Although membership was theoretically optional almost all the children in the Soviet Union belonged to the organization; it was a natural part of growing up. Still, joining was not automatic. In the third grade of school children were allowed to join the Young Pioneer Organization. This was done in batches, confirmed by a solemn ceremony often held in a Pioneer Palace. Only the best students were allowed into the first batch then the slightly less-advanced and well-behaved were allowed into the second batch several weeks later. The most ill-behaved or low-performing students were given time to ‘catch up’ and would only be allowed to join in the fourth grade, a year after the first two batches of their classmates. Not being admitted at all was odd and lack of desire to join was considered suspicious. Most often it was a religious student that stubbornly refused to join. Religion was frowned upon by the Soviet party officials due to the fact that it ran contrary to Communist ideology.
I was admitted in the first batch in my school.
The whole effect was magical to me and I joined whole-heartedly in all the activities and tried to excel in all of them. My mother became concerned about me, and my grandfather always spoke in disparaging terms about the Young Pioneers. He had a particular sneering way of saying it that made me cringe inside. I still loved him and never confronted him as it would have done me no good. I just stayed quiet and then snuck out of the house as soon as I could to attend whatever function was going on that the Pioneer Palace at the time.
One of the most famous stories of Young Pioneers that was told as I was growing up was the tale of the “Death of a Pioneer Girl,” who on her death-bed, refused to make the sign of the cross, and instead raised her frail, trembling hand in the Pioneer Salute. The right storyteller could have even the most stoic of us choking back tears. Defiant child heroes were always the heroes of the tales told around the campfires at the Young Pioneers Camps held throughout Russia every summer.
When I was eleven years old things changed radically on a national level, as far as I was concerned. All of a sudden collectivism was frowned upon and individualism came to the fore once again. I believe that we were the first group of Young Pioneers to have this lurching turn of priorities foisted upon us. One day we were extolling the virtues of group effort, and the next, we are hearing lectures about how we have to be obedient and be grateful to our parents. Along with this switch to individualism came discipline. We were now individually held responsible for our actions, choices and, most interesting of all to me, our talents. Homework was done individually and not in our study groups and we were singled out by being graded… on individual effort. New awards for Shock Workers, and Shock Students, became the prize to strive for.
All of this was dizzying to a young mind but we were able to adapt to the changing whims of the adults. My natural talents come to the fore and I was grateful not to be held back by the dolts of our former study groups and clubs. So much so, that in 1933-34 I tried out for and progressed in the Competition for Young Talents, which were held all over the Soviet Union. Over forty-three thousands of us made it to Leningrad and Moscow and were ushered around and treated like kings for our talents. Mine was poetry. Even though I did not make it to the finals, I did attend a gala where Stalin himself was the honored guest.
Thousands of us were honored and taken on tours throughout the USSR where we would perform in whatever venue the particular city, or town, had to offer. Most of the time we performed to extremely large crowds with very enthusiastic receptions. I did keep a scrap book of my travels but it was destroyed somewhere in 1943 in one of my family’s many moves. As a child I have no idea why society made such an abrupt switch to the accomplishments of the individual over that of the collective during this time period, but that’s just the way it was.
Happiness became something you had to earn, by being a good child, a good student, and a good Pioneer and only then, could you enjoy the swing set… but not a moment before. You worked hard and then you could play. In 1935 a new and fascinating thing happened called the “New Year’s Tree.” From what I understand, it replaced the now-banned Christmas tree. Being eleven at the time I was still child enough to not care. All I knew was that everyone was once again happy in the darkness of winter and that meant everything to me at the time.
Then the film ‘Circus’ came to the theatre up the street. It starred Lyubov Orlova playing an American woman named Marion Dixon. The film opens with the following headline from the Sunnyville Courier, “Marion Dixon, Human Bombshell, Center of Sensational Scandal,” with a large photo, captioned, “Marion Dixon, Perpetrator of History’s Most Sinister Crime!”
The next scene opens, with a tiny woman running from an angry crowd, which is bent on harming her, and clutching a small bundle, close to her body. She manages to reach a moving train, and somehow climbs on board, as the crowd still chasing her gives up and she makes it out of town before being harmed. The bundle starts to cry and the baby in the bundle is obviously half-black, hence the American crowd’s fury. A man from Germany helps her onto the train as she faints.
The woman is Marion Dixon, an American circus artist who after giving birth to a black baby immediately becomes a victim of rampant institutionalized racism in the United States. The German on the train turns out to be a theatrical agent who recruits her to his concert program across the Soviet Union.
Marion leaves the United States to go on a circus tour across the USSR. At first, Marion is homesick but meets a Russian man and falls in love. With her new Russian husband, she finds love and happiness in the Russian circus and her son is treated with loving kindness by all. One of the more touching scenes is when people from all parts of the Soviet Union sing versions of their ethnic lullabies to the little boy.
I immediately fell in love with Lyuba. So much so, that she was responsible for my sexual awakening. Shortly after seeing the film I exploded all over my bed clothes while having a dream about kissing and touching Lyuba. It was a mess, and I had no idea what it was until my grandfather thankfully, told me what my body was telling me. He has just the right way of putting things and my mission in life was now clear. It was to explode into as many pretty women as I could find. I’m sure that was not what he meant but that is what I thought I was supposed to do and it got me into some trouble along the way… and caused me to experience some truly interesting times, as well.
Along with all of this individual reward also came responsibility. The age for which a child could be charged with a major crime was dropped to twelve years old and there were consequences for inferior grades as well. Parents once again regained control over their children but also became vilified, if they failed. All very head-turning events which made me glad I had never confronted my grandfather.
Then like magic pictures of Stalin holding and protecting children started appearing all over the schools and the Pioneer Palaces, and above doors of every schoolhouse and there appeared the phrase “Thank You, Comrade Stalin, For A Happy Childhood!” which became instantly ubiquitous. Children were left in no doubt that they had to earn the protection of Stalin, but that it would be absolute if they were worthy.
39
Starring the glamorous and immensely popular Lyubov Orlova (Aleksandrov’s wife), the first recognized star of Soviet cinema and a gifted singer, the film contains several songs which instantly became Soviet classics. The most famous is the “Song of the Motherland” (Широка страна моя родная).
Orlova plays an American circus artist who, after giving birth to a black baby (played by James Lloydovich Patterson), immediately becomes a victim of racism and is forced to stay in the circus, but finds refuge, love and happiness in the USSR. Her black son is embraced by friendly Soviet people. The movie climaxes with a lullaby being sung to the baby by representatives of various Soviet ethnicities taking turns.