Waay before podcasting

Audio recordings have come a long way since my first exposure to this medium. Back in 1957, my dad tried to figure out how to operate the buttons and reels of a portable apparatus the size of two breadboxes. When he had mastered the basics, my Mom called us children to gather round. Then she asked each one of us, in turn, to speak into the microphone and tell a favourite story, or sing a song we had learned. I was eight, my brother was six, and my sister was three.

It was a time of innocence in Caracas. And not. For Venezuela was under the dictatorship of General Marcos Pérez Jiménez. Unbeknownst to us and most others, that iron-fisted rule was about to crumble.

After a military coup on January 23, 1958, Pérez Jiménez fled Caracas with an estimated $250 million, or one half the national treasury. You'd think everyone would be jubilant. Not quite. Some saw in P.J. the strong arm the country needed. And in fairness, he did more for economic growth, as well as for law and order, than did all the subsequent governing bodies. That was the good side.

After the ouster, the commander of the country's navy, Wolfgang Larrazábal, took charge in an interim government. No one knew what lay ahead. Immigrants were apprehensive. They had arrived in droves when a war-ravaged Europe could only offer chaos. With well-compensated sweat, the immigrants helped build massive projects that positioned the oil-dependent nation as the most modern in Latin America. At least for a few decades.

The majority of Venezuelans saw the flight of Peréz Jiménez as a cleansing. There had been too many years of brutish undercurrents from his police force, the dreaded National Security, dubbed Gestapo. With the change in government, hope that civic freedoms, including free speech, was restored. The widespread torture of political prisoners had ended.

As the drone of military planes over valley skies died down that afternoon, my dad wanted his sentiments known. He invited his brother-in-law to come over, even though my uncle Pedro Pablo Benedetti was more interested in business than politics. After a drink to celebrate the occasion, the two men set up the recorder for that moment in history. But only my dad took the mike. That he had an audience of one was a plus.

The audio recording remains to this day. In it, my dad revs up his political oratory to a feverish pitch, when all of a sudden, you hear two little words in the backround: "Ah pué." Translated loosely that would be, "Oh, brother." You'd think my uncle's phrase would help keep things in perspective. But oh no. Henrique Hedderich Arismendi had a visceral need to vent. He'd been victimized for too long by governments known more for the rule of thugs than the rule of law. Jailed, even, for voicing a youthful opinion on democracy. It was the dawn of a new age and he wanted that known. For posterity. Even if just for an audience of one.