Cash and Commies

"Washington, D.C.--The Peace Corps is sending its first volunteers to Russia this week. The volunteers, on two-year assignments, were invited by the Russian government to teach Russian entrepreneurs."

--The New York Times, Nov. 20,1992

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Peace Corps Fax

From: Peabody Phelps, Associate Administrator, Project Golden Bear

To: R. Staunton Tibbett, Jr., PC Assistant Deputy Director, Washington

21 November 92

Dear Roger:

Arrived in Kashlak yesterday amid highest excitement. The volunteers and I know the challenge is great, but we feel our mission--to teach the fledgling Russian entrepreneur how to survive and prosper in the free marketplace of capitalism--is achievable. Moreover, it puts us on the cutting edge of history.

We were officially welcomed at the airport by Minister for Humanitarian Aid Dmitri Gouzenko, a fellow I would characterize as a bit on the pessimistic side. "In the course of your stay here," he told us, "you may face insurmountable difficulties, but I call upon you to bravely resist suicidal impulses."

After the repair of our bus, which broke down even before it had cleared the airport, we were delivered straight to our offices--situated in a small but handsome building (I am told it once housed the Renowned Pioneers of Tractor Repair Hall of Fame)--where we happily threw ourselves into our labors. Incredible as it may seem, in just one week we hope to commence Capitalism for Beginners, offering the following classes:

• Money: What Is It? How Do You Get Some?

• Transforming the Lazy, Depressed and Alcoholic Drone into the Diligent, Extraordinarily Motivated Yet Compliant Worker

• Legitimate Profit and Armed Robbery: How to Tell the Difference

• Elementary Smile Workshop for the Novice Salesperson

Not to boast, but we've really hit the ground running. Enthusiasm is the highest I've seen in a group of volunteers since our award-winning mop-up after the Southern Dahomey Rotting Mackerel Tsunami of 1977. I feel like a schoolboy who has just heard the call to arms from JFK. Onward and upward.

Peabody

P.S., Confidential

Roger, I don't think Bobby Green-way is going to be a problem after all. I resented just as much as you did the high-level string-pulling that brought him aboard before the election. But we had a long chat on the plane and I came away convinced that Greenway really turned over a new leaf in prison. "All I give a damn about now," he said, "is helping people. I used to be a money person. Now I'm a people person." Darn it, Roger, the man actually had tears running down his cheeks. So far, Bobby has pitched in as avidly as the other volunteers and is very personable besides. (The story he tells about how he introduced Milken to Boesky and how they immediately attempted to sell each other Pan Am stock is very amusing.) I believe he could be a real asset to the program. Of course, I'll be monitoring him closely.

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January 26, 1993

Dear Pam:

Hope this finds you, Doug and the kids well. This time your dear old absentee dad is riding herd on 24 volunteers in Kashlak (an industrial city of 1.7 million souls on the Dnieper) and is in excellent health--except that his fanny is frozen solid most of the time. The heat never seems to work at our training center or in the small apartment I share with the Kalishnikovs, a typical Russian family. (She's a brain surgeon, he's a college professor. They earn 2000 rubles a month; a carrot costs 3500.) We wouldn't have any lights or phones at work, either, if not for one of our more resourceful volunteers, Bobby. Greenway. In case the name sounds familiar, Greenway was one of those Wall Street-scandal types who was tossed in the hoosegow (and fined $4 billion) for trading bankrupt S&Ls to BCCI for worthless junk bonds that he sent to Iran for Israeli arms that he illegally leased to Nicaragua. I don't understand how, but he made a fortune on the deal.

Anyway, he was paroled after volunteering for the Peace Corps, and here he is. Charming fellow, Bobby. When yours truly went to city hall to beg a local apparatchik, a hardliner named V. E. Vyadeslav, for help in the spirit of the new free-market Russia, the old walrus kept me waiting three hours. When I was leaving, he dumped a pail of rotten cabbages on my head from his window and shouted, "Go back home, son of bastard CIA spy!" But then Bobby paid a visit to him and--presto!--everything was straightened out.

Our classes are filled with eager-beaver students, and many of us serve as advisors to the growing ranks of biznesmieny, as they're called. I am mentoring Konstantin P. Kevrensky, manager of a refinery that used to produce tank fuel and is now struggling to convert to the peacetime economy. Bobby Greenway already has had great success with a 17-year-old named Arkady Zipkov, whom he found hawking state secrets in the streets. After a few weeks under Bobby's tutelage, Arkady seems to have put together his own little empire of kiosks selling everything from chewing gum to VCRs. He drives around in a BMW. Bobby jokes that it's too bad we're not allowed to engage in business or he himself would be the Donald Trump of Kashlak by now.

I can't tell you how gratifying it is to be part of such progress. Working side by side with the Russian people, I feel proud to be contributing to their future society and, perhaps more important, helping to cement the growing friendship between once bitter Cold War rivals who now live in peace.

