Borderline Decision : After Defecting, Cuban Tennis Player Lands in Valley

They stopped his car, searched it, threatened to take his few freedoms away.

They stopped him at the discotheque door, offering no justification, no explanation.

But when the time came to leave Cuba no one could stop Bobby Rodriguez.

“I guess they knew I was thinking about defecting,” Rodriguez said of Cuban authorities.

If so, they were the only ones.

When Rodriguez, 27, takes the court today at the Racquet Centre in Universal City in a pre-qualifying tennis tournament for the Infiniti Open, he will not do so in front of his parents, boyhood friends or 3-year-old daughter Chriss, all of whom remain separated from him by space and politics.

“They didn’t know my plans,” Rodriguez said, in English. “For the last two to three months, I couldn’t sleep, I was thinking about my big decision. But I told no one.”

He reclines on a sofa in the place he now calls home, the Van Nuys residence of his adoptive parents, Steve and Sharie Schneider.

“I talk to my family every weekend, but I cannot go over there and they cannot come here,” Rodriguez said. “My big wish is to see them.”

But when? He must acquire political asylum in the United States first, then residence. Even then it might take another year, or five, or perhaps never.

Such are relations between Cuba and the United States, 33 years after the Missile Crisis. Such was the chance that Rodriguez took when he defected on April 31, 1994, sneaking out of a tournament in Tijuana and seeking a new start on America’s West Coast. The scenery switch was a long time coming.

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Raised in Havana, Cuba’s capital and largest city, Rodriguez was subject to the whims of his nation’s Communist government. No gas for cars. No choice in speech. No say in party affiliation. Few balls for the tennis courts. Restricted access to uncensored media.

“There was an American radio station or two,” Rodriguez said. “But if you listen to it they find out and call the cops.”

Yet Rodriguez, unlike many of his compatriots, was not a passive believer in Cuban propaganda. He believed there was another world, another way, beyond Cuba’s sandy coasts. Tennis would help him find it.

At 15, he noticed a better standard of living in Venezuela, site of his first international tournament.

“People asked me about Cuba’s system,” Rodriguez said. “I had to say good things, because the government would find out if I didn’t.”

Other trips introduced him to the nations of the Caribbean and the South American continent. He started asking questions. The answers were strikingly similar: not every place is like Cuba.

Still, Rodriguez had family, friends, memories and a relatively cushy job as one of Fidel Castro’s prized athletes. To leave, he needed provocation.

The Cuban Tennis Federation provided it. Ranked third or fourth on the Cuban Davis Cup squad, Rodriguez consistently and mysteriously missed the cut for the six-man traveling team. He also seemed to miss out on replacement equipment his teammates received.

To fetter his freedom was one thing. Messing with his career was another.

So, in January 1994, Rodriguez first seriously considered defecting while in Chile. But he balked.

“The weather was too cold,” Rodriguez said. “I didn’t know anybody there, either. My dad’s brother was in Miami. I thought he could help me in the States.”

This spring arrived, with the usual assortment of hassles: harassment from government officials, interminable waits at the bus stop, food rationing, Castro. It was time to go, whatever the weather.

The federation, in charge of travel arrangements, delivered its watchdogs late to a satellite tournament in Tijuana. That gave Rodriguez time to contact Rita Maria Pichardo, formerly Cuba’s top female player, who defected in late 1993. She explained how to get across the border.

Soon, Cuba was behind him.

“I called and told my mom,” Rodriguez said. “I told her, ‘I have a surprise for you.’ ”

His mother gave the phone to his father. His father gave him the expected reaction. Rodriguez couldn’t bring himself to call them again for over a week.

Instead, he called an uncle in Miami, a city where there were fewer language and cultural barriers to cross.

“I need help,” Rodriguez told him.

“I will call you,” his uncle promised.

He never did.

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Steve Schneider, an attorney, served as counsel for agents representing baseball players Jose Canseco, Bobby Bonilla and Barry Bonds. Two years ago, he started his own agency in conjunction with Cuban-born Gus Dominguez and former Dodger third baseman Ron Cey.

When pitcher Rene Arocha defected from Cuba, Schneider’s agency facilitated his deal with the St. Louis Cardinals.

“After Rene, a series of Cuban baseball players defected and ended up finding us,” Schneider said.

Several of those players settled together in Sylmar. Pichardo put Rodriguez in touch with them. They made room, until they were drafted in June.

“Bobby had nowhere to go,” Schneider said. “Gus didn’t have the room or he would have taken him. I had an empty house here.”

Schneider’s daughters, Stacy and Jennifer, had long since left home to continue their studies. Stacy was married, Jennifer soon would be.

“I came up with the baseball players to have dinner at his house,” Rodriguez said. “We talked about tennis, and life.

“Then they didn’t let me go.”

Actually, it wasn’t so simple. The plan was for Rodriguez and Pichardo to play in tournaments, earn some money, rent an apartment and share costs.

“It was overly optimistic,” Schneider said. “To do it, you really had to win them all. Rita was not winning enough. Bobby was doing better, but not well enough.”

He was doing well teaching himself English, though. And even better fitting in.

“We found him to be pleasant, helpful, part of the family,” Schneider said. “We felt we should not limit his stay here. He has a home here as long as he wants it.”

Rodriguez, who is introduced as the Schneiders’ “Cuban son,” feeds the dogs and washes the dishes. The Schneiders have given him access to their backyard tennis court, so he can teach tennis.

“He is very gifted, very patient,” Schneider said. “He even mastered slang words used on court, to teach completely in English.”

Rodriguez came prepared to work.

“I didn’t know I would find a family, play tennis, teach,” he said. “I am so happy.”

Most of the time.

“He has his moments visibly, when he will call home,” Schneider said. “My wife sees it more than I do. On certain events, a birthday, an anniversary, he will cry. He misses them very much.”

Rodriguez’s daughter, the product of a failed relationship, lives with his family. He sends her hard-to-find goods when he can.

Whatever Rodriguez does this week, whether or not he avenges a defeat last year to top-seeded Otis Smith, he won’t smoke a victory cigar.

He doesn’t feel pressure on the court as he once did, when a loss could mean no more tournaments, and no more privileges. Tennis is secondary now.

His love game isn’t played with a racket. It’s with a little girl named Chriss.