Way back when I was in college, images of Cuban rebel leader Fidel Castro (or Che Guevara, his right-hand man) were to be seen everywhere. Posters hung in student apartments and dorms, in teachers' offices, and in clubs, cafes and shops that catered to the campus crowd. The scruffy yet charismatic figure was even celebrated on the airwaves, in Quebec pop singer Robert Charlebois' hit single, "Mon Ami Fidel."
The young Castro captured our imaginations as the main character in the story of a small nation that stood up to the United States, and won. Fierce and determined -- but not without a certain charm -- Castro was the kind of hero we are not allowed to have anymore.
American photographer Burt Glinn didn't come to know Castro through romanticized images, rather he came face to face with the man at the most decisive moment in Cuban history. Working in New York City for the leading agency Magnum Photo, Glinn was at a 1958 New Year's Eve party when a buzz went round the room: The breaking news from Cuba was that the American-supported Fulgencio Batista regime was falling that very night. After four years, the Cuban Revolution had prevailed, and a triumphant Castro was making his way from the Sierra Maestra to Havana.