Best Foot Forward

What do you want? A thousand aluminum pistons? An old airplane? A drink? Two drinks? A big blonde? A punch in the nose? You can get it in Detroit--wholesale. The atmosphere in Detroit is large; it differs from that of the diplomatic capitals of Europe. This does not mean that Detroit cannot handle a diplomat now & then. Take last week. Soviet Ambassador Nikolai Vassilievich Novikov was entertained for two full days. And he could tell he wasn't in Budapest.

The ambassador did not seem particularly enchanted with Detroit, nor with the detectives who formed a wall of flesh around him throughout his visit. But he was shown capitalistic splendor of all types. He was taken to the Ford plant, equipped with goggles, and directed to stare into an open hearth furnace. Russian-born Mike Mukol, a steelworker, was called up to explain everything (see cut).

Nobody conked the ambassador. Furthermore, Detroit admitted that his wife was handsome. She wore a semi-transparent summer dress at the Ford plant and her slip kept climbing up underneath it. Everybody admired her legs. Said one observer in a hoarse aside: "Don't tell me that's peasant stock." High point of the visit was a banquet staged by the Detroit Committee of Russian Relief, Inc. It was held in the cream and red ballroom of the Book-Cadillac Hotel. It was a real party--bald heads gleamed like large opals and many of the female capitalists saluted the Kremlin by wearing orchids.

No Bombs. Then earnest Allen Crow, president of the Detroit Economic Club, made a speech. He began by mentioning that Detroit had provided a home for thousands born in Russia. "As to how many there are now of these, it is rather difficult to determine until we know just how many of the countries of Europe are to be taken over, assimilated, absorbed or dominated by the Soviet Government."

The ambassador stared at the ceiling; some of the guests fidgeted. Crow reminded "our distinguished guests" of all the things Detroit had contributed to Russia during the war. He thought it would total about $3 billion. Then he introduced the Detroit-Russian Choir as "Russia's contribution to Detroit."

The room was decorated with bunches of balloons. Some of them bumped against electric light globes and exploded. A speaker explained reassuringly that the noise was caused by "balloons, not bombs."

As Mayor Edward Jeffries began his speech, a man in the gallery cried: "This ... is treason. We want no Communists in Detroit. You . . . are sitting . . . with enemies of the United States!" Another man threw showers of pamphlets down on the crowd. The pamphlets were from the collected works of Gerald L. K. Smith.

That was about all that happened. The Novikovs left the next day without a physical bruise on them. They might not remember Detroit as feelingly as Britain's Lord Halifax, who was hit by an egg.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.