March 1966 in Buenos Aires was unusually disturbing, filled with forebodings of long coming disasters, which, however, did not leave Argentina for a long time.
Dean and Patricia were at home, making a simple dinner - pizza from everything that was found in the household supplies.
The spouses' mood was not up to par - a few weeks ago, it came to shelling at home, several automatic rounds could be perfectly traced by the bullet holes in the walls.
Dean Reed's songs and political statements are to blame, he is not shy in the expressions of the left, and the right is not shy in the methods of squeezing the "cute American" out of the country.
The coup will take place on June 28, 1966.
And Dean, along with his pregnant wife, will almost have to flee to Spain.
Until then ...
And while the phone rings in their house at a late hour, Patricia looks at Dean, Dean picks up the phone and answers with tension: "Yes!"
This is the manager of his weekly television program, journalist Javier.
Dean trusts him.
- You are alone at home?
- Alone.
Say what you need and do not delay!
- Can I bring you one person to spend the night?
The thing is ... that he has absolutely nowhere to stay.
And this is a very good person.
Dean, can you hear me?
- Of course you can, since you need it.
I'll explain to Patricia now.
But you know it's not safe here ...
- He is not afraid, everything suits him.
We'll be there in half an hour.
A gray man who came with Javier, wears glasses, in a suit.
He introduced himself as Ramon Benitez, a merchant from Uruguay.
Perhaps, if anything distinguishes him, it is a characteristic strong cough.
Patricia defines it as asthma and offers the guest a medicine, which he gladly takes, asks what the signora cooks for dinner, and, having heard about pizza, offers her recipe and help in the kitchen - absolutely extraordinary Neapolitan spaghetti.
Javier takes Dean by the sleeve and pulls him out into the street.
- You are a reliable person.
I trust you.
Perhaps the makeup will not deceive you ... In general, this is Guevara.
I was instructed to accompany him.
And I ask you to keep your meeting secret - secret from everyone.
Please do your best for him.
Tomorrow early in the morning I will come again and we will leave.
To gallery page
Dean returns to the house as if struck by lightning.
He is silent during dinner, is silent until Patricia goes to bed and they stay with the guest alone.
The commander is attentively examining the owner of the house, they are drinking mate, talking.
It turns out that people have heard a lot about Dean Reed - in Latin America he is a star, and a big one.
His sympathies for the left movement are also known, however, he is listed in the ranks of the pacifists.
And besides, he sings rock and roll.
The Comandante laughs: “You can sing anything you want.
The main thing is that you feel with your heart. "
At times the conversation turns into a heated argument, or, rather, a fierce monologue - Che convinces Dean that there is no revolution without a fight, without battles and losses: “Look, these bullet marks - they could have been on you! .. You still think that life will be without a fight, compagniero? "
However, Guevara is quite peaceful - at least now.
And in the morning, when they break up, what could become friendship arises between them.
But this is the only meeting.
A year and a half later, Guevara will die in Bolivia.
Now is the time to talk about Dean Reed - the singer, the only leftist, practically Red Elvis (they called him that way), about Dean Reed - an idealist, dreamer, fighter against injustice in all its manifestations.
A bit funny ... Thinking about him, every time I remember Cipollino - the same directness of views, the same faith in the bright future of mankind.
Was he a good singer?
A movie actor?
Showman?
Yes.
And this is an indisputable fact.
Kansas City and Leroy Brown in his performance are beyond competition.
And his country style is also the style standard.
Not a breakthrough, not stars from the southern sky - but who canceled the eccentric artisans, people with soul and heart instead of a cash register, handicraftsmen so in love with their work that no matter what they touch, joy and happiness come out entirely.
At the age of 11, his father gave Dean a horse.
At 12 - a guitar.
And Reed became a passionate rider (even rode a horse on stage) and a passionate musician.
A passionate person.
Understand, to speak about it in the paradigm "This album is especially good!"
- meaningless.
Dean Reed is good on his own.
Yes.
He was a great friend of the Soviet Union.
He personally knew Salvador Allende.
He ended up in prisons and alterations both in Latin America and in his homeland, in the States.
And he always sang.
Rock'n'roll.
Breaking the mold - a blue-eyed, smiling handsome man from a wealthy family who managed to sign a contract with Capitol Records at the age of 20.
Yes.
He failed to achieve the glory of the kings of the South - he was not of their caliber.
But Reed managed to conquer Latin America, spinning a lot of decent hits there, touring endlessly, and most importantly, finding the spirit of total freedom there, having seen enough of the monstrous gap between the rich and the poor.
This is not in the States, but in front of the US Consulate in Santiago, he washed the stars and stripes in a plastic bucket, protesting against the Vietnam War: “It has too much dirt and blood on it!
As well as on the facades of the White House, which has long lost its white color and needs plaster! "
Why am I talking about him?
About the hero of Italian spaghetti westerns and DEFA films about Indians with the invariable Goiko Mitic in the role of literally all the leaders of the Redskins?
About the man who praised BAM - the great construction site of socialism, whose true historical and economic significance has not been appreciated by us until now?
About the only "correct" American, whose friendship the secret services of the opposing camps tried to enlist, as well as different representatives within each of them?
Why am I talking about him?
Because he died tragically in 1986 in the suburbs of Berlin?
Drowned?
Committed suicide or was killed by someone's ill will?
Or because he was loved by women, endlessly met with the mighty of this world, with leaders and revolutionaries, with activists, leaders, Stakhanovists and cosmonauts?
For what?
There is very little present in the world.
Dean Reed is real.
Maybe that's why they are trying to forget him with all their might.
Erase from memory.
As an uncomfortable, outdated, not useful character.
He really didn't really come in handy to anyone - it was impossible to "build schemes", "build strategies" with him.
And gradually, gradually, they were disappointed in him.
And on that side of the ocean - a very uncomfortable shirt-guy.
And he gradually, as if gradually, became disillusioned with good intentions, with which, as you know, the road to hell and its vast environs is paved with special care ...
Everything in his life was decided by that one night meeting with Che.
The commander managed to reach out to his heart, explain that only super-effort can overcome the super-obstacle.
And Reed prevailed.
Year after year.
Concert after concert.
He did not do great - he did the real.
Childishly naive, open-minded and honest craftsman of rock and roll.
It is his busts that should precede each of the places of worship of the southern rock.
He lived in the GDR.
The last eight years.
The Soviet Union very evasively denied him the right to live, smoothing out the bitterness of obvious hypocrisy with millions of copies of records and unthinkable tours throughout the USSR.
The only thing is that both records and tickets for Dean Reed's concerts were not sold at the will of the party bosses - they loved to listen to him without them.
And they loved to watch his films.
GDR.
A country that no longer exists.
But it is there.
If only you think about it.
I have told you almost nothing about Reed's music, you can easily find his recordings everywhere, in all sources of musical information.
But I told you, albeit quite a bit, about a man who, without changing his addictions, preserving his values, managed, even if he fell in an absolutely unequal battle with reality, to defeat it within himself.
Here he smiles from the roof of the BAM train, sings This Train, hanging from the footboard of a Soviet locomotive - and (devil!) You cannot help falling in love with him.
Reed alone, with his wild charisma, boyish enthusiasm and guitar, did a thousand times more for the cause of universal justice and brotherhood than any department of the Central Committee.
Any of the Communist Parties.
Any of the countries.
Do you understand?
Always and in everything, even if losing in the short one, only the present will win in the long one.
The present.
In music.
In thoughts.
At the behest of the heart.
And what a sin to conceal - he is good, cheerful in a kind way, more alive than many living.
And I love his films very much.
The author's point of view may not coincide with the position of the editorial board.