Nomad News-Vol.4-No.94

THE ELECTRIC GRID IS VULNERABLE:  (The following letter to the Editor, was published in the Crossville Chronicle on April 25, 2014.  It was submitted by the writer.)
Dear Chronicle:
     The State Department wants $400,000 to purchase a fiberglass sculpture of a camel looking at a needle.  The Obamas kept the tab under $500,000 for a week at the Villa Padierna.  U.S.Ambassador to NATO needs$700,000 for landscaping.  Christmas in Hawaii for the Obamas, $4 million.  National Science Foundation wants $700,000 to put on a theatrical production.  The Obamas vacation on Martha's Vineyard, $1.1 million.  Senate staffers need $1.9 million for lifestyle coaching.  Obama's speech at the Mandela memorial, $5. million.  Yale University wants $384,000. to study the odd corkscrew shape of a duck's penis.  That should have you laughing in the aisle if it wasn't so serious.  Annual cost to taxpayers for the Obamas' indulgence in Air Force One travel is $1.4 billion.  Yes, that's a B.  On and on it goes with no end in sight.
     On April 16, near San Jose CA, one of more "vandals" (that is what they were first called) attacked a transmission substation, aimed at knocking out a part of America's electrical infrastructure.  They attacked with military precision, cutting underground fiber optic cables, disabling security systems.  For the next 20 minutes, using high-powered weapons, they disabled seven large transformers.  I understand these transformers weigh up to a hundred tons and are manufactured in South Korea and will take months to replace.  These "vandals" knew exactly where to disable the units.  No fingerprints on ejected shell casings.  The culprits disappeared into the darkness a minute before the police arrived.  A real military-style attack by terrorists, not vandals.
     Was this a test run?  Was it a warning?  Who knows.  What seems certain is, an attack on a small number of key transformers throughout the electrical grid could cause a catastrophic blackout of the United States.  Pull the master switch on your home electric box and lock your car keys in a drawer for twenty-four hours if you need a test run.  The federal government seems to have a bottomless piggy bank to waste on frivolity and self-indulgence, while the electrical grid is vulnerable.  Do something.
     Andy Dolan
(This was originally addressed to the Congress of the United States with copies sent to our two Senators and Congressman.  As soon as I find out which committees this would come under, I will send them the message, too.  (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.93

HOW NOT TO HANDLE A PERSONNEL MATTER:  In Nomad News No. 92, I mentioned three things that got my Irish up.  The third one was an incident at Al Paul Lefton Advertising.  To place things in perspective, I am going back to the end of WW2.  When I returned to the Philadelphia Record, a couple of my friends there had been working to have me placed in a better position.  The production manager in the Sales Promotion department was Mrs. Virginia Wilton.  I learned later on that she was reluctant to take me; fearing that I would not take orders from a woman after being in the army for five years.  We didn't have minute one of a problem.  I knew nothing.  She knew everything.  I wanted to learn.  She was willing to teach.  We got along wonderfully.
     After about a year, Mrs. Wilton called me in one day and asked if I would like to work for an advertising agency.  Her husband worked at Al Paul Lefton Advertising and they were going to take on a production trainee under the Veterans GI Bill.  She told me I would advance quicker there than I would in my current position at the Record.  There was only one answer I could give: Yes.  My supervisor at Al Paul was Ralph Powell, a chubby jovial character.  Fun was written all over him and that is what we had.  The boss of the department was Miss Harbison, a dour spinster.  Five words was a long-winded conversation with her.  She had the reputation of being the best production person in the business in Philadelphia.  Her personality stopped at that point.  All the production men had secretaries.  With me, I was secretary/trainee for Ralph.  Ralph was a great teacher and spent a lot of time with me.
     After a little over a year, one of the secretaries asked for a $2.00 a week raise and was refused.  She quit.  That left the production man without a secretary.  Ralph was out of the office that day when one of the secretaries, Nancy Sprout,  came to my desk with a handful of bills to be typed.  She said Miss Harbison told her to give them to me.  I got the pick because I could type faster and better than any of the secretaries.  I told Nancy I had plenty of my own work to complete and when I finished, I had plans to visit one of the engraving firms, which was part of my training program.  Nancy left and was back in a couple of minutes with the bills still in her hand, with this comment:  "Miss Harbison said you had to do them, whether you liked it or not."  Wrong words.  I took the wad of bills, placed them on a corner of my desk, placed a piece of paper in my typewriter and typed out my resignation, two weeks hence.  I took the resignation to Miss Harbison, handed it to her.  She placed the paper on her desk without comment.  I typed the bills.  When Ralph returned, I explained what had transpired.  His words:  "You did the proper thing, although I will miss you."
     A week went by and no word from anyone.  Then I got a call to come to Vice-President Henry Locheim's office.  He had a piece of paper, face down, on his desk and proceeded to tell me how
impressed they were with my progress and were ready to turn over some accounts that I would control personally.  The training was over and I would be on my own.  He turned the paper over and read off five or six clients I would control.  One was a division of Pennsylvania Railroad, one of their largest clients.  I thanked him and told him how much I appreciated working for the firm and giving me an opportunity to move upward, but, No Thanks.  We shook hands and I walked back to my office desk.  A week later I left with not so much as a glance from Miss Harbison in her glass enclosed cubicle.
     This is how it should have been handled:  All Miss Harbison had to do was, call me into her office;  explain  that they were in a present jam and would appreciate it if I would help get them over the hump until they hired a new secretary.  There was no way I could have refused and gotten my Irish up.  What kind of respect would I have had if I had accepted an executive's order from a secretary?  Nothing against the secretary, having been one, but you just don't do business in that manner.
  I got a job working at Charlie Williamson"s Texaco station, while looking for another position.  I was out of work for five weeks and was hired at Food Fair the day before I would receive my first unemployment check.    (Copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)      

