interact.


102

Why do you let that loser Ishmael

to mistreat you?”

She just replied, “This is the

mystery of life, Billy, the mystery of

life.” By then, my head was

spinning.

She even went further and

confessed to me. She confessed to

me that she felt very lonely, as she

had no family in Seattle. All her

family was in Idaho. She also

talked about Ishmael.

I did not like Ms. Tucker’s

boyfriend, Ishmael Johnson. He

drove a fast and noisy black 1966

Pontiac, smoked like a chimney,

drank beer, and smelled like a

ferret. His language was very

grotesque. He repeated the word

‘fucking’ at least a hundred times

every minute. It was tiresome to

watch and listen to him.


103

On the contrary, Ms. Tucker

was a very beautiful, sophisticated,

intelligent woman, but it seemed to

me that she did not know how to

handle men. It was difficult for me

to understand these peculiar

details, as I did not know anything

about love.

One day, I accompanied her

to look for her boyfriend in a

tavern. He was drinking beer,

shooting pool, and he was kissing a

girl.

“What are you doing here?” he

asked her.

“Hi, honey. I came looking

for you because I wanted to take

you to dinner, and perhaps go

dancing.”

“I’m busy! Can’t you see that?

I’ll see you tonight at home. By the


104

way, give me $100 bucks. I need it

urgently.”

“What do you need the

money for?”

“It is none of your business.

Just give me the fucking money,

now!” She handed him a $100 bill.

It was the first time I knew

that money was something to fuck

around, or at least to use to fuck. I

imagined having a lot of money, so

I could fuck. I imagined a twenty

dollar bill fucking a five dollar bill

four times, or worse, the twenty

dollar bill fucking the one dollar

bill twenty times. The 100 dollar

bill would die of a heart attack, I

thought, as 100 times is too many

times to fuck a poor one dollar bill.

Ms. Tucker left the smoky

place crying. “Do not cry, Ms.

Tucker,” I told her, and I hugged


105

her. She began crying on my

shoulder.

I felt like a big man! Here I

was, an almost 4,000 day-old kid,

hugging and comforting an 8,800

day-old gorgeous woman who

happened to be my teacher. I was

protecting her from danger. I was

her backbone. I was her confidant. I

am Mr. Big, I thought.

Ms. Tucker went for

relationship counseling, and after a

while, she finally left that loser and

began doing her Master’s in

Education at Seattle University. She

wanted to become a certified

schoolteacher. She loved to teach.

But I loved to hug her and to

comfort her, until she would

probably get tired of being hugged

by a 4,000 day-old kid. I would

assume that she was more


106

interested in being hugged by at

least a 10,000 days or older boy, or

man, for that matter.

By the time I reached my

4,000th day of existence, I entered

high school because my parents

decided that I had to go through

the regular public educational

system. I went to Belleview High

School in Leavenworth,

Washington.

The first year of high school

was a nightmare, a living hell. I

was accustomed to doing my

things on my own, at my own

schedule. Now, I had to get up at

5:45 AM so I could be at school at

7:00 AM. My classmates were very

unruly, spoiled, and irresponsible

kids that did not care much about

going to school. They liked to fight,

chase girls, and to smoke in the


107

bathrooms. They had this ugly

custom of wearing their ugly and

very long pants at the middle of

their butts. They often ran around

the school campus sustaining their

pants with one hand and trying to

hold their schoolbags with the

other.

Meanwhile, I was dressing like

Elvis Presley and James Dean. I

loved to wear moccasins, not

sneakers, Levi jeans adjusted to my

body, and shirts with short sleeves.

My hair style was like Elvis Presley

some days and like James Dean

other days. This fashion caused a

tremendous uproar at the school.

The girls thought it was cool, but

the boys called me nerd, strange,

weird, fossil, and Neanderthal.

But perhaps the biggest

issue was my name. My name is


108

William Kantshakes because of

William Shakespeare and

Immanuel Kant. Less than 2% of

the school knew who they were.

