REPORT ON THE
RUSSIANS.. /far
'W.L.
White
INSTALLMENT SIXTEEN
The Uzbeks, racially, are a mix
ture. They resemble the near-by
Afghans, and others might have
Persian or Arab blood. Occasion
ally we see a Mongolian face which
has strayed down from Kazakstan.
Tashkent is an enormous sprawl
ing city of cracked and peeling stuc
co with wide, hot, dusty streets. We
arrive in the clean, comfortable of
fice of the director of the Stalin Tex
tile Trust and what with the heat
are frantically thirsty. They start
to open champagne but we plead for
water. So they bring out bottles of
that warmish pink soda pop. Mer
cifully, there are on the table half
a dozen fresh peaches. In half a
minute the plate ts empty and in
another half minute it contains six
peach stones. Nothing ever tasted
so delicious and we realize how
starved we have been for fresn
fruits and vegetables.
Since we crossed the Ural moun
tains we have seen little American
machinery—indeed, few foreign ma
chines of any kind.
There are 14,000 workers in this
textile plant and 80 per cent are
women. The raw material is cot
A typical Russian school building
In Its republics.
ton, grown under Irrigation in this
valley. They also weave silk, which
they Import
The workers' hours run from eight
to ten daily according to their age,
and they average more than 1,000
roubles per month, although some
crack ones make as iigh as 4,500.
In addition each worker averages
between five and six meters of cloth
per month as a premium.
Hie mayor of Tashkent is a dark
little Uzbek, a friendly but rather
timid Oriental His name is Sadik
Khusaynov. Before the war, he tells
us, Tashkent had 700,000 people and
more than 50 pei cent were Uzbeks.
At the peak of the evacuations,
there were 900,000 but now it is
back down to about 850,000.
Many machine-building industries
were evacuated here with their
workers—mostly the light and me
dium but a few heavy machine in
dustries as well. They also make
aircraft here.
A big, handsome, full-faced Rus
sian with very blue eyes sits down
by the mayor. He tells us they have
here a plant making Douglas planes.
Also a light machine tool plant con
verted to turn out arms and ammu
nition for the Red Army; shoe fac
tories, garment industries, plus a
plant for making emery stones
needed by heavy industries.
The handsome young Russian is
Rodion Glukhov, vice-premier of
the Uzbekistan Republic. Now and
then he interrupts—always picking
up for the mayor if he falters.
Evacuees came with their plants,
and will stay permanently. The
plants came from Moscow, the
Ukraine and the North Caucasus.
And from Leningrad they have
many skilled workers and engineers.
He tails us Leningrad is anxious to
have these engineers back, but Uz
bekistan is anxious to keep such
valuable men. It will be for Mos
cow to decide.
He tells us that Uzbekistan before
the war had 6.200.000 people, so the
addition of 2,000,000 refugees was a
big task. But when we ask him
haw he managed it, he politely re
fers us to the mayor.
A huge munitions plant evacuated
from Rostov-on-Don had left its
foundry behind, which had taken
two years to build. Here in Tash
kent they finished one in twenty
eight days. A great aviation plant
was moved from Moscow; within a
month It was up to 80 per cent of
Us former production.
The dacha where we stay is com
fortable and spacious. This rural
mansion is a rest home and sum
mer vacation place for members of
the Uzbekistan cabinet.
Now another character enters the
scene—a plump, middle-aged wom
an called Nona. She has large,
warm blue eyes She is the hostess
and the kind of big, friendly. Jolly
girl who makes herself useful on
picnics.
Nona spoke excellent English,
which she had learned in a most
curious way. She had Deen "the
mother” to a number of Interned
American pilots who had been
forced down on Russian soil after
Aleutian bombing raids. They had
been housed under guard in a dacha
similar to this and Nona was in
charge. She was fond of them all,
and they had brought their troubles
to her. What her job is we never
learned. She is by Soviet standards
remarkably well turned out, with
plenty of afternoon and evening
gowns.
