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In the late '30s a change crept in. The dictator spoke of good dictatorship, "disciplined" democracy, constitutionality, economic reform. The cynical and the critical said that he talked big, did little to uplift Cuba's sugar-sick economy, uproot its age-old graft. But Batista began to curry civilian support. He encouraged opposition, pardoned political prisoners, even legalized the Communist Party. He cultivated culture. He took up smart squash-tennis (though he preferred cock-fighting), got a tailor, elbowed a way into Havana society, polished his pronunciation. He began to think of legitimizing his power. In 1940 he ran for the Presidency against his old revolutionary comrade, Grau San Martin. Batista won by a neat majority, which his opponents said was stacked by the Army.
Last year he told the politicians that they had better organize for the 1944 elections. They did not believe him until the President threatened to turn his job over to Senator Carlos Saladrigas if a new chief executive were not constitutionally elected. Then they tumbled into the arena.
New Man. The campaign was loud and ebullient, in the Cuban manner. Everyone admitted that cold, efficient Lawyer Carlos Saladrigas had no political appeal, but no one saw how he could lose. Gentle, starry-eyed Professor (of Anatomy) Grau San Martin supplied all the color, roused the mass enthusiasm.
In a soiled and wilted Panama suit, Dr. Grau stumped the countryside. The people remembered how, in his brief former Presidency during the great depression, he had tried to up wages, make more jobs. His earnest voice, his fervid sermons against corruption, his glowing talk of more schools and better roads, of Pan American solidarity and Cuba for the Cubans, sparked an emotional tinder. Peasant women knelt before him, held up their babies for his touch. Many believed the myth that "honest Grau" would end taxes, rent, electric and water bills.
When he cast his vote, Grau San Martin was sure that he would win if the poll was honest. He was as surprised as anyone over the result: the fairest, most orderly, least bloody (one death) election in Cuba's turbulent politics.
What Now? At 43, Cuba's strong man suddenly had new prestige. Fulgencio Batista was hardly ripe for retirement. He talked of a long trip among Cuba's neighbor countries; perhaps the ex-cane-chopper dreamed of becoming a voice in all Latin America. He was a man to watch. He was sure to keep one eye on the home island, to counter anything smacking of unpractical government. From his balcony last week he told his pueblo that if they ever needed him, he would answer their cries. Dr. Grau, preparing to move into the Presidential Palace next October, undoubtedly heard and pondered the outgoing dictator's promise.