The Most Russian Person

Igor Vasilyevich looked at me sharply (with understanding, it means) and asked for some patience. He said he knew how important transport was in our business. “In every sense, you are our “ambulance”. We are sure to help, I promise,” he said and kept his word. He always said simply, with jokes, which, of course, were relevant. He was always the center of attention. When we went fishing, he was busy with our kids and also with jokes. Through a joke, the boys were crammed with serious things about science, serious study, for example. That way he made his son Zhenka fall in love with these same sciences, so that when he grew up, he became submarine designer. He is now seventy-two years old, Honored Submariner of Russia, lives in Severodvinsk. Here is what else Igor Vasilyevich asked me about during that first meeting: “You, Ivan Nikiforovich, should be as military strict with subordinates. People from all over the country will soon come here, you need to continuously deliver them to the plant – from Sverdlovsk, Chelyabinsk. In addition, a huge amount of cargo will also go and they should not suffer. This is a responsible matter, but I hope you can handle it.”

“Sure I will cope, Igor Vasilyevich!”

Academician rose from the table, came close and firmly shook my hand. Our eyes met, he carefully began to examine me, from close range. We turned out to be the same height and it is when I was almost two meters tall! On “Mayak” people of this height are rare.

“And now about the main thing. All the country's science, famous academics, started moving to us. They need to be placed in three cottages specially built for them,” Kurchatov paused. “But remember that the academicians are the same children, they wear hats in summer and winter. Please meet each in person, do not reassign to anyone. And change hats to caps!”

From this day on, I met and placed “domestic science” personally. People were different: more silent, thoughtful, and there were capricious, and such as Yuliy Borisovich Khariton – cheerful, good-humoured. I went hunting and fishing with them. I got the most important thing: every academician was a secret person, the country would learn many of their names later after their discoveries, and in the case of Sergey Pavlovich Korolev only after his death.

For especially important guests I warmed two cars in stock. I made out sheepskin coats, felt boots, fur hats and, whatever happens, a few bottles of Armenian brandy.

Such a case soon came up. Boris Glebovich Muzrukov, director of the plant, calls me and says, “There hasn’t been any news from the people meeting Korolev for a long time. You are at control”. It was almost the only time when someone else instead of me went to meet, and no one knew who Korolev was. I called the driver of one of the already equipped cars, and we rushed. Somewhere after ten kilometers we saw a car that had slid to the side of the road. The driver was busy under the hood, and two passengers and a welcomer were standing nearby. In order not to waste time, I gave the command to the drivers to take the stalled car in tow, and made the guests put on sheepskin coats, hats and boots, practically making them change clothes in the cold. Then I poured cognac into glasses, offered cheese, sausages, something else and soon brought the latecomers to the place. I ran to Muzrukov, reported that everything was in order (it was night, and our cottages were nearby), but he laughed, “Korolev has already called, said that some huge “chief”, as the chauffeurs call him, arrived and forced him change clothes and even made him drink brandy.” After that, I met Sergey Pavlovich more than once. He was a charming and modest person. Although neither a hunter nor a fisherman, he never refused to go to the country.”

“Ivan Nikiforovich! My interview with you has stretched out for long four years. An entire story was written, handed over to the editor, and on January 12, 2007, there came the centenary of Sergey Pavlovich Korolev. Let's go back and talk about what you have remembered from your meetings with him.”

“There were several such meetings. Where do we start?”

“Tell everything that you remember, and then put the episodes in chronological order.”

“To begin with, over the years of my work at “Mayak”, I met Sergey Pavlovich every time, except for the episode already described. His arrivals were associated with the development and supply of fuel for future space missions. Train sets of tanks went constantly from us to Baikonur. He made closest friendly relations, I would even say, with Slavsky, Muzrukov, Kurchatov.”

“Did close communication with him happen after your eight-year work at “Mayak”?”