That evening Nona goes into town
with us to the local opera house
(new, and well-done with Oriental
decorations copied from ancient Uz
bek designs) for a concert. They
give, especially for us, one act of an
opera based on an incident in Uzbek
history. This is followed by a cou
ple of vocal numbers and then by
a "jazz band” which is on tour from
Georgia (U.S.S.R.. not U.S A.).
About half the crowd in this thea
ter is Russian and half Uzbek.
Watching the Uzbek opera I realize
that the most admirable thing about
the whole Soviet Union is its colonial
policy—its relationships with the
smaller and sometimes backward
races. This is partly accounted for
by the fact that Russians historical
ly have few race prejudices.
Instead of Jim Crowing the weak
er peoples, the Russians lean over
backward to give them titles and of
fices which are rather beyond their
capacities. At first, I Jumped to the
conclusion that the native office
holders were stooges, dressed up
and provided with fancy offices but
with little real power. But we learn
that the premier of this republic is
an Uzbek and a smart one—an old
time Bolshevik with a steel-trap
mind, highly respected in the party
councils. We are assured he is no
stooge. He is apparently as power
ful here in his own right as was
Manuel Quezon in the Philippines.
Since I am so keen on ancient
cities they offer a brief tour in the
Oriental quarter of Tashkent. The
old city is a labyrinth of winding
alleys like those in the Arab Me
dinas in North Africa, the old quar
ter of Jerusalem, the Cairo bazaar,
or the cities of Afghanistan across
the border. But just outside this
old city are two beautiful new white
buildings, both ornamented with Uz
bek designs—the post office and a
huge cinema.
• At first there seems nothing to see
in the ancient city but adobe walls
enclosing cobblestone streets—with
here and there a carved doorway.
There are no windows in the walls.
A shabby old man offers to show
us his house. With an ancient, six
inch iron key he unlocks a door un
der a pointed wooden arch, and we
step out of the drab alley into a gem
of a garden with a fountain in the
center. At one end of this patio is
his borne—two clean, whitewashed
rooms, some low furniture. On the
floor is a mellow Oriental rug which
he says was his grandfather's, and
a polished brass samovar.
The old man tells me, as Nona in
terprets, that in writing any of this
in America, I should understand
that he is an old man. who well
remembers the days when the emirs
ruled this land. And that in those
days he was not a man. But now
he feels like a man, and is treated
like a man, and for this he has to
thank the Revolution and Comrade
Stalin.
All Soviet streets are clean—even
the crooked alleys of this Oriental
town which elsewhere in the east
would reek of garbage. But I must
for the record tell Hal Denny’s story
of the eager professor.
Hal wa's New York Times corre
spondent in Moscow. One of nis
afflictions had been the numbers of
eager tourists who came every sum
mer to study the marvels of the So
viet system and become authorities
on this Land of the Future.
A professor of municipal govern
ment in a mid-western college ar
rived to spend a month studying his
specialty. After two weeks in the
library hs showed up at Hal’s room,
breaking in on a party of homesick
correspondents, and began to talk
about the marvels of the Soviet
town-planning system.
All, all was marvelous, the eager
professor insisted; their methods of
police protection, taxation, utilities,
elections, and administration! Yet
on the rather unimportant topic of
sewage disposal there seemed to be
no literature.
Could Hal tell him what they did
with their garbage?
The answer, instantly given by a
roomful of correspondents, rose in
spontaneous chorus: "They eat it!"
In this hungry land there are no
dogs, cats or cockroaches. Tin cans
and carefully straightened nails are
sold in the market place. In pass
ing let it also be on record that we
saw no beggars.
Forty-year-old director, Afanasy
Yarunin tells us this Tashkent plant
builds Douglas airplanes. It arrived
here from Moscow in November of
1941 with 7,000 workers, and thirty
five days later was in production.
