A ham gathers the grain by grain, or letter is to the Brezhnev
I remember the 1980s. Everything was in low supply: meat, sausage, cheese, and other products were sought after. I never had time to wait in the long queue in the shops, and to my rescue came the head of the school’s cafeteria, which sometimes sold food to the teachers. Therefore, after having received my next salary, I went home in a fine mood. But this mood was not often, because in transport and at work, there were sometimes unforeseen circumstances. I back then was continuing my work at school as a teacher of Russian language and literature; with students and teachers, communication was normal and calm.
At that time, I was still a member of the Komsomol organization, and paid membership fees on time and took part in all meetings, delivering reports. The administration treated me well; there were no negative reviews. What a wonderful time!
And on one wonderful day—well, the day in fact turned out to be unsuccessful for me—the school principal came running to my office. She ran, looking very upset—I would even say that she was very scared by something. And she informed me that I was being urgently summoned to the Gorkom Komsomol (the Komsomol main office) after school. Someone had complained on me, so I needed to, immediately after the bell let us out, come to a conversation with the Komsomol authorities, and after that return and report back to the school administration.
Imagine my state at this moment. I got on the tram, thinking, what could have happened?
I think through the most recent events and my behavior at school, and there were no conflicts and misunderstandings during the lessons. But all the same, I felt my own unproven guilt. I came to the right office, expecting the authorities— naturally, I was nervous. I remember that here I was once recommended for admission to the Komsomol, asked a lot of questions, to which I answered. And now it's time to report on my work. And while the instructor on organizational work appeared in the office, I already thought about all my possible and unimaginable mistakes in my mind!
A young girl greeted me and asked if I knew that I there had been a complaint sent to Moscow to the General Secretary of the CPSU, comrade L.I. Brezhnev. I said that I did not know anything about it; I was surprised and dumbfounded.
Confusedly, I asked to explain the reason for the statement. I was asked if I had a certain student in my class (I forgot her name after such a long time). Yes, indeed there was such a girl, she studies weakly, her abilities are average, her grades are mo And do I know, as a teacher, in what conditions does my student live? Yes, I knew very well! The grandmother of the girl, who lives with her and her daughter—the mother—came to my parents' meeting; the three of them live in a three-room apartment in a house that is located right next to the school.
Grandma complained to me about the poor conditions in their apartment and asked to help her family get a new apartment. I decided to check their living conditions and went to their house. I rang the doorbell and felt a strange, musty smell. The grandmother opened the door for me, and suddenly I heard clucking from one room, and several chickens ran out to me (not dogs or cats).
I was so confused, not expecting to see a chicken coop here, that I did not even count how many there were! The grandma took me to the second room, in which up to the ceiling there were folded old newspapers and books, apparently, picked up from the garbage, also with a musty smell! I could not breathe!
And then the old lady took me to the third room, littered with things surrounded by furniture. It was a bedroom in which all three family members were huddled. I tried to explain to the grandmother that if you release the two rooms from birds and recycle the paper, then the housing conditions will improve immediately—and by a lot.
But the woman did not even want to listen to me, saying that they use chickens for food, and they receive paper for money, which helps them to survive on the little money that they receive. I went back to school and told about this to the head teacher. We could not help in this situation. And this family composed and complaint to me in Moscow, all the way to Leonid Brezhnev himself!
As if, the class teacher does not want to help keep the student in normal housing conditions! Well done! Great! (!) Because mail in the USSR was checked, the letter was read by the Komsomol workers and was not allowed to be sent. I explained all the circumstances of the case to the parent committee. Someone from this committee went to the apartment of this family, but the conditions remained. Next year, I got a new apartment myself, and moved and changed schools. I do not know anything about the future of this family.