Love, Dad

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Peace Corps Fax

From: Peabody Phelps, Associate Administrator, Project Golden Bear

To: R. Staunton Tibbett, Jr., PC Assistant Deputy Director, Washington

12 March 93

Roger:

Just a brief note to update you after our little health emergency. I'm back at my desk, though still feeling slightly woozy. Had Bobby Greenway not rescued me from Kashlak Hospital--where the inebriated doctors weren't sure what was wrong but wanted to remove several major organs in the hope of finding out--and had me flown by Russian Air Force personnel to a private clinic in Finland (the man has an amazing knack for making friends), heaven knows what would have become of me.

Anyhow, when I finally got back to work, I found that some unusual problems had cropped up. First, there was a virtual sea of attractive young women besieging the building, all waving photographs of themselves. It seems that Bobby's young protégé Arkady has begun publishing a mail-order catalog that supplies Russian wives to foreigners. I tried to explain that this was not a proper program for us to be involved in, but Bobby contended that it was good old basic capitalism and that the women "had merely found a market for their natural resources."

I thought I was making some headway against this argument when, unfortunately, our discussion was interrupted by a burst of gunfire from outside. Several large-caliber bullets struck my office wall, ruining a valuable framed photograph (the one of me shaking hands with Vice President Rockefeller at the dedication of the Paraguayan Zombie Rehab Station in 1974) and barely missing Svetlana Tatiana, a rather striking blonde who describes herself as an actress-stenographer-entrepreneur and seems to be some sort of assistant to Bobby. Apparently, we were under attack by one of the local mafiyas, violent criminals who demand protection money from honest biznesmieny. Having quickly recovered from the twin embarrassments of swooning and soiling myself, I noticed a large, sinister-looking individual with an eye patch who was plucking hand grenades from a briefcase and pitching them down at the fleeing perpetrators (putting even more potholes in the street, I'm afraid). Bobby introduced him as Nikolai Rogov, chief of our "security team."

Well, this certainly ought to teach me not to get sick. As you can imagine, I'm utterly swamped with work and will be filing a more detailed report as soon as I catch up.

Peabody

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Peace Corps Fax

From: Peabody Phelps

To: Robert Greenway

2 May 93

Dear Bobby:

As you have been absent from the training center and unreachable via telephone for several weeks, I'm faxing (continued on page 150)Cash And Commies(continued from page 124) this letter in the hope of contacting you at your dacha or in your Mercedes, which I am told serves as your office these days for security reasons.

It is urgent that you address--and dispel--some rumors about your activities, which, if true, would be in violation of Peace Corps protocol and international law. Specifically:

(1) That the troubled youth Arkady Zipkov is merely a front for your business dealings, which are described as on a scale that would make Ross Perot weep with envy.

(2) That V. E. Vyadeslav's sudden co-operation in supplying our lights, telephones and other amenities resulted not from "sucking up to the fat little creep," as you memorably described it, but from bribes of cash, vodka and women.

(3) That you not only reneged on our agreement to cease the placement of Russian females with foreigners seeking wives, but proceeded to arrange for the unfortunate young ladies to be delivered round the clock to the doorsteps of clients who dial a telephone number you have plastered on every latrine wall and telephone pole in Kashlak.

(4) That you are employing Russian military trucks and in some cases helicopters for the above purpose, a benefit of your alleged business partnership with Major General Vasily M. Sputniev, commander of the Kashlak Regional Defense Forces.

(5) That you were the inspiration--and the distributor--for Bobbi Beer and Bobbi Lite, the noxious, oily beverages brewed at Konstantin P. Kevrensky's former tank-fuel refinery, which are currently reported to be responsible for 74 percent of the daily admissions to Kashlak Hospital.

(6) That you are the shadowy figure behind the Viva Volgograd Lottery as well as the awful TV series its commercials appear on, Heroes of the KGB. (I cannot tell you how appalling I found the episode glorifying the alleged attempt of your repugnant associate Rogov to assassinate Margaret Thatcher with a poisoned umbrella in 1984.)

Bobby, it is difficult for me to convey the extent of my disappointment, especially after our many inspiring chats in which you passionately expressed the desire to "beat out Mother Teresa in the sainthood game." I can only hope that you have some plausible explanation for these charges. I await your response.

Sadly, Peabody Phelps

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June 15, 1993

From: Peabody Phelps

To: President Boris Yeltsin, The Kremlin, Moscow

Dear Mr. President:

Please accept my heartfelt condolences over the unexpected power outage in Kashlak. I assure you, however, that despite your vigorous protestations, neither I nor any other official of the United States government bears any culpability in this unfortunate incident.

Until receiving your rather forceful telephone call earlier today--which, as you may recall, afforded me scant opportunity to interject a response--I was unaware that the Shepalov Nuclear Power Plant had been dismanded "in the dark of night" and its reactor components shipped to Libya. I must add, however, that it fails to surprise me as, these days, nearly everything in the country seems to be for sale.

In regard to your inquiries concerning Robert Greenway, this individual is no longer connected to the Peace Corps in any capacity, and thus I have no control over his activities. Because of the confused climate that prevails here at present, I am hard-pressed to think of anyone in either of our countries who might.

While I regret that I cannot be of more help in this matter, I should like to take this opportunity to extend to you my invitation to visit our training center to see for yourself the great progress the Peace Corps is making in helping the new Russian entrepreneur stride forward to a better tomorrow.