“Yes, the first such meeting took place in 1957. By that time I had moved to Mineralnye Vody and worked in Lermontov as the head of the motor transport at a classified unit. Once in the director’s receiption I was informed that they had called from Kislovodsk and asked to get in touch. It turned out that on Korolev’s instructions, his assistant was looking for me and sent me an invitation to come to Ordzhonikidze Sanatorium. After work I started my new Volga and headed for Kislovodsk. The meeting turned out to be warm and friendly. While walking in the park for a couple of hours, we remembered mutual friends, acquaintances, some episodes from our life in the Urals. We planned a trip to Elbrus region. Vladimir Semyonovich Khomutov, chief medical officer, was the initiator of it. I took over the organization of shashlyk, pickled meat and picked up a set of stainless steel skewers brought from the Urals. All other problems were laid on the management of the sanatorium. The next morning we met on the highway Pyatigorsk – Nalchik, and three cars drove into the mountains. Elbrus region today still remains one of the largest centers of mountaineering and skiing in the country.

In Baksan, we were joined by an old friend of mine, the chairman of the village council, Azret Shokovich Bifov, with his sons Zhamal and Hassan. I contacted them late in the evening and invited to take part in the event. Somewhere a year before this episode, we rested in Elbrus region with families, and for my part it would be an unforgivable mistake not to invite these noble people to a decent men company, knowing how much honour and respect among the countrymen Azret Shokovich enjoys.

We got there two hours later. I don’t remember exactly what that place was, it seems, a recreation center for management, as there was security and staff. Representatives of the regional party committee of Kabardino-Balkaria, who met us, suggested a walk to the mountains. My legs ached then, and I had to give up climbing. Together with the chef of the sanatorium and the Baksan friends I took up cooking dinner. Kabardians brought with them a fat-tailed ram, dressed it and everything turned out at the highest level. Skewers of lamb and pork, shulum, skilfully cooked lamb entrails, greenery, vegetables, fruits, various slices of sturgeon and salmon fish and meat and sausage products. Guests came back from the walk about three hours later, pleased and full of enthusiastic impressions. We had already prepared a sumptuous dinner by that time, all the more so that everyone was pretty hungry. Sergey Pavlovich, impressed by the beauty of the nature of the Caucasus, was pleased and even made a toast and despite the sanatorium regime, took two or three shots of brandy.

We came back home late at night.

The second meeting with Korolev occurred in 1961. On a call from the USSR Ministry of Medium Machine Building, I once again had to visit the capital. By the way, I don’t know how it was in other ministries, but in those years our employees were summoned to Moscow and not sent on business trips by their enterprises. On arriving, I directly went to the reception office of Efim Pavlovich Slavsky, our long-term minister (from 1957 to 1986), who had served at his post until the age of 88. The receptionist knew me and both his secretaries usually tried to help get to the boss without delay, but this time they asked to wait. Just in case I asked, “Who is there with him?” It turned out that it was Korolev, and then, having rejoiced, I said that I had known him well for a long time. My arrival was reported. And I immediately entered into the minister’s cabinet, which I had known for a long time, and embraced him and Sergey Pavlovich. Slavsky says to me, “It is very good that you have arrived today. By four o'clock in the evening be with me. In the meantime, take a break from the road, or do something.”

There was always enough work in the ministry. I went around the offices I had planned, settled in a hotel, and at the appointed time appeared before Slavsky. Together, in the Minister’s “Chaika”, we went to the restaurant of the Moscow Hotel. We were met at the service entrance and taken to the luxurious banquet hall, where about twelve people had already gathered, all close to Korolev. It turned out that the event was dedicated to giving Sergey Pavlovich the second Golden Star of the Hero of Socialist Labor. I was introduced to the guests as a colleague of Efim Pavlovich for work in Chelyabinsk-40 and who had worked for many years alongside Igor Vasilyevich Kurchatov. I don’t remember who those people were, but there were the Stars of Heroes on the jackets of many of them, and Slavsky at that moment had two. The evening was solemn, everyone wished the general designer further space victories. Surprisingly, they drank little, basically brandy. Probably because many were already at a respectable age. When the word was given to me, I wished success to the hero of the occasion and expressed hope for future meetings, but this time at the resorts of the Caucasian Mineral Waters, where almost everyone went to restore health. Sergey Pavlovich could not resist talking about our first meeting, about the huge “chief” who made him put on a sheepskin coat, felt boots, drink a glass of brandy in the cold and safely delivered to his destination. We parted somewhere by midnight.