My school classmates had a contest

to see who could come up with the

weirdest nickname, so they could

make fun of me. Billy the Silly,

Milkshakes, Vanilla Shakes,

Supercan, Captaincan, the Wisecan,

Shakethepear, Chokethecan, and

Drinkthecan all got tossed around.

I did not understand why there

was so much fuss about a name.

"What's in a name? That which we

call a rose by any other name

would smell as sweet´´.

But I was not willing to

become the laughing stock of my

classmates. I decided to fight back.

From then on, I would only talk

like Shakespeare and Kant. If my


109

teachers and classmates did not

understand a syllable of what I was

saying, I couldn’t care less. Besides,

their command of their English

language was very primitive, and I

did not want to repeat the word

fuck a million times per day. That

was disgusting, I thought.

A truck driver would have a

better command of the English

language than most of my

schoolmates. I recovered the

complete collection of

Shakespeare’s work and Kant`s

book, his Critique of Pure Reason,

that my parents gave me some

years ago. I wrote my own

dictionary of words to be used at

school.

For example, when I wanted

to address my classmates I told

them: "Friends, Romans,


110

countrymen, lend me your ears; I

come to bury Caesar, not to praise

him." When kids from higher

grades became very aggressive and

abusive to lower grade kids, I told

them, "If you prick us, do we not

bleed? If you tickle us, do we not

laugh? If you poison us, do we not

die? And if you wrong us, shall we

not revenge?” As boys and girls at

school were chasing each other, I

said, "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore

art thou Romeo?" As kids always

were eating lots of ice cream, hot

dogs, pizzas, burgers and all the

junk food available, I quoted at

them, "Can one desire too much of

a good thing?"

Within months, the entire

school was speaking and quoting

Shakespeare. Even the parents at

home were talking in Elizabethan


111

English with their kids. Soon the

entire city of Leavenworth,

Washington, was doing business in

Shakespearean terms. The

supermarkets, the government

offices, the cab drivers, attorneys,

doctors everybody else was

speaking Shakespearean language.

It got to a point where if you did

not quote Shakespeare, you were

not able to communicate with each

other.

The media took notice. They

interviewed me, and I became an

instant superstar. Long trips, TV,

radio, newspaper, interviews,

became my next favorite pastimes.

The ´´Lucy´´ show lost its audience

overnight, until I appeared on the

show to demonstrate the bounties

of the Shakespearean language. I

negotiated handsome appearance


112

fees for my presentations. I became

rich. I was only 5,000 days old. Now

that I have a lot of money, I can fuck, I

thought.

It was a matter of time until

this cultural fashion moved to

Seattle, then to Portland, then to

California. In two years, the entire

country was speaking

Shakespearean slang.

Foreign tourists to the United

States had to learn how to speak

Shakespearean in order to visit

Disneyland. Business people had to

relearn English in order to do

business, and the judiciary system

had to carry out trials in

Shakespearean terms. The U.S.

Congress was enacting laws in

Elizabethan English honoring

Isabel I the daughter of Richard

VIII and Ana Bolena.


113

TV programming, the

movies, talk shows, newspapers,

the Internet’s social media—all of

them switched to the language of

Shakespeare. Those who resisted

the bandwagon had to express

themselves in sign language.

It was not a surprise that the

Shakespearean fad was adopted all

over the world. The United States

and the world had seen nothing

like it. Even France, a country

famous because of its resistance to

cultural changes from abroad, had

no choice but to embrace the trend.

In just 3,500 days, the planet

was talking the same way it had

four hundred years before.

Language barriers had ended and

communication among cultures

had substantially improved. People

became more lovable, romantic,


114

and civilized. Violence diminished

to record low points. There was no

point in being aggressive, as by just

quoting Shakespeare, people

became at ease and relaxed.

But unfortunately, crime and

criminal enterprises were

conducted in Shakespearean

language too. Criminals argued

that some plays of Shakespeare

talked about violence, death,

tragedy, pain, and sorrow. When

incarcerated, criminals recited

Shakespeare day in and day out.

The jail guards followed suit. Jails

became Shakespearean cults.