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.92

ITS A FUN LIFE:  Some time back, a very pleasant woman who attends the same church we do, Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran, made the following comment:  "You must have had an interesting life."  At one time, but several years apart, this person and I lived at opposite ends of Long Beach Island , NJ.  LBI is an 18-mile sand sprit off the New Jersey coast.  She lived in Beach Haven and I, in Barnegat Light.  I had not thought of this, but now I did.  She is correct.  But, in place of "interesting" I inserted "fun".  Instead of "had", I inserted "having".
     I have had a fun life through bright days and dreary days.  It was always fun.  I don't mean laughing fun but, enjoying everything.  If you're not happy in your job, get a different job.  I once met a man who was one of the airport traffic controllers fired by President Reagan.  He reminded me of Joe Btfsplk, a comic book character in the Joe Palooka strip who always had a black rain cloud over his head.  This man  was so despondent, I couldn't wait to get away from him.   I was fired, and walked out the door humming Happy days Are Here Again.  I was happy as a lark.  I now had the resources and, more importantly, the time to follow my pursuits: Airplanes, Boats, Fishing; and women as long as they did not interfere with the other three.  A month or more in Canada every year fishing, flying when I wanted to, on my sailboat when I wanted to be there.  I was 46-years old, single, in the prime time of my life.  I wasn't thinking of mid-life crisis, I was thinking fun.  I was not happy -go- lucky,  Just having fun, but serious when necessary.
     My sixty years of bachelorhood came to a sudden halt when a little French immigrant appeared on the scene.  The fun didn't stop.  Just changed direction, which included a move to Tennessee.  I wrote in another Nomad News why I believe I was destined to move to Tennessee.  Without Yvette, that destiny would not have been fulfilled.  Why I'm here, as yet to be fulfilled.  As a matter of fact, I was always sort of reserved, as I am today.  But, I was always having fun and continue to do so.  Life's not as buoyant, but is still  fun.  I can recall only three times when I wasn't having fun.  One was when they told me I "couldn't" do something or "had" to do something.  That got my Irish up.  They told me I couldn't dump a Timeshare contract.  I did. I can't tell you how as I had to sign a confidentially agreement.  Another time, a fast-talking telephone solicitor convinced Yvette she needed to take a $4000.00 self-improvement course.  Our lawyer told us our chance of getting a refund was nil to none.  I got it.  I can tell you how if you are interested.  My boss at Al Paul Lefton Advertising told me I had to do something whether I liked it or not. (Details on this last comment are rather long so I will follow with Nomad News No.93)  In any event, if you wish to have a long happy life, have fun.    Don't hang out with the Joe Btfsplks of this world.  Hang out with fun people.  There are beaucoup out there.  (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan  