Then there was another, third, meeting with Korolev in Sochi. In autumn of 1963 the velvet season settled on the Black Sea coast. The new triumph of the Soviet cosmonautics! The flight was carried out by the first woman cosmonaut in the world – Valentina Tereshkova. That year I received a personal voucher to the Sochi sanatorium “Zvezdochka”. Holders of such vouchers were settled in luxury rooms or in separate cottages. I got a cottage for two rooms. In the other half Nikolay Konstantinovich Baibakov, who for nearly thirty years headed the USSR State Planning Committee, was having resting with his family. In terms of age, he is older than me by a year, and, as far as I know, he is the only living Commissar of today (the Minister) of the Stalin call. Seems that he had headed the People's Commissariat of the oil industry since 1943. We talked much and learned about each other a lot of interesting things in twenty-four days of rest. Having came back from the beach one day, I found a note on my desk saying the chief medical officer of the sanatorium invited me to his place. It turned out that a meeting with cosmonauts was scheduled for this time. The neighbor also received an invitation, and together we went. Indeed, cosmonauts Andriyan Nikolaev and Pavel Popovich arrived, and about thirty minutes later Sergey Pavlovich Korolev arrived with a retinue of five people. He was having rest at the government dacha. We had interesting time: all the attention in those years was riveted on the heroes of space, they were celestials.”

“Well, did you manage to talk to Korolev in presence of so many people?”

“Of course. We embraced, shook hands friendly and during the toast he again recalled the episode of our first acquaintance, thanked for the considerate attitude and even jokingly said that I was his bodyguard during the visits to the Urals.”

“And what were the drinks?”

“There was everything on the table: Armenian brandy, Georgian wine, Russian vodka, champagne. This time I drank wine, Sergey Pavlovich only brandy and as always drank a little, my neighbor Baibakov – vodka. Korolev's friendly attitude, his story about the “exploits” on “Mayak” immediately won Nikolay Konstantinovich’s favour. After this meeting and before the end of the holiday, we began to communicate more and almost made friends, exchanged phone numbers, although we never saw each other again.”

“You know, Ivan Nikiforovich, what is the most amazing thing about your story? Of the listed characters ofthat memorable meeting, only Baibakov and Medyanik are still alive. On March 5, 2006, in the Column Hall of the House of the Unions, ninety-fifth anniversary of Nilolay Konstantinovich was solemnly celebrated. Speakers noted the outstanding achievements of our countryman. There were many honored guests from among the former secretaries of the Central Committee, union and republican ministers, representatives of CIS. Among those present and speaking there were congratulations from N. I. Ryzhkov, G. A. Zyuganov, Y. M. Luzhkov, Y. P. Ryabov, N. I. Maslennikov, Y. P. Batalin, E. S. Korshunov. Each guest was presented with souvenirs and a book “Baibakov from Stalin to Yeltsin”.

And on June 2, 2007, Medyanik turned 95 years old. Hometown congratulated him adequately on this day.”

“There has something gone absurdly wrong with the academics,” recalls Ivan Nikiforovich.” Most of them worked on a permanent basis in Dubna, Arzamas-16, KB-2, KB-3. They came to “Mayak” mainly to test their own inventions. Sometimes it happened that, where he had invented or discovered something had to be put into production, and then there were problems that affected the time of creation of the bomb. Time was running out, no failures were allowed. And then, according to Stalin’s personal instructions, all key scientists, project participants, were transported to our place for the completion of the installation and the commissioning of the main production facilities. So those three special two-story cottages were filled with renowned residents. Complete secrecy was observed. Only a few people knew who came or was leaving: the director of the plant, his deputy on security, representative from the Council of Ministers, I and maybe one or two people more. It was damn nice when at a solemn banquet in honor of the twentieth anniversary of the first testing, one of the academicians stood up and offered a toast, “To the “chief” who met and saw us off and wrapped in warm sheepskin coats!”

They made me stand up, and the whole hall, two or three hundred, men applauded.