Now they have 14,000 workers build
ing a Russian modification of the
DC-3 and turn out six planes daily
The Red Army has modified the
Douglas so that it can be used as a
combination transport, paratroop
ship, hospital plane and night bomb
er.
Because it sometimes goes into
battle, a huge transparent gun blis
ter bulges from the top of its fuse
lage, creating a wind-drag cutting
off at least 50 miles per hour. They
use wood In the floor-braces, parti
tions and doors. The director insists
it is as good or better than alumi
num and easier to work.
Perhaps in Russia, where both
aluminum and tools to work it are
scarce. But aluminum Is stronger
and wood, under machine-gun fire,
dissolves to flaming slivers.
Russia pays no royalties to Doug
las, having paid a flat sum in 1939
which the director believes was
$2,500,000. Before that, his chief en
gineer, Boris Lisunov, worked in the
Douglas Long Beach plant for two
years, so they needed no American
help when they set up production
in Moscow. Only about 5 per cent of
the machinery is American; the rest
was made in the Soviet Union.
We are taken out into the desert
to visit the Stalin-Chirchik Electro
Chemical Trust, which, when un
scrambled. turns out to be a Soviet
Muscle Shoals. They have dammed
the Chirchik river, providing the 100,
000 kilowatts of electric power neces
sary to run a huge nitrogen-fixation
plant, which makes 80 tons of am
monia every twenty-four hours. Be
fore the war it turned out 600,000
tons of fertilizer per year.
Without a minute's rest (because
eating is the most gruelling part
of our work) we are packed into
cars and after a half hour’s drive
unload at a "fruit factory,” an irri
gated valley.
They walk us down an incredibly
long arbor where grapes hang so
low they knock our hats off. At its
end we arrive at a pavilion wueic
(Oh, Heaven! Be merciful before
these well-meaning people kill us!)
a long table is set for another ban
quet.
They tell us they are experiment
ing with cotton. This sovhoz (state
farm) raises seed for all the kolhoz
(collective farms) in the region.
This experimental station was
started by an ancient Oriental with
the jaw-breaking name of Rizamat
Musamukhamedov. He is sixty
three and started working in the
vineyards as a boy of thirteen. He
is an Uzbek of a peasant family, a
thin, dreamy man with an Uzbek
skullcap (or tubeteyka) and a scrag
gly beard out of Arabian Nights. He
has on his coat the ribbons of many
state decorations.
The Russian director, Abram Mal
tezeb. The big struggle since the
war. he tells us, has been for sugar.
Four refineries were evacuated from
Ukraine to Uzbekistan, still others
to Kazakstan.
Since the Germans seized the sug
ar beet fields of the Ukraine, Uz
bekistan has planted 35,000 hectares
in beets for sugar, with this year
another 15,000 hectares for seed for
the liberated Ukraine.
Irrigation is responsible for the
heavy yield of the seventy-five kinds
of grapes grown here.
The average yield is 22 tons per
hectare, with water supplied three
to five times a season so the yield
is steady. Samarkand is an even
richer grape country. And, as here,
the little hand-work done is on the
grape collectives—most of it being
done by tractor.
What we have seen of Soviet agri
culture has been uniformly good.
Since I come from a farming state
The Republic of Uzbekistan fur
nished some of Russia’s best fight
ers.
I could not be badly fooled. True,
they have shown us their best. But
it is at least as good as our best.
We return to the dacha in time
to change our shirts for the local
opera. We see something called
"Ulug-Beg,’' which was one of the
titles of Tamerlane, and its story
is of his times. Between acts we
are taken into the banquet room
(Yes, God help us, the usual table
laid) to meet the composer, a slen
der young Russian intellectual. His
wife, a handsome but worn-looking
girl, who has written the words—
not in Russian, mind you, but in Uz
bek—is here to explain the plot.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
New Columbia Sheep—
Made-to-Order Breed
Developed for Dual
Purpose Requirements
The need for a breed of sheep that
would produce both wool and meat
efficiently resulted in work being
undertaken by the USD A about 1912
to And such a breed.