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.91

WHY I WAS FIRED:  With you folks not knowing the personnel involved, I will attempt to  outline the facts involved when I was fired at Food Fair Stores, the fourth largest food chain at that time, with over 400 stores. I was Advertising/Sales Promotion Manager for the Philadelphia branch with about 100 stores.  My boss was Branch Manager Morris Marcus, bother of Executive Vice-President Meyer Marcus.  Morris was as stupid as Meyer was brilliant, in so far as the food business.  The company decided to open some low-cost markets called Pantry Pride.  Morris' son, Aubie, who worked in my department, was placed in charge for advertising.  He moved uptown to the corporate headquarters.  They wanted to hire another person to work for Aubie but, he would be in my department physically.  I objected because I knew they would hire someone who would be making more money than my personnel.  I didn't care if they hired 100 people, as long as they were elsewhere.  I spoke to Harry Pripstein, Vice-President over Buying and Advertising.  He reported back that he had "taken care" of the situation. Looking back, I may have misread "taken care".
     Anyway, shortly thereafter, the company hired an Efficiency Expert, Jerry Rosen, to streamline the company.  When you hear "efficiency", the first thing that comes to mind is "firing".  Naturally, Jerry was disliked.  I had a meeting with the department and brought them up to date.  I told everyone to anwer Jerry's questions, honestly and to the best of their knowledge but, not to volunteer any information.  Further, I told them I did not believe anyone's job was in jeopardy. A couple of days later, Jerry appeared and we went over what he would be looking for.  I introduced him to the team, and returned to my office.  Several hours later, Jerry came back and reviewed what he had done.  He then commenced to talk about something that had no connection with his job.  This happened the next and the next.  I started to like Jerry because he had a touch job, and he just wanted someone to talk to.  I felt sorry for him and we became friends.  I had forgotten about the dispute with my boss, but on a Monday Morning, Jerry came in and told me Morris was looking for some reason to fire me.  He couldn't find anything, so was making things up.
      I didn't have to be hit with a bat before I got the picture.  As soon as Jerry left, I started making calls.  That evening that was a farewell dinner for Larry Ellis, Head Bakery Merchandiser, who was retiring .  That day, I drove to work with Mike Morosec and accompanied him to the restaurant where the dinner was taking place.  We arrived a little late and quite a number were already there.  One of the first persons I spotted was Dave Friedland, Vice-President for Store Operations.  Dave always had something stupid to say or ask me to do.  This night, he obviously ignored me.  Then, Myer Marcus, who seldom recognized me at such functions, came out of his way to discuss the opening of a new store.  I smelled a rat.  I don't have to get soaked to the skin when I go out to know its raining.  Dinner over, I' waiting for Mike next to an entrance door.  The light is subdued.  Meyer comes by, acknowledges me, and says 'good evening'.  As Meyer goes through the doorway, a few feet behind comes Morris, well oiled from the free booze.  He doesn't see me and blurts out What are we going to do with Dolan".  I told you he was stupid.  Before lunchtime the next day, I had an offer to go into business as a partner with my first boss out of high school, and an appointment at Weis Markets, a small but highly reputable chain with headquarters in Northampton PA.
     On Wednesday, Morris' secretary came in and told me he wanted to see me Friday morning.  The first thing the idiot told me was, that "uptown" they were not satisfied with my performance.  I asked: "If they are not satisfied with my performance, why did I receive a ten percent raise last month?  The answer:  "I had to fight for it and that's why we are giving you an opportunity to resign."  I replied:    "You know that's not true and I'm not resigning.  Furthermore, I'm going to walk out that door, knowing that I can walk down any street in this country and look anyone I meet, straight in the eye.  Something you will never be able to do."   I turned an walked out, to a tearful departure from my team.  That told me everything I needed to know.  I received a bunch of  gratifying calls from store managers and merchandisers, expressing their disdain with the way I was treated.  One merchandiser said: "If they can do that to you, they can do it to anybody."  Another one said: "Don't worry Dolan, you'll live to pee on all their graves."  I have.  In a little over a year, the company filed for Chapter 8 Bankruptcy.  Is that what they call poetic justice?  I think so.
(copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)  

