Mid 1980s. Image courtesy of Life magazine.
Whenever there is a heated argument whether things were better during the USSR times, this statement invariably pops up as a mighty ace: At least they had free medical care in the Soviet Union! This is supposed to bring the opponent to the knees and make them beg mercy and forgiveness for betraying the Great October achievements.
Well well well. Let’s have a close look at what really was free then.
Late 1950s was an interesting epoch for the Soviet Union. The death of Stalin was like a beginning to a new era, “the Thaw” of Khrushchev, the very first signs of the Cold War and the famous Fulton speech of Churchill — all of those were the signs of uneasy times coming up. But just before the Iron Curtain fell heavily, Russia was the place to visit — and we are very grateful to the Life magazine photographers who took plentiful photos for us.
So we are going to make a 50 year leap into the past to the mid-Russia region of the Volga river — here, the sparkly brand new ships were making their first cruises. So — full throttle!
Captain Palkin on a Maiden Voyage of Krylov Ship. 1958.
Free postcards as a marketing ploy.
In 1959, a Soviet watchmaker MashPriborInTorg had what’s now called a solid market share of all watches and clocks made in the USSR. This ugly acronym stood for Machinery and Gadget Overseas Trade, and the factory made all the famous Soviet brands of watches which could be found in every household: Polet (Flight), Slava (Glory), Raketa (Rocket), Chaika (Seagull) and more pompous names, which in reality were good sturdy reliable watches: my Granddad had his Slava for more than 20 years, and never there was a complaint! For some reason, these goofy dolls were picked to advertise the watches, and today we have found a collection of postcards picturing a good set of such dolls wearing the Soviet tributes to fine watchmaking. Enjoy!
In about six weeks this remarkable man will celebrate his 80th Birthday. Who is he? The most popular clown of the Soviet Union, also known as the Sunshine Clown, Oleg Popov is true icon of its own. Born in 1930, he had on of the toughest upbringings ever — yet he managed to become one of most recognisable people of the 20th century: he also was in Guinness Records Book for “being popular in the West and in the East”.
On top of his game. Oleg Popov in 1976.
Parade of 1984, city of Ufa. Photo by N. Marochkin.
Day of International Solidarity of the Working Class, or Labour Day — was celebrated in Russia on May, 1st from 1919 to 1990. A public holiday for each every city, every township or village had a parade organised: flags were carried, posters and banners were up, kids had red ballons and portraits of the governing men were on display. The attendance usually was compulsory, but judging by the photographs now, I don’t think anybody minded: it looks like people had fum there. By May the weather was usually sunny and crisp, and this holiday was a little more that a propagandist activity: it was a unifying event. Please read on to see some faces behind the crowd.
Remember our post about Slava Kurilov, the guy who jumped off the cruise ship near the Philippines islands — and swam to freedom for three consecutive days, completely alone at sea? Our today’s post tells a story just as remarkable — a young Russian surgeon Leonid Rogozov, stranded in Antarctica with the Sixth Soviet Antarctic Expedition, in 1961 performs a self-operation: under local anesthesia, surrounded by a bunch of guys whose only experience with medicine was sitting in a dentist’s chair, the 27th years old doctor removes his own appendix.
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