Viva, Viva On the Sunday before last, having an hour
or two of liberty, we took in a fine free show: the Puerto Rican parade up Fifth Avenue from 42nd Street to somewhere in the 80s. Hispanic policemen, firemen, businessmen, societies, clubs, cadets and limitless cuties in flounces riding on sumptuously caparisoned automobiles — they made a brave sight. And the steel bands, jazz bands, dulcimer bands, military bands and bag- pipe bands (arrayed in the Gordon tartan)--they made a brave noise. Each component won strenu- ous applause from all but one dissident standing in front of us. He muttered on contemptuously as the bands went blaring by. 'Huh,' he said, turning to us, 'you no understand. All politics. All damn dirty politics.' We avoided argumenta- tion and went on enjoying it ,as good clean fun. I never knew there were so many Puertoriqueilos in the world, far less in New York City.
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