Word: michoac
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...penetration in Latin America, but it is far from the whole show. In remote corners and pockets of the hemisphere, there are places where the Communists are either in effective control of a region or very near to it. One such corner is the ruggedly scenic Mexican state of Michoacán, on the Pacific coast north of the resort town of Acapulco (see map). Admits one of the state's own officials: "What we have here is a well-cultivated Communist zone...
...land of spectacular volcanoes, but little industry to support its 2,200,000 people, Michoacán has long been the stronghold of Lazaro Cardenas, 68, the fiery far leftist who nationalized foreign oil companies as Mexico's President from 1934 to 1940. Attempting to undercut Cardenas' control, the country's dominant P.R.I, party installed an anti-Communist as state Governor last June. But many lesser officials are Cardenas supporters and strongly proCommunist. Why not? The Russians have been busy in Michoacán for years, and their influence spreads from back-country schoolhouses, where maps...
...lessons, lectures, movies and a well-stocked Spanish-language library, where citizens can read magazines describing the U.S. as a "three-headed monster that thinks on Wall Street, roars in the Pentagon and brays in the White House." The state's biggest and noisiest newspaper, La Voz de Michoacán, shrills away in Cardenas' best gringo-baiting style. No wonder that last year, after a visit to Washington, Khrushchev's son-in-law, Izvestia Editor Aleksei Adzhubei, spent 25 minutes with President Adolfo Lopez Mateos, then hopped down to Morelia for lengthy conferences with local Reds...
...sunny-and therefore cheap-side of the bull ring at Zitácuaro overflowed with boisterous aficionados. Noisiest of all was a group of hard-bitten charcoal makers from the Michoacán hills who had stoked up well with charanda (cane alcohol) and come to see the toreros kill six bulls. "Long live Michoacán and her sons of Pancho Villa!" they bellowed...
...shouted at Arias, reaching for his hip. "I was one of Villa's Golden Ones!" "And I am from Michoacán!" snarled Arias. Alva drew his .45 Colt automatic; Arias leveled his pearl-handled .38 at the general's middle. Without saying anything more, he squeezed the trigger three times. The general sank to the black-&-white marble tiles, fired once before he hit the floor. Once was enough: his slug ripped through the police chief's heart...