There is one more thing to add. Most of the academicians – physicists, chemists, mathematicians – at the time of their work in the project to create the atomic bomb were classified. It was only after a successful test, on August 29, 1949, the party and the government appreciated their achievements and showered orders, medals, the Stars of Heroes, Stalin, Lenin, State and even Nobel prizes. If my memory doesn’t fail me, three times Heroes among those who were related to the bomb, were eleven people.”

“Ivan Nikiforovich, maybe I will surprise you now. We talked a lot about the great Kurchatov, but did you know that once he saved me from major troubles?”

“And when was it?”

“In the early eighties.”

“Well, you, brother, and exaggerate! Igor Vasilyevich passed away in 1960, toy were only eight then.”

“And, nevertheless, it is.”

I will cite for readers an excerpt from my first book, “The Casket of Colourful Contemporaries.”

"The table of the presidium"

In MOSCOW, I used to rent a room at the Orlyonok Hotel – a favorite, democratic, always hospitable and accessible. In the winter of eighty-three I and Volodya Avetisov stayed in Orlyonok for three days. On the eve of departure, we went to the center of Moscow, booked a table in the elite and closed to the non-artistic people restaurant of the WTO. Everything pleased there – excellent cuisine and excellent service, tremendous attention to the person and the opportunity to witness the capital celebrities – the people of the theater and cinema – meeting whom everybody dreamt in youth. I repeat, I do not belong to the artistic circle; in theatrical language I was introduced in this circle by Valery Shein, a great friend of Boris Rosenfeld, the manager of concert programs in Moscow. The restaurant began to live life to the fullest at midnight – from the hour when the theaters finished spectacles, and the artists went to have dinner, chat with each other, relax over a glass of brandy or vodka, move away from unrest, after the performance. During the day few people looked here. I really liked not to surprise Volodya Avetisov, but to show him that my frequent trips to the capital had paid of: I met interesting people, plunged into the world of art, gained connections, without which even the restaurant like the WTO was not possible.

Having wandered around the city, at half past seven in the evening, we went to Pushkin Square to that very restaurant. Boris Nikolaevich, the waiter with whom we agreed in advance, met us. He took us to the table I ordered, and I was surprised to read the sign, “The chairman's table.” Such a sign made it possible not to disturb us, because by half past ten the hall was full, there were not enough seats. And the sign was a kind of security certificate, that’s the way Boris Nikolaevich tried. “The chairman's table” was stunningly served. I think that the restaurant business designers were worth it for a reason: everything was decorated with taste, elegantly, richly. A lot of snacks, alcohol, although Boris Nikolaevich knew that I did not have an addiction to drinking. But he could not know my friend’s taste, and, naturally, as the serving protocol required, put a bottle of Armenian brandy. The situation itself was disposed to drink off, and we took two or three shots.

Looking around, we noticed that there were no vacant seats in the hall, except for our two. And then Boris Nikolaevich asked us if we would be so kind as to let two ladies sit down at our table. We didn’t object to ladies, but, frankly, we were not disposed to start new acquaintances. He explained the situation, “Our regular customers, both actresses.”

I will be frank, both ladies were nice, beautiful and, as it turned out later, really worked in the theater – either in the Theater for Young People, or in the theater at the House of Culture of the Likhachev Automobile Plant. I can not be accurate today, for many years have passed. When young women appeared, we proposed not to order snacks as we had enough of them and everything is untouched – appetizing, beautifully decorated greenery, decorated various cooking fixings in the form of twisted in a spiral rings of carrots, onions. Outlets of vegetables, cold beef melting in the mouth, ham, olivesd – just an exhibition of the achievements of the national economy, no less no more! But alcohol was asked to add.

And it all started! Volodya, who always controled himself, did not drink, and I, with my passion to making toasts, took control of the table. Our neighbors liked toasts, and it added enthusiasm. Things were gaining momentum and were worthy of attention by Eldar Ryazanov for his next masterpiece, when the master brings comedy to such an extent that tragedy could happen after it…

Somewhere by midnight I’ve had my doze and even exceeded it. When we were about to leave, I began to insist that our companions should be taken home. Volodya tried to stop me, persuade me, reminding that we had a plane early in the morning, that there was no time to sleep. But it was impossible to stop me. And Volodya, of course, could not leave his friend to the mercy of fate, to leave alone in Moscow at night with the drunk ladies, knowing my ability to throw money with or without reason.

