I never expected that my studies in the institute would turn out to be a process, which mainly consisted of performing certain duties. There was little captivating there that could ignite a spark in young minds. Unfortunately, practically everything was a burdensome compulsory routine.
From the first years of my studies, I retained the impression that the teachers deeply distrusted the students. They thought that we were lazy and only trying to cheat them. Most lecturers were completely unable to explain anything and the poor students couldn’t force themselves to listen, despite all threats. For example, one time the famous academician Ivan Nazarov was giving a lecture on the basics of organic chemistry. In a monotonous and boring voice, he was trying to explain this subject, which we badly needed. The material was supposed to be interesting and we understood that he was a prominent scientist, but there was no lecture as such. It simply wasn’t working out. Fifteen minutes after the beginning of the lecture, the academician started resorting to sanctions. “The third row from the back, the student in glasses! Would you be so kind as to leave the auditorium?” he ordered. “The young man from the second row on the left – this refers to you as well. You, the girl next to him, you are free to go, too. All of you! Come to my office after the lecture to explain yourselves!”
After the lecture, 15-20 students lined up near his office door. Those who were dismissed from the lecture had to answer to Nazarov himself at the exam. It was almost impossible to cope with that ordeal, and many students flunked out because of their poor performance in organic chemistry.
Unfortunately, even though famous scientists were terrible at giving lectures, it wasn’t perceived as their flaw. On the contrary, the fault was attributed solely to lack of diligence on the part of students. Sometimes really strange things happened. The famous physicist and chemist Yakov Syrkin was also a poor lecturer. Finally, he was so upset with his students’ lack of understanding, that he made a big show of leaving the lecture hall, never to return.
I also remember another curious incident connected with him. At that time, it was rumored that the Americans had developed or would soon develop a thermonuclear bomb. A student asked a corresponding member of the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences (who later became an academician) if such a weapon was possible. This scientist replied categorically that it was impossible, even theoretically. You can only imagine our disillusionment when, half a year later, the U.S.S.R. announced that the test of the H-bomb had been successful. For the first time, I realized that even corresponding members and academicians could be mistaken. Much later, I learned that in most cases membership to the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences had nothing to do with a scientist’s talent. It was mostly determined by someone’s contacts and his or her devotion to some clan within this organization. The heads of these clans usually arrange deals between themselves and decide who will be “elected” this year, and who would have to wait until the next year.
Many academicians and corresponding members were elected by direct order of the Central Committee of the C.P.S.U., which as “the guiding organization” in the country, fostered certain people connected with science. It artificially provided them with goods unavailable to average hardworking selfless scientists, and it provided career growth for their bosses, the would-be scientists.
My last remark does not reflect in any way on the respected reputation of the late Yakov Kivovich Syrkin, who undoubtedly was a prominent scientist. He made a valuable contribution to the theory of molecular structure.
I won’t dwell on the lecturers who were not up to the mark. They were in the majority at MITKhT. At the same time, I want to speak well of such outstanding professionals as Olga Zuberbiller, who was a professor of Calculus and Professor Nisson Gelperin, the chairman of the “Processes and Apparatus” Department. Students who were not required to attend, teachers, and outsiders simply interested in the subject matter regularly attended their lectures, which were thrilling and amazingly easy to understand.
Unfortunately, interesting lectures and seminars didn’t constitute a significant part of the overall student schedule. There was an abundance of subjects that literally sucked our souls dry, making our prime years a misery. I am sure that we wasted about 70 percent of our academic time during the first three years for nothing.
Almost every day, there were lectures and seminars on the history of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, which were followed by the so-called “principles of Marxism-Leninism” course and philosophy. “Military” classes were just as frequent. There was a military department at the institute, which was composed of elderly colonels and lieutenant colonels, graduates of the Voroshilov Academy of Chemical Defense. These old campaigners had snugly settled into the capital, and they took special pleasure in mocking the students. They thought that students should work for the privilege of avoiding military service, by being diligent in their meaningless classes.
There was something sad and at the same time funny about the column of girls and boys in civilian clothing, marching along the embankment of the Moscow River. When a colonel called them up in front of the line, some students had difficulties with the reports that they had to deliver. Either they forgot things and mixed up the word order, or they saluted with their left hand like the German soldiers in war movies. Colonels especially enjoyed themselves when “student K” had to suffer through this procedure. He couldn’t coordinate his arms and legs while marching, and that is why this student was considered a persistent slacker in military science and had serious academic problems.
Classes in chemical defense were total dogma. We had to remember all the physical and chemical constants (melting and boiling points, vapor pressure, density, etc.), as well as the chemical and physiological properties of all the chemical agents. God forbid that you attempt to express something in your own words or to elaborate on the definition or answer provided by the textbook. This was considered to be an unforgivable mistake.
“Well, what is the distinguishing effect of nitrogenic mustard gas, compared with the effect of ordinary mustard gas?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Xenia Knyazeva. I explained that the difference is that the poisoning was evident only after a period of time, not immediately.
“Wrong!” she exulted. “This property is called the… c..u..m..u..l..a..t..i..v..e effect. You should read the instructions, young man!”
At that time, it wasn’t a laughing matter for me, because I had the highest grades in all my subjects and I was counting on receiving a higher scholarship. In a heartbeat, I had lost this chance by not using the favorite word of a pretty woman in military uniform.
Later, it felt like I got my revenge when I was taking an oral exam in Colonel Aleksander Shvarts’ class. He was a great boaster, and he liked to tell us tall tales about his war experience. Although according to his colleagues, Shvarts had spent the whole war in the smoke screens divisions and wasn’t in any real battles, he was the classical example of a petty nitpicker. Mostly he taught us how to darn the respirator haversack, while he explained why the gas mask filter held back the fumes of chemical agents. Then he checked on our mastery of the subject.
“Now tell me – thanks to what force does the filter of the gas mask keep back the fumes of various chemical agents?” asked the colonel. Each student explained this quite correctly, describing in his or her own way the adsorption of molecules to the surface of activated charcoal. But the colonel was implacable and dismissed them for failing to properly grasp the academic material. Finally, it was my turn for this torture.