The result of years of extensive
work was the introduction of the
Columbia sheep, which combined
the most desirable characteristics
of the Lincoln and Rembouillet. The
breed was more than a quarter of
a century being developed.
The breed as developed to such
a point that it has its own registry
organization, the Columbia Sheep
Breeders’ association. It is primar
ily a range sheep but is being used
to a moderate extent in farming
areas.
Columbia sheep are free from
wool-blindness and skinfolds. The
body is long, but is symmetrically
proportioned with a good balance
between width and depth. In 12
An Idaho Columbia ram show
ing the desirable characteristics
of this newer breed.
months a typical Columbia ewe
grows a fleece weighing about 12
pounds, which contains approxi
mately 50 per cent clean wool about
3'/4 inches long.
New Com Ear Worm
Control Recommended
A new contact insecticide has re
cently been developed for the con
rror or corn ear
worm on sweet
corn and hybrid
seed corn, as a sub
stitute for pyreth
rum.
The spray is a
liquid solution of
styrena dibromide
in a mineral oil and
is applied to the
corn silks as soon
as their ends ap
pear brown. It is
necessary to treat
more than once as
all ears do not show brown at the
same time. The spray Is applied
with a hand applicator which meas
ures a 20 drop dosage from a half
pint container.
Feather Fabric Will
Add to Farm Income
The washed, stretched and
dried fibers are wound on spools.
America’s poultry industry can
produce 35 million men’s suits an
nually. A new feather fabric that
looks like wool but is warmer, soft
er and lighter, has been developed
by USDA specialists.
Feather protein is converted into
fiber by treating the feathers with
a reducing agent and a special type
of wetting agent, or detergent, in
water solution, then forcing the re
sulting spinning solution, or ’’dope,”
through the tiny holes of a spin
nerette into an acid-and-salt solution
that sets the streams of dope into
fibers. The fibers are then stretched
and dried and treated to remove the
detergent so that the regenerated
protein is left in true fiber form.
It is not expected that feather
fabrics, due to small volume avail
able, will ever prove a serious econ
omical threat to cotton or wool,
nevertheless feathers do offer addi
tional revenue for the poultryman,
and will compete more with higher
priced fabrics.
Cultivation Increases
Bermuda Grass Yields
Oklahoma experiments have
proved that disking the grass sod
of bermuda lightly every other year
will cause an increase in yield of
about 26 per cent. The tests were
j made on a thin or poor stand of
grass.
It was found that bermuda would
respond to heavier disking than the
common native grass. Tillage
seemed to prevent the grasses from
dying in the center of the clumps.
Released by Western Newspaper Union.
By VIRGINIA VALE
Merle oberon has
changed her appearance
once in her movie career;
when she shot to stardom as
Anne Boleyn, with Charles
Laughton also making his
bow to American movie audi
ences as Henry the VIII,
she had an odd, exotic kind
of beauty. Ensconced In Hollywood
after the British picture had brought
her fame, she changed her type,
MERLE OBERON
became just a very beautiful young
woman. But she’d like to change
It again, for at least one role; says
she wants to be really homely, and
play one of those heavy, dramatic
roles that would bring her a new
kind of fame. Maybe some day
she’ll get her wish. Meanwhile, her
new picture is ‘‘Night in Paradise,”
for Universal, with Turhan Bey.
-*
Lucille Ball, who plays a secre
tary in “The Dark Corner,” doesn’t
have to fake the scenes in which
she types. She used to be a stenog
rapher—says she hated it so that
she decided on the starvation-to
model route to stage and screen.
-*
Bandleader Harry James has
turned romantic actor; in 20th Cen
tury-Fox’s “Do You Love Me?” he
vies with Dick Haymes for the fa
vor of Maureen O’Hara. He says
his success will be entirely due to
the coaching he gets at home from
his wife, Betty Grable.
-*
Those Goldwyn Girls who are
touring the country are realists.
