In Havana it is forbidden by law to kiss your wife on the gang-plank, in a taxi or other public place. The usual fine for violation is $25.
Spooning custom here is quite different, too. In Cuba every residential window is protected by iron bars similar to our jails. It is through these barriers that lovers must cuddle and coo—at least until he becomes so nervous and tired from continual standing that he pops the question. I know it would be rather tough on some of our Minnesota farmhands if the farmers should adopt a custom similar to Cuba.
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The first thing I learned in Havana was that the Cubans do not like the Whiz Bang’s traveling correspondent, Rev. “Golightly” Morrill. Mr. Morrill’s name is anathema to the average native, due undoubtedly to the fact that our reverend friend rarely deals out his views of life with kid gloves. He sees the world from the standpoint of the betterment of humanity and in seeking to attain his end, strikes out in two-fisted manner.
In republishing a recent Morrill article from this magazine, a Havana publication takes this rap at our correspondent:
The Rev. “Golightly” Morrill is still tramping around the world seeking muck in which to wallow. After his experience in the West Indies and Central America it was not to be supposed that he would find anything very bad to write about, but it seems that he has discovered familiar iniquities on the beaches of California.
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We chanced into a gringo barroom towards the close of one evening, lured by broken melodies of the brass rail gang. Through the bedlam we could catch swinging tunes of:
I’ll never get drunk any more, I’ll never get drunk any more,
I’ll never enter a barroom door, I’ll never get drunk any more.