On the Right

Moscow, Sept. 14—If you happen to be in the Ukraine, you should not fail to visit the city of Donetsk, a clean and orderly coal-mining center. In the center of Donetsk, occupying a couple of acres of space in an indoor track gym, are 25 young Americans, aged in their very early twenties. Beginning at ten in the morning, and ending at eight in the evening, the Americans are on duty. Two hours on, one hour off. When they are on duty, they are talking to the ten thousand Russians per day who pass through the United States Information Agency’s current exhibit, called “Research and Development U.S.A.” They are called “guides,” and they have in common their incredible mastery of the Russian language, and their extraordinary charm.

A few of them came by Russian at their Russian mothers’ knees, mothers who had emigrated from their Russian homeland. But most got their Russian from American college courses, supplemented by study in the Soviet Union. All of them applied for work as guides, a grueling three-month exposure of five or six hours’ daily discourse with Russian peasants, bureaucrats, artisans and intellectuals who file by the exhibit ogling at the Pinto sports car, squinting at the oscilloscopes, running their fingers over the Apollo 10 capsule that circled the moon 31 times, thumbing through the volumes in the technical library, chortling at the scientific trompe l’oeil that has you reaching to pick up an exposed coin which under the benevolent protection of trick mirrors evanesces from your grasp—it is all too much, and the conversation tumbles from Russian mouths as if they had been taking vodka all day long.

About the Author

William F. Buckley Jr.

William F. Buckley Jr. founded National Review magazine in 1955.

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Moscow, Sept. 14—If you happen to be in the Ukraine, you should not fail to visit the city of Donetsk, a clean and orderly coal-mining center. In the center of Donetsk, occupying a couple of acres of space in an indoor track gym, are 25 young Americans, aged in their very early twenties. Beginning at ten in the morning, and ending at eight in the evening, the Americans are on duty. Two hours on, one hour off. When they are on duty, they are talking to the ten thousand Russians per day who pass through the United States Information Agency’s current exhibit, called “Research and Development U.S.A.” They are called “guides,” and they have in common their incredible mastery of the Russian language, and their extraordinary charm.

A few of them came by Russian at their Russian mothers’ knees, mothers who had emigrated from their Russian homeland. But most got their Russian from American college courses, supplemented by study in the Soviet Union. All of them applied for work as guides, a grueling three-month exposure of five or six hours’ daily discourse with Russian peasants, bureaucrats, artisans and intellectuals who file by the exhibit ogling at the Pinto sports car, squinting at the oscilloscopes, running their fingers over the Apollo 10 capsule that circled the moon 31 times, thumbing through the volumes in the technical library, chortling at the scientific trompe l’oeil that has you reaching to pick up an exposed coin which under the benevolent protection of trick mirrors evanesces from your grasp—it is all too much, and the conversation tumbles from Russian mouths as if they had been taking vodka all day long.