Said one, "We’re too short for show
girls, we’re not the cute type.”
Some of them feel that trying for
dramatic roles is too hard — it
means working hard with coaches,
going to bed early every night, exer
cising, dieting, struggling. They fig
ure being fashion models at $125 a
week is a lot easier and more fun.
-*
“The Theater Guild on the Air”
is required listening for 200 students
at Michigan State college; as a part
at their course in radio education,
they prepare short, critical reviews
of the Synday night productions,
over ABC.
-*
Radio programs have given away
everything from live goats to small
fortunes; now the sponsor of the
Woody Herman show on ABC Fri
day nights will give the band to the
winner of a contest. On June 21 the
band will play in the winner’s
home, on the front porch or the
auditorium of the local high school
—if you win and want to give the
band away you can still keep the
thousand dollar additional prize.
-*
Two Wait Disney cartoon charac
ters are regular members of the
“Amos ’n’ Andy” program. They
are Clarence Nash (Donald Duck)
who does the theme whistle that
opens and closes the program, and
Jim Basquette, who is "Uncle
Remus” in the new Disney series.
-*
All that Whitey Ford asks of a
new suit is that it looks old. Re
cently the NBC “Grand Ole
Opry’s” Duke of Paducah was
lucky enough to get a new “radio
suit.” his first replacement in 14
years. It's an exact duplicate of his
old tight-legged, pinch-backed, bay
window revealing green one. but al
low’s a little more leeway for the
pounds lie’s put on as the years
slipped by.
-*
John Wayne, co-star of RKO's ro
mantic comedy, “Without Reserva
tions.” is a charter member of a
yacht club which stipulates that its
members must have no yachts. It's
the Emerald Bay Yacht Club, and
the activities of its members are
confined solely to writing each other
insulting memos and devising imag
inary minutes of meetings that
should have been held but weren't.
-*
ODDS AND ENDS—Overheard at a
l.anny Ross broadcast—“That's the best
looking bunch <>/ people on the air”—
meaning l.anny, Evelyn Knight and An
nouncer Nelson Case. . . . Alex Scourby
of "7 he Right to Happiness” has re
corded over 100 talking books for the
blind, with the approval ol the Library
of Congress. . .. Charles Irving, “ Young
Dr. Malone,” admits that one of his
hobbies is baking cookies. . . . First
time in 12 years that Johnny Weismul
ler’s had a chance to wear clothes on
the screen is in “Swamp Fire”—but
throughout the first half of the picture
he dons nothing fancier than jeans and
an old work shirt.
NEEDLECRAFT PATTERNS
Youngster's Embroidered Sunsuit
LET the youngsters soak up sun
in gaily embroidered sunsuits;
each takes less than 1 yard of
fabric! Appliqued boat and chicks.
• • •
A 1-yard remnant, plus scraps for
appliques, makes each suit. Pattern
909 has transfer of 2 bibs, pockets, pat
tern pieces for sizes 1, 2, 3 and 4.
Due to an unusually large demand and
current conditions, slightly more time la
required in filling orders tor a few of the
most popular pattern numbers.
Send your order to:
Sewing Circle Needlecraft Dept.
564 W. Randolph St. Chicago 80, HI.
Enclose 20 cents for Pattern
No_
Name__ —
Address_ —
JwcUk fcmJbaAAaAAmg
Wjojmni (oi ihc dtady
After having completed her
spring housecleaning, a housewife
found (as who doesn’t) that she
had a lot of junk which should be
hauled away. But after several
days seeking, she was unable to^.
find a man to do the job. Then one
morning as she was about to give
up the idea, she saw a truck com
ing along the street heavily loaded
with an assortment of articles.
Running to the curb, she hailed
the driver, and when he pulled up
to a stop, she told him she had a
load of trash she would like to
have him cart away.
Drawing himself up with all the
dignity he possessed, the man re
plied: “Lady, I’ll have you know
I’m not hauling trash! We’re mov
ing!”
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