[chapter one]
Off to the Soviet Union
In nearly every newspaper and magazine there is always a column more or less devoted to Russia. Some articles favor the Soviet Union, others, admittedly antagonistic, indulge in involved statements of their reasons against it. Other journals, "on the fence," lean first to one side and then to the other. We, the poor readers, of course, know relatively nothing after consuming these publications. In fact, all this conglomeration seems to me just as much propaganda as the Russians are accused of using. Just the other day I read a newspaper editorial saying that the Soviets had tried Karl Marx's theories and found them unworkable and the government was doomed to failure. The thought has often occurred to me that if the country was so insignificant, (being only one-sixth of the world's land surface), with its plans on the road to bankruptcy, it would soon pass out of existence of its emu accord. Why, then, do all these journals waste so much printer's ink when they could use it for other events more important and more promising.
I can remember when I was a school boy how my teachers described what ugly looking and badpeople these Bolsheviks were, with their long hairy beards. Also how my classmates enacted scenes they had seen in the cartoon sections of our daily papers where all Russians carried bombs under their coats, pockets, and hair in an attempt to destroy some building or factory. I believed at that time, all these fictions formulated by convention, and thought what a terrible country it must be. As I grew older I began to wonder whether this propaganda was true or not.
The more I read and the more I heard of this new type of society stimulated my desires so much that I wanted to pay this much talked of country a personal visit. I learned after writing to the Soviet agent in New York that special privileges (rates) were granted writers, students, business men, and others who were desirous of going to Soviet Russia for the purpose of making a study of the numerous institutions. I filled out at least a dozen questionnaires and submitted half that many photographs, also requested. And with these was included an intended itinerary contract. From all this information-"red tape"--I thought the-agent would know me as well as my mother and could very easily detect if I was a counter-revolutionist or an undesirable.
In my contract definite arrangements were made for visiting the certain places I was most interestedin, and the other accommodations included the services of an English speaking interpreter. After securing my papers I wondered if there was a possibility of not seeing all I wished and whether certain events would be "pulled off" so that only favorable things would be shown me. That remained to be found out but for the present I discarded those thoughts, only with the avowed intention of keeping my eyes and mind open whichever way the ball would fall.
On the Way Over
On the steamer crossing the Atlantic my experiences with passengers were the sort every traveler meets, most of them asking all kinds of questions of the "why's" and "where-for's of my trip. To some of my acquaintances I admitted my destination was Russia.
That always brought forth comments such as "Why, you will not see everything," and "They will show you only what they want you to see." To which I replied in similar stock phrases, "Oh will they? That remains to be found out." Still, I wondered again, in spite of my resolutions, but was contented when I realized all this talk was just like I had read and heard. Anyway, it would be a great experience one way or the other, was my last, and what I hoped, my final decision.
First Russian Food
As I approached the border by way of Finland,my first thought was to see if the Russian people were starving as they are said to be. The border was reached in the morning and my only beginning toward a meal was a roll and a cup of coffee I picked up in a hurry at a station-stop an hour before I arrived at the Russian border. While awaiting inspection at the frontier station, I noticed a restaurant in the adjoining building and decided to see what there was in the line of food.
As I entered, the smell of something freshly baked immediately whetted my appetite,-not that it needed it. It was that special brand of smellthe sweet odor we have all experienced when mother bakes a cake or any of the other nice things which make the mouth water. Under the somewhat untidy show case were jelly biscuits and rolls, just freshly baked. Both were made of dark grain flour.
I pointed to what I wanted and then ordered some "chaey" (tea) -in a little dictionary I had found how to pronounce the Russian national table beverage. As I sat there eating my first Russian food-the jelly biscuit and roll were still warm and good, too--I thought if food was as easy toget as this where did all this propaganda about the Soviets starving come from? In the room adjoining the restaurant there was a railway ticket office where a few people were waiting for their train. They looked poor but not pinched or starved. They had some money, too, for one purchased cigarettes and another a bottle of beer.
The Border Inspection
The border inspection was not any more severe than the one I had received in Germany and Finland. No personal search, such as the Soviets are accused of, was made. In my baggage was included a camera, flashlight, and a new leatherbound note book. All these things I had heard beforehand would have to pass censorship. If they did, a receipt to be used in claiming the articles upon leaving the country would be given. When my inspector asked me what I had to claim, these articles were presented and only a record was made of the camera. My money? Oh yes, I was asked to produce that, too, and a receipt was tendered me for just the cash carried and not the amount in checks, although it was noted that I carried them -other countries of Europe also register money and some make a note of it in the passport.
This procedure in Russia, however, did not inanyway mean that it was compulsory to give up my cash money for this receipt or present the receipt whenever I rode a street car, had my shoes shined, or purchased little odds of necessities, but was to be presented to the officials when making my exit from the country. I later learned that this formality had its purpose as all money speculation was strictly prohibited in the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics. Anything for individual profit is considered capitalistic and therefore not tolerated in a Socialist Republic. And the idea was not to take out more than my entrance receipt called for, though I could spend all the money I wished while in the land-checks or cash.
I wondered if there could in anyway be a chance of selling my checks for more than they were worth. It was out of the question. I would be leaving the country with something I had not made record of, unless the gain was spent during the visitation.