Russian soul - a postscript

When I posted that blog entry the other day (the one immediately preceding) of reminiscences of the Army Language School, I got a wonderful response from friend Bill Medigovich, one of my colleagues from the 100th 12-month Russian course at Monterey. The class carried the not very original title of R-12-100. Bill sent a newspaper clipping (left) from a celebration of the ALS’s ability to pull that off a hundred times already.

That’s Bill in the center of the photo. And that’s Serge Sinkevich, whom I mentioned in the last blog entry, the guy who could do handstands in his 50s. On the railing of the porch outside our classrooms, no less, where if he had fallen he could have broken his neck. Serge (if he ever leaves the States, be sure to follow him) Sinkevich was what one has to think of as a winner. Chased out of the Soviet Union for his czarist inclinations – OK, maybe not; see below – he made a go of it with the Yugoslav army. Landed on his feet, in other words. Whether it was his uncle, Igor Sikorsky, who got him to Berlin I can’t be sure, but when Yugoslavia was no longer to his liking, he made his way to Germany. I do know that it was his uncle Igor who helped him find his way to the United States.

If we could go back in time machines, this is one place I’d go back to. I’d like to pump Sinkevich for more tales of his youth, more information about life post-Bolshevik revolution. He was born in 1907, I just discovered, so that means he was only ten when the czar was overthrown, and that means the exciting tale of dashing into exile just ahead of the fire-breathing Bolsheviks was probably urban legend.  Funny how people tell history. When they say he had to leave the Soviet Union in fear of his life, they don’t tell you he was only ten years old. You have to dig around for that information. Obviously it was his family, and not him acting solo, who made their way to Yugoslavia. History is best written slowly, and by cynics, rather than enthusiasts.

With all the attention being paid today to the bad blood between the Russians and the Ukrainians, Americans are learning at long last about a rivalry that goes back to the very beginning of the Eastern Slavic peoples. The Russians, as well as the people of Belarus and the Ukrainians, all see the nation known as Kievan Rus’ as their point of origin, not unlike the way the Serbians look to Kosovo as a major part of the history of their nation. You guys may think you own it, but we know it's ours.

Uncle Igor was born in Kiev, but he apparently identified as Russian, not Ukrainian. We know Sikorsky today as the inventor of the helicopter, as well as a whole bunch of airplanes, including what became those Pan Am planes known as the “flying boats.” He may have emigrated to the States in 1919, but he clearly kept his ties with the homeland. The Ukrainians are proud enough of his accomplishments, evidently, to have named one of Kyiv’s two airports after him, the Igor Sikorsky Kyiv International Airport. So there.

Protopriest Father Gregory Kravchina (center), other
unidentified, non-smiling Russians (front row) and
smiling Americans behind them

So Sinkevich, whom I remember judiciously avoiding any political discussions, had connections. I doubt he had czarist inclinations, given his family history. But who knows. I just ache at the thought we can’t go back in time and find these things out. We were all of twenty-three years of age at the time and found these people a bit too daunting to approach with personal questions. Only when they exposed themselves, like Mrs. Kravchina, wife of the local Russian Orthodox priest did with her “oh, we were so happy before the revolution” cluelessness, did we get any real insight into the turmoil of these people’s lives.  She, and other "ladies" on the faculty could be counted on to bow their heads when passing Shaky Jake, the Romanoff knyaz' (prince).

Bill confirms my memory of the general with the jowls, General Markov, the one who chuckled at the “primitives” punching the lights out on the jeep. He apparently headed the Soviet Forces who were wiped out by the Finns and when he returned to Moscow he knew his number was up. Hightailed it out of there, pulled a gun, according to Bill, on the pilot of his little command plane and said, “Take me to Berlin!”

So many exiles. So many tales of harrowing flight from the need their homeland had to throw off the rule of the Romanoffs and install a new Marxist way of life. So much more to the story of the Nessins and the Kravchinas in the immigrant community, the Bolsheviks against the czarists, and how they managed to exist side by side in exile. How I'd love to spend an afternoon with Mrs. Nessin and get her take on the fact that the St. Seraphim of Serov Russian Orthodox Church founded by the Defense Language Institute* Russian exiles in 1950, Kravchina among them, I believe, is now part of the organization of Russian Orthodox Churches Outside Russia celebrating the 400th anniversary of the founding of the Romanoff Dynasty. Their web page informs you that on the 21st there will be a concert by the (no kidding) men's choir of the Tsar Nicholas the Passion-bearer singers in New York. Revolution? What Bolshevik revolution?

Wonderful thing about history, if you can stay alive long enough to appreciate it... it never ceases to surprise you.

*The Army Language School changed its name to the Defense Language Institute of the West Coast while I was there. I'm still more comfortable with ALS than with DLIWC, but since I'm talking about a name-change from 56 years ago, I guess it's probably about time I got with the drill.

Both photos courtesy of Bill Medigovich of R-12-100.  Oh, and by the way, that’s me in the black-rimmed glasses, three defenders of freedom down from Bill, in the top photo. Witness to history, if only I’d had the wit to ask the right questions.