One day, Ms. Creighton, a

new neighbor, went to my

grandparent’s house. She wanted

to make friends with Grandma

Louise. She asked my grandma if

she could babysit her 2,000 day-old


115

daughter Jenny for a few days, as

Ms. Creighton had to be out of

town in search of employment

opportunities.


116

The State Dinner

By

Ignacio Sanabria,M.E.d.

Copyright ©. The State Dinner.

Ignacio Sanabria, M.Ed., Author,

2013. All rights reserved. This book

is protected by copyright. No parts

of this book may be reproduced in

any form or by any means,

including photocopying, or utilized

by any information storage and

retrieval system without writing

permission from the copyright

holder.


117

PROLOGUE

On Saturday, November 22, 1963 around 3:30 p.m. in the afternoon, we were playing “hide and seek” at the “El Bosque” park with my brothers and friends. I was living in the city of Tunja, capital of the state of Boyacá, Republic of Colombia. I was living with my mother, my brothers and my grandparents, as my father had died on October 22, 1962, exactly one year and one month earlier from that fateful day.

Television back then was in black and white. The news was transmitting a very tragic event: The President of the United States, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was assassinated by a lone assassin,


118

while on a state visit in Dallas, in the state of Texas. At seven years of age, one knows very little about world affairs, let alone about countries and cities.

I remember seeing some a few months earlier an American magazine called “LIFE” showing black and white pictures of the president and his family in the White House. I also remembered seeing a cute blond girl called Caroline, about five years old, who was the president's daughter.

During the next two weeks, the country was paralyzed and sad, everybody was crying in the streets and the news and major newspapers were repeating TV footage of his visit to Colombia, two years earlier, in December 17th, 1961.

During JFK's funeral, I was


119

intrigued by a lonely horse walking without a rider along with the president's coffin but with a twisted military boot in the opposite direction. I thought that it was the president's horse and that the horse was sad. The horse was unruly and nervous.

Caroline, and his little brother, John-John, were holding hands with her mother Jacqueline Kennedy at the funeral.

By age fifteen, I began watching Marlboro commercials with riders from the wild west arreando cattle. My father had a cattle ranch and I was familiar with the faena. I thought our cowboys were more skilled than the Marlboro ones.

By age twenty two I was working at a bank, in a city called Villavicencio, state of Meta. While


120

there, I met Mr. Richard Kirby, a 76 year old a genuine cowboy from Houston, Texas, who happened to own a cattle ranch in the region. He wore cowboy boots, Wrangler jeans and a Stetson hat. He used to own a big cattle ranch in the Texas panhandle. I associated him with the Marlboro commercials. I made friends with him and asked who JFK was. I remembered him telling me “He was the greatest president after Lincoln, but we killed him in Texas. What a shame.”

From then on, I decided that I would save some money, improve my English skills and go to the United States to learn more about him. In 1986, at age 29, I travelled to the United States to study. As I began living my new life in the United States, I watched lots of TV documentaries on the life of JFK.


121

My admiration for him began to grow. But I also learned about his life shortcomings, mostly his illnesses and his womanizing. I had mixed feelings about it. JFK was my hero. I wanted my hero to be “perfect” but he was not perfect. He was a human being like anybody else. Like the rest of us.

But the only heroes in this world are the ones created in the Greek mythology, such us Hercules, Theseus, Perseus, Achilles, Atlas and others. Their father was the Almighty Zeus, the god of Olympus, also known as Jupiter by the Romans.

So, if JFK was a hero, and Zeus was the god that created heroes, then JFK must be the son of Zeus. However, my real hero was my father, Hector Joaquin Sanabria Davila, who died when I was six


122

years old. Consequently he must also be Zeus's son. Now I have two heroes.

This is their story.


