Back in the spring of 1982, I was an actively precocious sophomore at The Latin School of Chicago. Every year, Latin does what they call Project Week.
For an entire week, students get away from their studies to go somewhere else and do something else. Led by Latin’s Teachers, those projects include everything imaginable from building homes for the homeless to international travel.
That year, they offered a trip to Moscow and St. Petersburg. I’ll never know how my Mama put the money together for me to go given how poor we were, but she did.
This was back at the height of the Cold War when it was the Soviet Union. It was a true communist state with all that the concept could possibly imply.
It took 24 hours and three plane rides for us to land in an Aeroflot Jet at the Moscow International. Getting off the plane we were greeted by two Russian Army Soldiers carrying Kalashnikovs.
We then had to go through customs. This is back when the KGB would snatch you up and question you in a room with a bright light for days on end if the customs officer in any way questioned your intentions for entering the USSR.
We had been warned about this. The Customs Officer began staring at me, seeing if I would crack under the pressure, as if I was guilty of something other than not being able to sleep on the plane. I simply stared back for what was at least a couple of minutes. Finally he broke the gaze, stamped my passport and visa, and I was allowed entry.
In order to gain entry to the hotel, we were given Tourist Cards. Goods that weren’t available anywhere else in Russia were readily available for sale in the hotel gift shops.
This was Russia’s way of trying to put on a “happy face” for international tourists acting like things weren’t as bad as they were. These cards were a hot commodity and regularly stolen by Russians so that they could get into the hotels and buy what they needed so desperately.
Our hotel was a couple of blocks from Reds Square. Walking through the square, past St. Basil’s Cathedral, and the Kremlin was rather uneventful until we went past Lenin’s Tomb and saw a rather large building.
The one I’m talking about was GUM, the largest retail store on the planet. Walking through the store was like walking through the largest four story shopping mall you’ve ever imagined with one major distinction.
Nothing was open.
We immediately saw lines of Moscovites beginning on the fourth floor, winding down the staircases, and spilling out onto the main floor. Lines that didn’t move very fast.
Given the absolute scarcity of goods, Russians would see a line and get into it not knowing what they would receive at the other end. Imagine a man standing in a line for 13 hours so that he could get pantyhose or tampons. Whatever it was, they knew that if they didn’t want it, they could at least trade it for something else they could use.
We were there for May 1st, their official May Day Celebration. For those of you who don’t know, May Day in Russia was like our Fourth of July Celebration.
They trotted out the very best of the Soviet Union for all to see. Imagine me, on the second floor of the hotel, as ICBM’s on mobile missile launchers drove past our window on the parade route.
We went down to the street to watch the rest of the parade as the Red Army goose stepped by in formation. This was supposed to be a celebration, but I no one was smiling.
The life of the average Russian in the Soviet Union was nothing more than a misery punctuated by acute periods of fear.
As we stood on the parade route, I remember a Red Army Soldier standing guard not far from us. For those of you who don’t know, all Russian Citizens were required to do two years of service in either the police or one of the National Armed Services before they either went to college or to work.
This young soldier couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, not much older than I was. But it was the look on his face that I’ll never forget.
Rather than being proud to wear the uniform and serve Mother Russia, he looked like all of the other Moscovites surrounding me with the same look of terror and fear on his face.
If you’ve ever read Dante’s Inferno, you know that Dante’s concept of Hell was the absence of hope. That’s what they all looked like. They were a nation without hope.
And the moment I realized that was the moment I fell in love with America.
Our country isn’t easy. The events of the past couple of years and our upcoming elections prove that.
But where else can a boy who’s a third Native and a sixth Black, who grew up in a $200 a month apartment across from Swift School in Uptown, become the man I am today? Where else can anyone through the sheer force of hard work, diligence, and an absolute dedication to making the lives of his clients better, rise to the levels I now enjoy?
For this is America.
The concept that became our great nation, might have been born in a tavern and had humble beginnings, but make no mistake about it. We are the bright shining example of Democracy throughout the world.
As we celebrate the birth of our nation tomorrow, be humble and grateful for the sacrifices of those who built our great nation. But also be proud of who you are and where you come from.
For we all live in a place where hope exists, and there’s no better place on this Earth.
May God bless you, your families, your companies, and these United States of America.
We’re all going to get through this. Let’s get through it together.
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