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.90

MY OWNERSHIP IN AMERICA: On December 7, 1918, I received a gift of one share of stock in the United states of America. This honor is estowed upon every natural born or naturalized citizen. This share of stock granted me 0ne 203 millionth ownership in a growth enterprise that was on the verge of expansion. The stock paid handsome dividends (freedom)and benefits (liberty). I reinvested the dividends by being a good citizen and today my wealth is bountiful. As a shareholder, no one has more authority than me. Everyone has one share and is on an equal footing. We all have the same power that is vested in that share. Unfortunately, a large group of disgruntled investors chose to trade their share for a promise of different benefits, which proved to be illusory. This created an imbalance of freedom and now this group, using purloined shares, is attempting a hostile takeover of our corporation. A very important stockholder meeting will be held on November 4. To protect your investment, it is imperative that you and every freedom-loving shareholder attend this meeting. There are no proxy votes. You must appear in person at your appointed meeting place and vote your share for the directors who you believe are most capable of managing our corporation. Mark your calendar and BE THERE (Copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.89

FUN IN THE SUN: After the cessation of hostilities on the Western Front and I was back home, the first order of business, as I observed, was getting the breweries back up and running profitably. I had helped boost production at that German brewery and now was the time to help the home folks. That done, I got back to my favorite pastime: Up, Up, and Away. Time went by. I got married, finally. The cost of renting a Cessna 150 kept rising until it was around $35.00 an hour. As I was leafing through the magazine of the Aircraft Pilots and Owners Assn., I came across an advertisement for an American Eagle Ultralight airplane. It showed a photo of this craft being stuffed in the trunk of a car. "What a great idea" that light bulb in my brain flashed in front of me. We were doing quite a bit of traveling and I thought we could carry this craft with the rest of the luggage and just pull it out. When we visited a location for several days or more, I could just fly around the area. Well, it didn't work out that way. I called the factory in Arizona for the location of the nearest distributor..It was Scott Bird (an appropriate name) and Scott was located near Lancaster PA, about a hundred miles from our home in New Jersey. The next weekend we took off for Lancaster and on return I was the proud owner of a $3000. Ultralight American Eagle. The Eagle stayed at Scott's airport. If a Mack truck had a trunk, it might have fit. No way in our Chrysler. My Eagle was one-place, flying wing with wing-tip rudders. It sure beat $35.00 an hour but it had some other non-amenities. For one, you couldn't loop it. One weekend we showed up at the airport to find out I was now the proud owner of a two-place Eagle. Yvete had given me the Eagle for my birthday. The experience was fun but with a lot of drawbacks. For one, the weather had to be ideal and we spent a lot of weekends sitting on the ground. Then one day, a 70-year old pilot (I have forgotten his name) took off and made a big climbing righthand turn on the hilly side of the field. He completed the turn over the runway and we thought he has "hot-dogging. (showing off). But, he made another turn and this time he barely cleared the top of the hill. Yvette and I were pre-flighting our bird at the time. Again he made the sweeping turn but as soon as he reached the crest of the hill, I told Yvette to run in an call the ambulance. I started up the hill as the craft crashed. I expected to find the pilot dead among the bundle of fabric and metal. He wasn't. His head, covered with dirt, was on the ground and I told him to remain still as the ambulance was on the way. Yvette arrived and cleaned his face the best she could. He was alive but spent two years in rehab. Scott had teamed up with an excellent pilot named Jim Walkup. They had met during the previous year's Fun-In-The-Sun fly-in in Orlando FL. Jim had good days and bad days, depending if he had taken his ugly pills. You never knew what mood he might be in. He was an exceptional pilot, though. He flew a Hummer. The Hummer was manufactured nearby and consisted of