123

To the living and loving memory of the

siblings of John Fitzgerald Kennedy (1917-1963):

Joe Patrick Kennedy (1888-1969), Rose Fitzgerald (1890-1994), Joe Kennedy Jr. (1915-1942), Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis (1929-1994), John Kennedy Jr. (1960-1999), Edward

Kennedy (1932-2009)

and

The siblings of Hector Joaquin Sanabria Davila (1922-1962):

Ilva Azucena Baron Tarazona (1929-2010), Ruben Alberto Sanabria Baron

(1961-1991), Alfonso Cipriano Sanabria Davila, (1924-2012), Aurita

Pineda de Sanabria (1940-1972),


124

Adan Tarazona (1880-1954), Arcelina Tarazona de Baron (1900-1989), Ruben Baron Castro(1890-1972),

Cipriano Sanabria(1887-1945), Isabel Davila de Sanabria (1901-1952), Bernarda Rodriguez de Tarazona (1898-1970), Victoria Sanabria de

Puentes (1932-1997), Marien Hernandez Sanabria(1951-1984),

Alvaro Tarazona Rodriguez (1931-2001)


125

Chapter One

Two Heroes Find Each Other

On Saturday, December 17, 1961, a Boeing 707 landed at the Eldorado International airport in Bogota, Colombia, at 9:20 am. It arrived from Caracas, Venezuela, and previous to that, from San Juan Puerto Rico as part of a three day state visit to Latin America by the president of the United States of America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who came accompanied by his wife, Jacqueline Kennedy, members of his cabinet, fourteen members of the press and special guests.

This state visit was to officially launch JFK's flagship program “Alliance for Progress” and to


126

report on his “Peace Corps” project. JFK had spent several years working on these projects in order to establish a long and lasting relationship between the rich and powerful North and the impoverished and overpopulated southern part of the American continent.

The north became rich, most likely as a result of the hard work of the first settlers, the Europeans, mostly from England, who settled the north part of the continent, circa 1607, and quickly developed the continent, making sure the United States of America, would, someday, dominate the world scene.

The South became poor, probably as a result of poor work, or plain laziness, as some callous historians described the Spaniards,


127

who arrived in 1492, and who wasted no time in ransacking and looting the riches of the continent, mostly gold, species and other valuable natural resources with no other purpose than to use these riches to finance endless and futile religious and dynastic wars in Europe.

Both settlers, the Spaniards and the English, along with the French, made sure the Native Americans aborigines, were surely and totally exterminated.

Some four hundred and fifty years later, after WWII, and after a series of small and large wars, mostly in Europe but branching out to Asia, Africa and South America, of which the most pivotal of all was the French revolution in 1789, where the eternal peasants after consecutively being denied the


128

right to eat some bread and beans, decided to guillotine Louis XVI and his beautiful Marie Antoinette along with her children and Fufuruchis, her beloved black French Poodle. At some point the revolutionaries would have spared Fufuruchis's life, but Marie Antoinette was not going to leave her beloved puppy behind who may end up becoming sausage for the hungry revolutionaries.

From then on, some painful experimentation with different social and economic systems, took place. Historians are keen to blame Napoleon Bonaparte for the tremendous and inexcusable shortsightedness of not confiscating the South American colonies from the perennially lazy Spaniards, an event that could have skyrocketed the use of French as


129

opposed to Spanish. Clearly, two preponderant

economic and social systems were defined after WWII: Communism and or Capitalism. Leading systems, all of them ending in -ism, such as Nazism, Fascism, Imperialism, Socialism, Absolutism, Anarchism, Monarchism, Nationalism, Militarism, Totalitarianism, Isolationism, Civicism, Altruism, Ascetism, Consumerism, Despotism, were finally discarded as deemed either too unfit or too cumbersome to implement.

The world was feverishly adopting any of both, where the Soviet Union and China were making deep inroads in Southeast Asia and Latin America. The United States needed to maintain its leadership in these regions.


130

Africa, on the other side, was eternally condemned to be ruled by tribal feuds where one big ugly dictator ruled the country until another big ugly dictator deposed him until a new one would eventually appear. Some dictators resorted to keeping the heads of their enemies frozen in their home refrigerators.

The United States was rightly worried about the inroads of communism in the region. Fidel Castro's Cuba was the first communist regime implemented in1959, and intelligence reports indicated that Venezuela, Colombia, Bolivia and Peru could be the next targets. The United States could not afford such a transgression in its own backyard.

