Richard Turen
It was a bright, clear morning in mid-May 1971 at 7:15. I drank a nearly unacceptable latte in the large restaurant of the Metropolitan Moscow. I remember thinking about whether I was going to risk going to one of my students running into the room and yelling, whether I risked the breakfast caviar bar set up at the back of the multi-frame ballroom.
“Richard, have you heard what happened to Bruce?”
This is our first day in Moscow. I arrived with 22 students I accompanied, who completed a year’s trip at a boarding school in Virginia, a trip that started in London. I’m teaching kids who are smart but not very suitable for public school behavior rules. It is not a completely rational act to bring them to the year-end learning journey. My science teacher is with me, who happens to be a weightlifter. When we were interrupted, we were discussing the tour of the day.
“What happened?” I asked.
The student replied: “Two policemen walked into his room and took him away. He disappeared. It was late at night.”
I hurried to the front desk and told my colleague that he was responsible for the activities that day.
Bruce was forcibly taken away from his ro
I’ve been asking questions; manager, a grand appearance. He explained that Bruce called the front desk at 3 a.m. and complained that it was really disgusting – headache, nausea, the whole range. Safely called the police, who decided to take him away. No one thought about where he was.
I cashed in dollars a truckload of rubles on the front table and rushed to the nearest Central Police Station. No one knows that an American student is run wildly by force in the room of the metropolis. No one speaks English.
I took a taxi to the US Embassy. They believe he will return to the hotel later that day. They said they would investigate immediately and come back to me.
They never did.
The metropolis have a long and complex history. It is the center of cultural and commercial transactions, and it is also the center of disbanding, spies, revolutionaries and foreigners. This is the first hotel in Moscow with a telephone and hot water in the room.
When I signed in with the students, we didn’t get the room key. You can get those from one of four unslit bedheads on four floors, tables across from the elevator on each floor. By processing all room keys, they can observe and write down the people entering each room. The doors are all within their sight.
Foreigners are specifically assigned to hotels that can fully monitor all breeding and movement. But no one can tell me anything about Bruce’s kidnapping.
No other students know. His roommate was sleeping until he “knocked loudly.” He knew nothing except Bruce was uncomfortable.
My idea is racing. There are some parents in Northern Virginia who have entrusted their children to travel to Russia. I don’t know where their son is. Should I call them?
Continue in my next column…