Joy remains unconfined on Calle Ocho (8th Street) in Miami, the main drag through Little Havana, in whose small, family-owned restaurants I’ve enjoyed many a fine plate of ropa vieja, paella, or picadillo and rice. But while it’s holiday routine in Miami, and in those parts of Cuba where the authorities aren’t looking, lefties in this country are still casting about looking for, and finding, positive things to say about one the most murderous dictators of the last century (he would have murdered more if Cuba weren’t such a small place). This whole sorry scene reminded one of my California correspondents of the obituary of Norma Bates, which, my friend remembers, pointed out that Norman always took care of his hotel guests and loved his mother.