Sincerely, Peabody Phelps

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Peace Corps Fax

From: Peabody Phelps, Associate Administrator, Project Golden Bear

To: Wendell L. Kirk, PC Assistant Deputy Director, Washington

3 August 93

Dear Mr. Kirk:

Perhaps you are correct in your blunt assessment that we temporarily went "fucking nuts" here. Nonetheless, the abrupt reassignment of your predecessor, R. Staunton Tibbett, Jr., to Greenland and the decision to force me into early retirement seem so harsh as to border on scapegoating.

While it is undeniable that our government has been embarrassed, the problem originated in the actions of one individual who is no longer with us. Furthermore, it is difficult to convey adequately to outsiders the chaotic Wild West environment of today's Russia. Indeed, that allusion is overly tame; a more apt comparison would be to Wall Street in the Eighties. In this context, Bobby Greenway could be said to have carried creative entrepreneurship to its logical culmination. Moreover, despite some bending of rules, his Greenway Industries Ltd. is providing employment for thousands of Russian citizens.

Thanks to an unexpected visit from Greenway yesterday, I am able to comply--despite my imminent departure from this great but troubled nation--with your request for an update on his activities. In fact, Bobby took me for a tour of what you characterize as his "outlaw empire," and frankly, despite my considerable reservations as to his unconventional methods, I could not help but be impressed.

Setting out in his specially equipped stretch Mercedes (for security reasons, Bobby travels with 75 bodyguards in a 15-vehicle convoy escorted by a helicopter gunship), we passed scores of his casinos, nightclubs, hotels, Cadillac dealerships, Bobbi G's Fried Chicken & Blini Shack franchises (under the now-familiar giant golden samovar) and the luxurious new Parvenu Millionaire's Club he has established for the more prosperous biznesmieny in the former Kashlak Communist Party headquarters. We also visited the offices of Private Eye on High, which uses satellites leased from Glavkosmos, the Russian space agency, to take photos for clients who suspect their spouses of adultery.(A set of six costs $3000, but the quality is superb.)

The highlight of the tour, however, was Bobby's proudest new domain, War World.

Situated on the site of what was once a vast army base just north of the city, this project represents, according to Bobby, "a new concept in theme-park entertainment: interactive military sports." Forget Euro Disney. Enthusiastic crowds swarmed to such concessions as Ride a Wild Missile Downrange, Paratrooper Bungee Jump and the Afghan Armor Trail, where patrons drive real tanks through Mujahedeen ambushes. ("Hell, it can't hurt anyone," Bobby explained to me when I expressed concern about safety standards. "That old primo Soviet armor stops a fifty-caliber bullet cold.") I did tell Bobby in the strongest terms that Katya the KGB Dominatrix and Her Dungeon of 100 Sublime Torments had no place in a family-park atmosphere. Much to his credit, he is considering moving it to the Parvenu Club.

I'm afraid that this brief recap of my tour will have to suffice as I must begin packing now. In closing, I can only hope that my successor receives the support from his or her superiors that I, regrettably, found lacking.

Sincerely, Peabody Phelps

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September 9, 1993

Dear Pam:

Momentous doings afoot. Perhaps you've heard from your mother (yes, we still communicate now and then) of my last-minute decision to stay on here. My motives were complex, but the catalyst was undoubtedly a surprising offer from Robert Greenway (see the current issue of Time: "Russia's First Rockefeller Is a Yankee-Doodle Jailbird")to head up the press-communications office in his campaign for mayor of Kashlak.

Though there is some opposition, understandably, to a non-Russian-speaking, Johnny-come-lately ex-convict with no political experience polls show 63 percent of the electorate behind him.

Apparently, the voters are charmed by Bobby's embrace of Russian citizenship (he's the only Westerner to defect here in 14 years) and his refreshing American-style campaign tactics. Taking a leaf from Perot, who asked citizens for small contributions, Bobby is giving 200 rubles to each supporter, proclaiming: "I'm the only politician who keeps his promises--before the election." Every night at eight o'clock, he turns up unannounced at the door of a randomly chosen family, accompanied by a TV crew. After toasting the surprised hosts with vodka and showering them with lavish gifts, he stays to field questions about his platform. The ratings for this exercise in electronic-era democracy are phenomenal, and Bobby's slogan--"Enough sacrifice already!"--has gripped the popular imagination. He is flattered by the response, but with characteristic candor he told me he views the mayoral job merely as a stepping stone to what he calls, vaguely, "higher office."

What I have come to realize in my brief association with this remarkable human being is that he is tragically misunderstood. A long time ago, I joined the Peace Corps hoping to effect change. Well, Bobby Greenway changes things faster than anyone I've ever encountered. Just yesterday he said to me, "Hey, Marx and Lenin thought they were revolutionaries? Just keep an eye on me, pal."

These, my dear Pam, were words spoken by a true visionary and, I'm proud to say, a true friend.

Love, Dad

You were the inspiration for Bobbi Beer, the noxious, oily beverage brewed at the former tank-fuel refinery."