JFK's was greeted by Colombian president, Alberto


131

Lleras Camargo, the same statesman that in 1945 during the United Nations conference in San Francisco, did not answer politely the questions that a young JFK, a journalist from a New York newspaper, asked him. JFK was recently discharged from the navy where he served in the South Pacific during WWII. President Lleras was attending the United Nations conference as a political observer representing some Latin American countries that would eventually join the United Nations.

After landing, JFK's was pleasantly surprised to find a huge crowd that cheered him relentlessly, passionately and ferociously along with the First Lady who was wearing a beautiful Parisian yellow dress with a hat of the same color. Both smiled, waved


132

and raised their arms when heard the chanting of “Viva el Presidente Kennedy, Vivan los Estados Unidos.”

After the protocol salutation, the president gave a short speech underscoring his final words…

“Making a common effort to

protect the principles of our civilization and to unite our forces to fight our shared problems, the problems of our times...”

Next, the caravan headed to the

suburb of Fontibon where the president will inaugurate the first housing project called “Kennedy City,” composed of 18,000 houses for the poor, entirely paid for the United States of America.

The president, wearing construction gloves, planted the


133

first bricks for the project. Observing with curiosity and disbelief, it was Mr. Argelino Plazas Garcia, a humble peasant from the Tolima region, who managed to travel 5 days by treacherous roads as a passenger of the powerful yet uncomfortable American made bus Ford Mercury F-600 model 1960. He, along with his 14 children was ready to receive the house deed from the president.

Mr. Plazas was a refugee from the political violence the country was going through where members of the two existing political parties, Conservative and Liberals, killed each other for no apparent reason, although they gave a zillion reasons for it.

An acute observer to the construction ceremony suggested to the president that perhaps


134

American houses should be built with Colombian bricks in order to make them safe and strong against the catastrophic tornadoes that devastate the country several times a year. The president smiled and asked his adviser, Theodore Sorensen, to take note.

From there, the caravan headed for the city center. The president was riding a Cadillac limousine covered with bullet proof glass in order to prevent a possible assassination attempt, as there were reports that Colombia was having a small presence of communist guerrillas sponsored by the Soviet Union and the president of the United States was the ideal target for a political assassination.

Along the way, rambunctious crowds, estimated at more than five hundred thousand fans, many


135

of them came from all corners of the country, including a delegation from the Cocuy mountain region, wanted desperately to salute and touch the president and his wife. Thousands of white handkerchiefs and American and Colombian little flags waving in the air at the same time created a cloud larger and bigger that the president and the first lady ever saw in Paris, Berlin or Vienna during their state visits. The caravan moved very slowly, as the multitudes literally swamped the presidential limousine.

* * * * Hidden within the multitude,

was the always observant and attentive Zeus. The joy of being there witnessing the popularity of his beloved son, his beloved hero, brought him melancholic memories of when he used to preside over the


136

majestic and pompous military parades when the triumphant Roman legions arrived to Rome from the provinces.

He remembered with nostalgia the myriad exotic animals and the staggering number of slaves brought by the victorious generals. As a result of the Roman military victories, more people will worship me, my gods and goddess, Zeus thought. For a moment, Zeus imagined that the president was Julius Cesar entering Rome after defeating Vercingetorix, his most resolute enemy.

The President and the First Lady represented the epitome of grace, smarts, power, dignity, hope and happiness that an impoverished part of the world could ever hope to experience.

People felt and experienced an


137

aura of optimism, a certain sense of accomplishment, a feeling of invincibility and all the emotions associated with. The women were very curious, jealous and mesmerized by the grace and beauty of Jacqueline Kennedy. Rich and poor women alike dreamed of dressing like her, looking like her, even talking like her. Jacqueline had a very soft voice. All of the sudden, women began talking in soft voice to their husbands. It was a fashion trend, albeit a short one. This made them felt “feminine and important” as their husbands and boyfriends paid more attention to them.

The peasants with their characteristic colorful garments composed by ruanas, alpargatas, hats and trenzas for the hair, were performing their traditional dances


138

on the street as the caravan passed them by. Their musical instruments were guitars, tiples, bandolas and donkey carracas, an instrument made from the donkey's that resembled the sound of maracas.