a 18-inch aluminum tube for the body. Two seats at the front for pilot and passenger. One day I watched in astonishment as he came in over the runway at full power about three-feet of the ground and looped the Hummer. Only someone with a death wish would pull a stunt like that. Then there came a report of an Eagle crashing with two fatalaties. The wing-tip rudders had jammed. One day, Jim Walkup flew the Hummer to 5000-feet and exclaimed how wonderful it was up there. Yvette asked Jim if he would take her to 5000-feet. He complied and she came back all excited. How Jim headed directly into the sun and came down, flying through a hole in the clouds. How the sound of the air singing through the guide wires, etc. That weekend was Scott's birthday. His parents came up from Bucks County and invited Scott, his girlfriend, Yvette and I out for dinner to celebrate. Jim came along but he wasn't interested in dinner. He just wanted to be dropped off at one of his favorite bars. We had a wonderful evening and on the way back, Yvette said something like, "It's a Glorious world." Jim replied: "Yes, but maybe there's a better one some place." On return, I said to Yvette: "I'm not telling you what to do but, I would think twice about flying with Jim. The next time he might head for the sun again, and believe that better world is behind the sun, and take you along with him." She had already reached the same conclusion. Soon thereafter, we moved the Eagle to a new Ultralight field near where we lived. I purchased a portable hangar for $2000. and a parachute for $1000. that would handle the plane and two passengers in case of an emergency. I now had $10,000. invested. Before long, there was another fatal accident in the Eagle, so I decided to wrap it up. Was it worth it? Probably not, but it was fun and you can't place a price on fun. I sold the hangar for $2000. and the parachute for $800. I didn't attempt to sell the airplane because I wouldn't sell something to someone that I wouldn't fly myself. I donated the Eagle to the Mid-Atlantic Air Museum and took a tax write-off, so it wasn't a total loss. I have never tried figure out the cost per hour to fly that turkey, but it was far in access of $35. Soon thereafter I received a call from a reporter for the Lancaster newspaper, telling me there had been a fatal accident at the field. I said: "Jim Walkup" and the answer was "Yes". Scott had bought the neatest little craft; an amphibian ultralight and Jim was flying it that day. There were reports of the airplane flying erratically before the crash. I believe Jim fulfilled his death wish. What's the saying?: "Live and Learn"? Not me! Came the day when there was an announcement in the Camden Courier-Post regarding a demonstration of a Paraplane. Time and location was announced. On the appointed day, I was there along with 50 or 60 more curious folks. The Paraplane consisted of a triangular metal frame with a seat at the fore and a 50-horsepower Romax engine mounted behind, and a parachute. The parachute was cached in a packet behind the pilot's head. For take-off, the parachute was extracted from it's location and the shrouds stretched out behind on the grass field. Two people held the chute up. When the pilot started the engine, the back draft of the propeller started to inflate the chute and as the pilot increased the thrust, the air gradually pulled the chute up and over the Paraplane as takeoff was established. The plane was maneuvered by two foot pedals. By working the pedals, the chute was pulled down on one side or the other to make a turn. Just as you would maneuver a personal parachute. Accent and descent was controlled by the throttle. It was quite interesting. The pilot circled the field and then descended. The manufacturer's representative then asked: "Who wants to be first?" There was silence, so, you know who, I stuck my hand up. After a few verbal instructions, it was "balls to the wall" (That's pilot talk for full throttle. In the days of propeller aircraft, the throttle arms had round knobs and when full power was required, the command was "balls to the wall", meaning the firewall, which would be the dashboard on a car. I have an interesting story to relate about this to anyone interested. Just send an e-mail to andyvette@frontiernet.net - I circled the field and landed. The price was $3300. It was quite interesting but I came home with an empty trunk, for a change. (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.88

