A talented girl clung to the little instrument as tightly as she clung to hope after fleeing Cuba.
By TOM ZUCCO
Published December 16, 2003
[Times photo: Fraser Hale 1995]
Liezbet Martinez, left, played before a joint session of the Florida Legislature eight years ago, earning applause from then-Rep. Alex Villalobos. The Cuban emigrant graduates from college today.
At just past 10 o'clock this morning, after everyone is inside the 5,000-seat Golden Panther Arena, one of the graduates, a tiny young woman, will rise from her seat, walk to center stage, and play the The Star-Spangled Banner as part of Florida International University's commencement exercise.
Lizbet Martinez will have two violins with her. The new one she'll play.
And the smaller one that's stained and warped, the one she clung to on the raft from Cuba and wouldn't allow the Coast Guard men to throw away, will be there as a reminder.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" she said Monday from her home in Miami. "One little song that takes about two minutes to play.
"But I still get goosebumps every time I hear it or play it.
"I guess because of what happened."
Shortly before dawn on Aug. 21, 1994, Martinez and her parents, along with 10 other adults, were rescued by the Coast Guard after a week at sea.
They had left their home in Cuba to seek asylum in the United States on a raft made of nine inner tubes, a few pieces of plywood, and a tarp. They were tired, scared and hopelessly lost. Lizbet was 12.
"The only things I brought with me, besides an extra change of clothes, was my Bible and my violin," she said. "And my inhaler. Because I was very asthmatic.
"I thought those were the most important things."
Her mother had steered her to the piano for a reason. Cuban children who showed musical ability sometimes got to attend special schools.
"You could audition for two instruments," Martinez said. "I finished in 11th place in the piano, but they only took the top 10 spots. So all that was left was the violin."
Which she had never played before.
But surprisingly, that didn't matter. After measuring her fingers and arms, school officials decided Martinez might make a good violinist. And as soon as she started playing, she was hooked. Her parents scraped together the money to buy her a child-sized violin, and her violin teacher gave her a book of popular songs.
One of them was The Star-Spangled Banner.
"It's not something people in Cuba recognize," Martinez said. "We thought it was a hymn from church, so I learned it. Then one of my uncles asked if we knew what it was. He knew it was America's national anthem because he's a baseball fan.
"Even if you don't know what it is, it's a very emotional piece."
When the Coast Guard rescued her, they wanted to take her violin. The reason, Martinez later learned, was that the case looked like it might hold a weapon.
But the little girl wouldn't part with it. She opened the case, took out her violin, and began playing.
"I played The Star Spangled Banner because I didn't know English and the Coast Guard didn't know Spanish. But I knew they'd probably recognize that song."
The crew broke into applause. Some of the sailors wept.
"I just wanted to thank them for saving our lives," she said.
The refugees were given food, blankets and medical care. And for the first time since she had been at sea, Martinez put on a life jacket.
After five months at Guantanamo Bay naval base, the family was relocated to Miami, where they lived with relatives until they could afford housing of their own.
Now, at 21, Martinez has earned degrees in music performance and music education and is looking for a job in the public school system. "Elementary school," she said, "because it's so important for kids to learn at least some music."
After her story made national headlines, Martinez played for presidents Clinton and Bush, and she performed alongside pop star Gloria Estefan.
But the spotlight has dimmed, and she has only one more important performance.
"It's ironic, but she was one of the very first students to welcome me to Miami after I moved here three years ago," said Dr. Carolyn Fulton, assistant professor of music education at FIU.
"She found, even in Cuba, a means of expression, a way of speaking that communicates her inner-most feelings far beyond words.