The president and the first lady were electrified by listening to these rhythms. It was a new and pleasant experience for them, as they never heard such musical renditions.

Around 1:30 pm, the caravan arrived to the San Carlos presidential palace in the city center, where they attended the shortest mass ever said by a Catholic priest. It lasted only 13 minutes as they had to continue with their busy agendas. The altar boys were the sons in law of president Lleras.

Next, the president attended a


139

private lunch at the palace with 12 special guests after taking a hot and relaxing shower at the palace. Clothes were changed. The president changed his clothes two or three times according to the occasion. Sometimes he wore six shirts a day. The first lady went to visit the Lorencita Villegas de Santos Children's Hospital, named after a former first lady Lorencita Villegas, wife of former president Eduardo Santos. But the first lady was more popular than the president. She drew an even larger crowd than him. Thousands and thousands of people were waiting for her arrival to the hospital.

The smiling and exuberant first lady brought a sound recording Motorola system with two large speakers and fifty long-play records showcasing Elvis Presley,


140

the Beatles and other famous musicians from American culture, so the sick children at the hospital would get a head start in immersing themselves in the fascinating, bewildering, yet annoying American culture, its biggest export commodity. Thirty children sang Christmas carols to the first lady. She was delighted.

The children at the hospital suffered from a host of multiple ailments including cancer, leukemia, and tropical diseases such malaria. She promised sending vaccines to the hospital director, Dr. Gutierrez, a crippled man who walked assisted by crutches—muletas—as he suffered from polio since childhood.

The first lady was stricken by the beauty and grace of a young girl, Olivia Canas, a 9-year old,


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who was dying from leukemia. The first lady asked Dr. Gutierrez if there was anything she could do to alleviate her pain. Dr. Gutierrez told her that her leukemia was eating her alive and that it was only a matter of time before her demise.

The first lady asked her what she would like to do and she answered that she would love to go to the United States for a visit and perhaps to visit some amusement parks with merry-go-rounds. The first lady told her that in no time she will travel to the USA and probably would visit her at the White House. Olivia cried and hugged the first lady so strong that nurses had to pull her away.

At 7:15 in the evening and after a short break while they changed clothes again, they returned to the San Carlos presidential palace


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where 400 guests were anxiously waiting to see them and ready to taste the exquisite buffet being offered.

* * * * The San Carlos presidential

palace was elegantly decorated with roses of all colors, claveles, geranios, orchids, and other exotic flowers from the region. The first lady was so impacted by the decoration and the architectural style of the palace that she thought she could renovate the White House by following its style and architecture.

Bellavista lobster was served as the main course accompanied by arequipe, a delicious desert made out of milk and sugar with sodium bicarbonate, guanabana cream, a tropical fruit, in addition to plenty of cups of the famed Colombian


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coffee. After dinner, speeches

followed. President Lleras Camargo thanked Kennedy and the first lady for their visit. President Lleras described in detail the interview Kennedy conducted with him, sixteen years ago in San Francisco. He apologized to him for being so “aloof” during the interview. The crowd cheered and applauded.

The President walked to the podium followed by strong ovations. After the rigorous salutations, the president excused himself for not being able to speak Spanish properly, but he asked the first lady to introduce him. The first lady stood up and with his peculiar soft voice said in spotless Spanish:

“El mas grande sentido de logro y


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felicidad es poder darle a la gente la esperanza de tener una vida mejor, producto del trabajo continuo y constante de tal manera que ellos puedan obtener una vivienda digna y puedan criar a sus hijos saludables y que puedan recibir una buena educacion” (The greatest sense of achievement and happiness is to give people the hope of a better life. Relentless and resilient work produce the benefits of achieving comfortable housing thus being able to provide for the children who could be raised healthy and would be able to receive a good education).

The State Department rightly

and accurately defined the social, economical and political struggles of Latin America in a confidential report in 1960, as follows:


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“The chief obstacle to

modernization is the existence in many Latin American countries of an agrarian, semi-feudal economic structure. The chief guardians of this backward economic structure are the classes which benefit from it--the so-called landholding oligarchy which still more or less governs most of the continent, including especially the Andean nations of Chile, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia. So long as this structure exists, half the population of these countries will be excluded from their national societies and kept in poverty and illiteracy; and, so long as this structure exists, industrializations, economic growth and social mobility will be impossible….”

