In 1975 I was a bartender at the Rodeway Inn, a hotel close to the Portland Airport.
We knew the Russians were coming. Driving along Marine Drive on my way to work, I spotted a large white airliner with a golden hammer and sickle painted on the tail. The airliner had carried Gen. Alexander Belyakov and Gen. Georgi Baidukov, who were the co-pilot and navigator on the 1937 transpolar flight from Moscow to Vancouver. (Their pilot, Valeri Chkalov, had been killed a year later in a test-flight accident.)
In those days the monument to the Chkalov flight was along state Highway 14, south of Pearson Field. The two generals and other dignitaries stayed in Vancouver to dedicate and celebrate. But the airliner’s crew stayed at our hotel.
Early in the evening a gentleman approached the end of the bar. A problem: He could not speak English and I could not understand Russian. My first guess was that he wanted vodka, so I poured a small amount into a shot glass.
He tried it. “Nyet … nyet … nyet,” he said. I knew that meant no.
My next guess was good old American bourbon. Again, “Nyet … nyet … nyet.”
Maybe a Canadian blend? “Nyet … nyet … nyet.” Brandy? “Nyet, nyet.”
Then I tried gin. “Ha, ha!” with excitement in his voice.
He produced a $20 bill and pantomimed that he wanted to buy two bottles of gin. Another problem: How was I going to pantomime that Oregon had state-controlled liquor stores, that I could not legally sell a bottle to him? It seemed like too big of a problem, so I sold him the two bottles. If caught, I would explain to the authorities that I did not want to create an international incident. The Russian left a happy man.
Later in the evening my gin friend approached the bar with two others. They turned out to be the pilot and co-pilot of the Russian airliner. They could speak English. They introduced my gin friend as the navigator. I stuck out my hand to shake hands — but he brushed it aside, grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me forward and kissed me on each cheek. Surprise, surprise!
Later I found out that English gin was a highly prized black market item in Russia.
The navigator had a gift for me: two roly-poly brandy snifters off the airplane. Each was embossed with a gold hammer and sickle on the side.
Then the party started, as the American customers introduced themselves to the Russians. They all began buying drinks for each other and exchanging American cigarettes for Russian cigarettes. That night, because of the Chkalov Monument, the Cold War became very warm and friendly.
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