We traveled by taxi for a long time, not knowing how far our lovely ladies had gotten. I was dozing, then came to my senses, and for this reason I did not remember the route. Volodya saw the road clearly, but he knew Moscow badly. The only thing that crashed into the memory was the monument to Kurchatov. I remember getting out of the car, how the ladies invited us to have a cup of coffee for vigour. And we went! What for? But having previously arranged with the taxi driver that he would wait for us for about fifteen minutes. Volodya was very unhappy with the night journey. Two o'clock at night, and we were far from the center drinking coffee on the outskirts… There was the reason to become indignant. Fifteen minutes or even more passed, finally, we said goodbye, to our luck found the taxi on the spot, got in and came back to the hotel.

At last! The concert was over, you could relax and even take a little nap… The clock hands showed three in the morning. The driver was in a hurry to the taxi park, as he had to be back and then like a bolt from the blue.

“Where is the jacket?” I howled like a wolf. “Volodya, tell me, where could I leave the jacket?”

Horror is drawn on his face too. In the leather jacket I took off in the hallway, there was everything: plane tickets, money, passports, other documents…

I sobered up instantly and remembered how we arrived, how I took off the jacket and stayed in a woolen pullover, and how I was leaving the ladies cosy home in the far outskirts, how threw on a sheepskin coat, forgetting about the jacket. Here it is, the very edge beyond which lies the tragedy! What to do? We did not know the names of random friends, their addresses, or phone numbers and was it at all? The only thing that I remember was a monument to Kurchatov! “Thank you, Igor Vasilyevich, thank you for that mark! Of course, you are a great scientist, physicist, we give you glory! But now it is you, Igor Vasilyevich, who must help, save me from being ruined!” In such a half-crazy delusion we ran out into the street. Fortunately, the hotel has taxi cars on duty.

“Where are we going?” one of the drivers cheered up.

“If you can find a monument to Kurchatov, we are going with you!”

The driver’s eyes popped out of his head. Just after three o'clock in the morning, two mad people rushed into the car and are crazily interested in the sights of the capital. How to react to it? Most likely, seeing us, he understood that it was a serious matter and got involved in the work. The monument was found. So what is next? We drove two or three blocks, but all in vain. There was not a single light in all the windows. At last we found the house. Seeing obscene inscriptions in the elevator we realized that we were on the right track. We rang the bell. The door of the apartment opened. Yes, it was them, our saviours! And the jacket was in the hallway, alive and good! We checked, valuables were in place – passports, money, tickets… All-in-all, the show was over! The public could go home. The women spoke in vying, “Your forgotten in a hurry jacket was immediately noticed, but it was late – you have already left the house. It became clear from the hotel business card where to look for, so we decided to inform the administrator in the morning.”

I don’t know if they would call the hotel or not, but I think that’s what would have happened. It’s good that the actresses turned out to be decent women, they didn’t touch either the money or the documents, otherwise we couldn’t get out of the trap we had made for ourselves. I instructed myself, children and grandchildren: taking alcohol, be circumspect and vigilant. Of course, first of all, I take it on my account, weigh this commandment up on myself, putting it in my own moral tablets.

“Yes, I agree, an interesting adventure. Good thing that it ended well for you.”

From molecular level to atomic!

Here is, for example, another case: when another star academician, Nikolay Antonovich Dollezhal, came to the Laboratory No. 2 (later it became Kurchatov Atomic Center) at the invitation of Igor Vasilyevich and the academician said right off the bat, “You are an expert in chemical engineering, so let's work together! We need a reactor to produce plutonium.” Ivan Nikiforovich smiled slyly, “I will not lie, I did not hear the conversation, and could not hear it. But read in the interview. Truely, many-many years later. Looks very much like Kurchatov. Well, and that Dollezhal was also a man of incredible mind and immediately understood what it was for and noticed that his scientific interests “do not coincide with atomic science…”

Kurchatov said, “You used to work at the molecular level – now work at the nuclear!” Igor Vasilyevich was witty, everyone knew that. And that he loved jokes, they also knew, but all the same, they swallowed the bait.