The president began his speech


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describing the herculean efforts made by Simon Bolivar in order to gain independence from Spain, and outlining the benefits of mutual cooperation between the rich North and the poor South. The president also described in excruciating details the benefit of his “Alliance for Progress” program, which he strongly believed it would be the path to progress for Latin America, as well as fending off the looming threat of communism. He also underscored the benefits and the work done by the Peace Corps already in full implementation.

The Peace Corps program consisted of sending noble and skilled young Americans to distressed regions in Latin America to assist peasants in improving their farming, health and cultural skills. Some of them did such a


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superb job, that they ended up marrying young and beautiful Latin women. The Latin women went wild when watching these tall, perfectly built muscle bodies flashing green or blue eyes, with blond hair boys who wore Levi's jeans, cowboy hats and cowboy boots, who constantly smiled, danced twist, and spoke “trabado” (mambled).

The American boys became absolutely fascinated by observing the softness, swiftness and humbleness of the Latin girls. They even refused eye contact, although after some bribery they gave in. The girls' parents were delighted at the possibility that their daughters would marry a gringo who would take them to the United States of America, the land of milk and honey, as the experts described the


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country, so they could live a life plenty of milk and honey. After all, milk is the most sought after nutritious liquid to fight osteoporosis and hot honey with lemon, is all there is to cure a pesky winter cold.

Word of mouth ran wild about the beauty, the charm and the docility of Colombian women. Enrollment for the program grew exponentially, as it was fashionable among the youth, to spend some years of their lives helping the poor and hoping to grab a poor Latin girl with good attitude.

The gringos quickly figured out that their beloved American women were not going to do laundry, cook their lunch and make the beds for them, whereas the Latin women loved to do household chores in exchange for a


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good grocery shopping and perhaps being awarded a nice but inexpensive dress at the local community store. These culture events would bring unintended consequences in the US-Latin American relationships in the future.

Soon, American husbands figured out that maintaining a “high maintenance” lady was going to be more than they could expect and ladies figured out that having a husband who would provide them with a pitiful weekly grocery shopping was not worth the while.

The president, however, had more pressing issues in his agenda than being concerned about pesky family affairs.

When the president was notified of the success of the Peace


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Corps program and that Latin women made the volunteers crazy, he smiled and thought that perhaps he could implement a similar program with the Soviets.

Mrs. Lincoln, Evelyn Lincoln, President Kennedy's trusted personal secretary since his years as a congressman, always accompanied the president during his frequent state visits. Mrs. Lincoln was the official translator to the president. She was fluent in English, Spanish, German and French. She was now translating the conversation between President Kennedy and President Lleras.

While President Kennedy was enjoying his tasteful Petit Upmann habanos and carrying out an enjoyable and livable conversation with president Lleras, all of the sudden, two gentlemen elegantly


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dressed with tuxedos, one in his eighties, the other in his forties, approached the Presidents’ table. The older gentleman politely asked President Lleras if he could have a word with the president, which he gladly agreed. He stood up and moved to another table.


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IMPORTANT LINKS

The State Visit to Venezuela and Colombia, December 1961

http://www.jfklibrary.org/Asset-Viewer/Archives/USG-01-

A.aspx#ooid=BhcnB3MTpE7Q7TexXKSbV5ro_3-9CiOu

Photos of the Cocuy Mountain http://www.eltiempo.com/Mult

imedia/galeria_fotos/especialcocuy/paisajes-de-el-cocuy_13060032-5

The Orchestra

http://www.luchobermudez.com/

http://www.jfklibrary.org/Asset-Viewer/Archives/USG-01-A.aspx#ooid=BhcnB3MTpE7Q7TexXKSbV5ro_3-9CiOu




http://www.eltiempo.com/Multimedia/galeria_fotos/especialcocuy/paisajes-de-el-cocuy_13060032-5




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