The Podium

"The funeral of Mrs. Mernandez, the unfortunate woman who was fatally burned at her home in West Tampa, Thursday evening, took place yesterday afternoon, the interment being made in the Spanish cemetery in Ybor City. One of the physicians who attended Mrs. Mernandez, said yesterday that, while he had often seen burns covering as great a portion of the body he could not recall a case in which they had extended to so great a depth."

I paused for a second just to swallow, slightly wincing from the glare of the cruel sun shining through the windows. My mouth was as dry as sawdust, but I continued on.

"An idea of the nature of the injuries sustained by the unfortunate woman may be gathered from the fact that when it was found impossible to administer an opiate in the usual manner, an attempt was made to use a hypodermic syringe. Her arms were charred until they were stiff as boards-"

A sudden low groan emerged from the audience, cutting off my flow. I looked up from my copy of The Morning Tribune to search the sweaty faces of the men and women in the rows below me.

It's 85° with 70% humidity, not unusual for a Tampa summer. Good conditions for manipulating tobacco, but unpleasant for those working in the galera. The air is thick and still, with little airflow. A soft, cool breeze is only but a distant dream. Torcedors and torcedoras sat in repeating rows of wooden tables and chairs, crafting cigars totalmente al mano.

Laying down the binder leaf. Arranging and breaking the filler. Rolling the filler into the binder leaf and Shaping it to ensure uniformity and thickness. Encasing the cigar in a wrapper leaf. Blah blah blah.

I'm bored just saying it. And so were they, day in and day out. That's why they paid me to read to them.

The reading material was always their choice. Sometimes it's fiction, like The Count of Monte Cristo. Fiction gave me a chance to improvise the voices of the characters, just to jazz up the stories a little. Not that they needed it. A young woman. An old man. I could do it all. Watch.

“For all evils there are two remedies - time and silence.” Convincing, right? Don't act like you're not impressed.

But really, I know they chose me because of my voice. I've been told numerous times that I could be heard even on the busiest street in Ybor City. It takes little effort to ensure that the farthest torcedor can hear me.

If not fiction or non-fiction, then the latest copy of The Morning Tribune never failed. Though usually, the articles weren't as graphic as the update on poor Mrs. Mernandez.

"Ahem." I knew that voice. My eyes locked with Elisa's, a torcedora in the third row. She was hunched over, inspecting her freshly rolled cigar for imperfections. She slightly jerked her head toward her left. "Ah," I muttered to myself. I slowly scanned the bodies in her row until I found the likely owner of the groan.

Maricela was hard at work rolling her scowl into the binder leaf, shaking her head as she neared the end. While I'm sure she felt my gaze, she did not look at me.

Admittedly, this was a horrifying article. But it was a part of the daily news and they wanted me to read the paper. I tried to look at other familiar faces for clues on whether this was an unpopular article. In row five, Ernesto sliced into the end of his cigar with a chaveta and pulled it close to his eyes to ensure an even cut.

"Why aren't you reading?" shouted a torcedor in row six. I did not know him. But my time trying to figure out the general consensus was up. Maybe they got the idea.

"I'm going to move on to the next article," I said.

I turned the page. "Expenses are estimated: city council receives and accepts the budget for the ensuing year."

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Since this work of fiction utilizes text that was published in The Morning Tribune on June 26, 1897, I thought it was important to cite both the source and all other sources that contributed to this work.

Lectors still exist today, though there aren't many left. Nevertheless, being paid to read to a captive audience is right up my alley.

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“An Ybor City Resident Describes Work in the Cigar Factories · SHEC: Resources for Teachers.” Shec.ashp.cuny.edu, shec.ashp.cuny.edu/items/show/2491.

DiLoreto, Vince. “How Cuban Immigrants Made Ybor City the Cigar Capital of the World.” Fitting in Adventure, 5 Aug. 2022, fittinginadventure.com/ybor-city-cigar-capital/. Accessed 4 July 2023.

“Florida Digital Newspaper Library.” Newspapers.uflib.ufl.edu, newspapers.uflib.ufl.edu/AA00089976/00394/zoom/2. Accessed 4 July 2023.

Hine, Lewis Wickes, photographer. A "Reader" in cigar factory, Tampa, Fla. He reads books and newspapers at top of his voice all day long. This is all the education many of these workers receive. He is paid by them and they select what he shall read. Location: Tampa, Florida. January. Photograph. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/2018675072/>.

“The Count of Monte Cristo Quotes by Alexandre Dumas.” Www.goodreads.com, www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/391568-le-comte-de-monte-cristo.

“The Magic Hands of a Cuban Torcedor.” Brands International, 31 Aug. 2018, www.brandsinternational.ro/en/the-magic-hands-of-a-cuban-torcedor/. Accessed 4 July 2023.

“The Role of Lectors in Cuban Cigar Factories.” A Noise Within, 23 Mar. 2022, www.anoisewithin.org/the-role-of-lectors-in-cuban-cigar-factories/.