ARRIVAL ON OMAHA BEACH: The skies were dark and dreary as members of the Photo Lab and Photo Intelligence Sections of the 33rd Photo Reconnaissance Squadron descended the port side of the Liberty ship, via the rope mesh and stepped into the waiting Landing Craft Infantry (LCI). We had boarded the vessel the previous evening in Southhampton, crossing the Channel overnight, and were now several hundred yards off the beach. The helmsman on the LCI guided his craft through a myriad of half-sunken hulls of all types of naval craft, scattered as far as the eye could see. When we stepped off on the beach, the havoc was repeated, except now it was all types of military gear. We proceeded to the base of the cliff and the pathway through the cliff prepared by the Army Engineer Corps. Captain James Warndorf was in command and we lined up in a column behind the captain. First off, Captain Warndorf had coordinated Camera Repair, the Photo Lab, and Photo Intelligence into an admirable organization whereby the cameras could be removed from the aircraft, delivered to Photo Lab where the film was processed and prints made, on their way to Photo Intelligence and first-phase interpreted in less than hour, and on their way to the ground forces. The captain was an arrogant s.o.b., immaculate in uniform dress, everything personal in place and I always felt he believed the enlisted men were a lower breed. He was better suited to be a captain in the Wehrmacht than the American Army. Later, I was to learn more. Now, back to Omaha Beach. I was about a yard directly behind Captain Warndorf. I looked at his 6-foot 2-inch, 202 pound frame and then considered my 5-foot 6-inch, 130-pound frame: Everything on the captain's back was exactly what I had on my back; carbine, ammunition, K-rations for three days, canteen with water, etc. I knew he would take off arrogantly with a big stride and thought to myself: go ahead, I'll keep up with you stride for stride and reach the top a yard behind you. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. I maintained the tempo for about seventy-five percent of the climb and try as I might, I couldn't keep up and ended about seven or eight strides behind him. After the war, I was speaking with Mike Spero who lived in Boise, Idaho. Mike had been in P.I. with me and before that in civilian life had been a construction engineer. Mike pulled out his slide rule, and calculating my weight and length of stride against the captain's, I beat the captain to the top by ten strides. I have Mike's formulation but I can't put my fingers on it at this moment. By early winter we were now in Nodebais, Belgium. One day we were playing touch football (we did get breaks when the weather was bad etc.) and Captain Warndorf was on the defense team and I was on the offense, and ran past the captain to catch a pass. As I passed him, he struck me high on the right thigh with his knee. This was no error, he meant to injure. Never before in my life or afterwards have I experienced such pain. I could barely walk but I was determined that he would not see my suffering. I gathered all the power and will I could as I walked past him on the way back to my team. Every step was excruciating pain but I wasn't going to let him see that he had injured me. At the war's end, the squadron held reunions every two years. I didn't attend any until the tenth which was in Virginia, not too far from where I lived. Major Warndorf was there but in the advanced stages of alzheimer's disease and didn't recognize me and I didn't recognize him. It was sad. (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.86

GERMANY 1945-INTERVIEW WITH RUSSIAN FORCED LARORER: (part 4 of 4): NKVD THE BEST DEVELOPED DEPARTMENT "The NKVD", went on Mr. Skivar, "is the best developed branch of the Soviet Government, having grown from a membership of a million persons in 1924 to over five million in 1939. With a good NKVD and many concentration camps, it is possible for the Soviets to keep all internal situations well in hand. Between 12% and 15% of the entire population are always in concentration camps for speaking a few words or performing a hostile act against the Soviet system. If they had half hunger before, in a concentration camp they suffer full hunger. Millions die each year from hunger and disease in these camps, especially in Siberian camps. Internees from Russian concentration camps built the Leningrad-White Sea Canal and the northern branch of the Trans-Siberian railway, stories of which are long and bloody." RUSSIA WILL NOT CHANGE According to Mr. Skivar, approximately fifty percent of the internees in his forced labor camp have no desire whatsoever to return to Russia after being in Germany and comparing German conditions with those in Russia. The other half, who would normally wish to return are afraid to do so in view of Article 58 of the Constitution which declares them dead because they left Russia. He believes the more intelligent persons, who are capable of organizing the people, will meet instant death while the best fate the remainder could look forward to is life in a concentration camp. He does not believe that the Soviet Government will grant more freedom than now exists to the average man but will enlarge the powers and strength of the NKVD so that increased pressure may be applied to keep the population in submission. He based his deductions on prewar conditions in Russia and the Soviet reluctance to allow anyone to learn about conditions in the outside world. These forced laborers, being away from Russia, have had some freedoms in their labor camps that they never had in Russia, thus they are a potential source of trouble to the Soviets if they return. Mr. Skivar ended by saying: "I should never want to see the Soviet system for the rest of the world." (This ends the interview) (copyright 2014 Andrew M. Dolan)

