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Antonio Prohías’ life began as an orphaned baby (his mother perished in a fire) who was lovingly raised by paternal aunts in Havana. Whenever he was bored in elementary school, he would entertain himself and his classmates by creating illustrated stories. Following high school, he enrolled for one year at the University of Havana to study Agricultural Engineering and  fulfill a promise made to his father. He also attended the well-known Escuela de Arte de San Alejandro, where he found it impossible to limit his artistic expression to the pre-established formula espoused by the institution. Around the same time, at 18 years of age, he began his professional career, contributing cartoons to weekly newspapers. At age 25, he earned the Juan Gualberto Gómez award, recognizing him as the foremost cartoonist in Cuba.

For many years, my father was the editorial cartoonist for El Mundo, one of the most respected newspapers in Havana. He also continued contributing to weekly newspapers, primarily Zig-Zag, for which he created “El Hombre Siniestro” (The Sinister Man), still remembered today along with other characters, such as Tovarich. Few know that he often did graphic art and marketing work to supplement the small salaries offered by newspapers.
 
When Castro took over on January 1, 1959, my father was the President of the Cuban Cartoonists Association and was honored by Castro himself for the anti-government cartoons he had published during Batista’s regime.  My father was at the height of his popularity in Cuba and was hopeful that this national movement would bring stability to the country’s political structure.

But within a few short weeks, my father had grown disillusioned with the new regime and began publishing anti-Castro cartoons. As a result, he was dismissed from all the newspapers that employed him. Many asked that he be executed “at the wall.” He was forced to revert to his graphic and marketing artwork, which became his sole means of support, while planning an exit from his homeland. He had decided to migrate to the United States.

My father realized early on that “El Hombre Siniestro” would not cross over to the US. Since the timing coincided with the height of the cold war, he was inspired to transform “El Hombre Siniestro” into a duo of characters constantly spying on and attacking each other. El Hombre Siniestro—dressed in black—was joined by a twin, dressed in white, and Spy vs. Spy was born. My father then began thinking about where his new characters would fit. By the time he arrived in New York, he knew that MAD magazine would offer the most suitable home for the spies.

Upon his arrival, he worked briefly in a factory ironing sweaters. Within a week he was publishing political cartoons—primarily anti-Castro—in two New York City Spanish-language newspapers, which hastened my family’s departure from Cuba. Along with my mother and brother, I reunited with my father in New York on July 1, 1960. Twelve days later I accompanied him to the offices of MAD so that he could present his ideas and characters. For the next 25 years, his efforts concentrated on Spy vs. Spy, although he published other works and contributed ideas for MAD’s cover pages.


His body of work remains as proof of his talent and ingenuity. However, it fails to reveal the man behind the pen. This very caring soul was a true gentleman who, in contrast with his famous characters, avoided conflict and vulgarity. He read avidly, primarily philosophy, psychology, and history. He was a perfectionist in his work, researching extensively to ensure that even the most superfluous details were accurate. He kept voluminous binders with drawings and photographs of clocks, tanks, airplanes, and so on, which he would later use in his work. Since his days as an editorial cartoonist for a morning paper, he learned to work at night and sleep during the day, a routine he kept throughout his life. He smoked too much and constantly drank strong Cuban coffee. He enjoyed good conversation, music, and family. He believed deeply that children need encouragement and guidance to flourish as productive and happy human beings.

My father continued to live in New York City, making occasional visits to the family in Miami. In the mid-1980s he simply stayed in Miami and stopped working, with no fanfare and no official retirement. He once told me that on that day in May of 1960  he knew that he would never see Cuba again. He was right.

Antonio Prohías died in Miami on February 24, 1998 after a short illness. I still miss him.