Free at Last

"The deal's been made," shouted a stubble-bearded Bernard Rifkin. "I'm getting the hell out of here!" And out he went, elbowing past the bowler-hatted women guards, and down the narrow stairs to the dirt street below. After him tumbled three more Americans and 13 other hostages, as their surprised lady jailers shrieked at them to halt. "The uncertainty was the signal to move," Michael A. Kristula recalled later. "I said to myself that if the crowd outside was hostile, all we could do was go up the stairs again. But the crowd was friendly."

Thus ended ten days of imprisonment in the dingy tin miners' union hall at Siglo, Veinte, 135 miles from the Bolivian capital of La Paz. Until the end, there was no certainty that the men -- pawns in a power struggle between Bolivia's moderate President Victor Paz Estenssoro and its leftist Vice President Juan Lechin -- would get out alive. Even after Lechin backed down, many of the rebellious miners whom he leads seemed in a mood to set off a civil war in the bleak Andean nation. They demanded that Lechin appear personally before them to explain why the hostages should be released while two of their own men -- far leftist union leaders accused of murder -- remained in a government jail in La Paz.

Grudging Hands. A fine drizzle fell over the 14,000-ft.-high plateau as Lechin arrived at Siglo Veinte. With him were the Archbishop of La Paz, U.S. Consul Charles Thomas, TIME Correspondent Gavin Scott, and six other newsmen. A mine siren sounded, and 3,500 grimy miners gathered in front of the union hall. Many of them were in an ugly mood. "Down with the stooges of Yankee imperialism," they chanted. "To the wall! To the wall!" A note of urgent pleading in his voice, Lechin told them that President Paz Estenssoro had promised a fair trial for the jailed union men. "Down with Paz Estenssoro!" howled the miners angrily. "About midway through," recalled U.S. Consul Thomas afterwards, "I began looking around for the embassy car in case I had to clear out fast."

Lechin used the kind of argument he thought would be effective in such a tense situation. The Bolivian government and the Yankees in Washington didn't care if the hostages died; in fact it would provide an excuse to attack Siglo Veinte. Three thousand government troops were nine miles away; there would be much bloodshed. Naturally, said Lechin, he put little faith in the government's promises. "I have my doubts about this agreement. But the fact is that the life of this community is at stake." At last, with a grudging show of hands the miners voted to accept his deal and release their hostages.

Listening to all this in their temporary prison over the square, the hostages hopefully rounded up their things but dared make no move while for 51 hours the miners milled around outside. Finally, at 7 p.m., Rifkin led the charge down the stairs, into the waiting convoy of government vehicles, and away down the hill.

Home for Christmas. After passing two roadblocks of suspicious rifle-toting miners, the hostages arrived three hours later in Oruro, where U.S. Ambassador Douglas Henderson had roast beef and drinks waiting. After a good night's sleep, the four Americans --AID Labor Adviser Rifkin, USIA Officers Kristula and Thomas Martin, and Peace Corpsman Robert Fergerstrom--flew on to La Paz for a tearful reunion with their wives. And from there, at President Johnson's orders, they would be flown home to the U.S. to spend Christmas.

The end of the affair was a considerable victory for President Paz Estenssoro, who intends to run for re-election in May. Lechin, with 40,000 heavily armed, well organized miners at his back, refused to concede defeat, but that is what it was.

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