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.85

GERMANY 1945- INTERVIEW WITH RUSSIAN FORCED LABORER: (ART 3 OF 4): RUSSIA--A WORKER'S PARADISE? According to Mr. Skivar, "Soviet propaganda always pictured Russia as a paradise for the working class and always pictured working conditions in foreign countries as extremely poor. Nevertheless, no Russian was permitted to leave the country but got all his information through the government-controlled press and radio. There was no chance for comparison between conditions in Russia and those elsewhere. In order to propagate Communistic theories in foreign countries, the government maintained branches of the Comintern, whose principle duty was the dissemination of favorable propaganda. Small surrounding countries, such as Latvia and Lithuania were also included in the sphere of Russian internal propaganda. They were told what a paradise Russia was for workers and to back up these statements, the Russians "dumped" large quantities of grain and produce into these small countries about the time the farmers were ready to harvest and market their crops. These "dumped" products were sold at about one-fifth the normal price, which completely upset economic conditions, as it was impossible to compete against the Russian prices. This was not very economical for the Soviet Government but the monetary loss was more than offset by the value of the propaganda. This policy was never attempted on the United States or other large nations, but only on those small countries unable to protect themselves economically." HUNGER AND HALF HUNGER "Russia is a country of great natural resources", he continued. "However in spite of vast opportunities for internal development, between the years 1914 and 1945 there have been reoccurring periods of hunger or half-hunger in Russia. Even in peace times, the population is issued ration cards which are classified into many different categories from light through heavy work. Special favoritism is granted to members of the NKVD (Secret Police), the police, and government workers--especially propagandists. Persons with these special ration cards are able to buy more and buy at lower price than the ordinary worker." (To be continued in Nomad News No. 86) (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)

Nomad News-Vol.4-No.84

GERMANY 1945-INTERVIEW WITH RUSSIAN FORCED LABORER: (Part 2 of 4) RUSSIAN ECONOMIC CONDITIONS In an effort to obtain the proper perspective between living and working conditions in Russia and other countries, Mr. Skivar quoted freely from official Soviet newspaper clippings. "The average Russian wage", he stated, "is between 1/25 and 1/30 the American wage, taking into consideration the buying power of the ruble and the dollar. From the period 1905 to 1914, an American dollar equaled two rubles. In 1914 a pound of sugar cost 10 kopeks, bread cost 2.5 to 3 kopeks a pound. By 1937 the price of bread had risen to approximately 60 to 80 kopeks a pound, or twenty to thirty times higher than the pre-World War I price. According to Soviet propaganda figures, the average wage per month was 24.30 rubles in 1914. The average skilled worker or draftsman, at that time, received 60 to 200 rubles per month. In 1937, the average Russian wage, still according to Soviet figures had increased to 242 rubles per month for the average worker. This aspect, by itself, looks very fine and has been used extensively as Soviet propaganda, but during this time the value of the ruble has steadily declined. Today, the approximate value of the ruble is 550 rubles equals six American dollars. Having no gold standard, the government could issue what paper money they desired, and normally they kept increasing the wage each month. All during the period from 1914 to 1937, the monthly wage rate increased but the amount of goods a person could buy with the ruble steadily decreased. In 1923, a man's monthly wage, although increased, would buy only about 20% of what his smaller wage would have bought in 1914 although the monthly wage rate had now risen to 242 rubles. The increased wage scale, he said, was always used as Soviet propaganda to show how the worker's wages had steadily increased under Communism, but it was never indicated what this worker could buy for this money." (To be continued in Nomad News No. 85)..(copyright 2014 Andrew. M. Dolan)