An American Foreign Service Odyssey
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INTERVIEW
The Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training Foreign
Affairs Oral History Project AMBASSADOR THOMAS HART ARMBRUSTER Interviewed by: Mark Tauber Initial Interview Date: November 28, 2018 Copyright 2019 ADST Q: Today is Wednesday, November 28, 2018. We are having our first session with Ambassador Thomas Armbruster. Ambassador, where were you born and raised?Breezin’ ThruQ: Now while you were in high school or as a child did you do any traveling either in the U.S. or overseas that sort of began to get you interested in life outside your town?OdysseyIliadOdyssey We lived on Vavilova Street, a tram ride from Moscow University. On my first day I remember thinking I had a choice. I could go out, walk around, get lost and explore, or I could wait for people to show me the sites and learn as I go. I walked out and found myself at the Rynok (the market). There, babushkas from Central Asia sold fruits and vegetables, honey, wicker brooms, and recently slaughtered livestock in an open-air bazaar that was a show in itself. I loved it. I soon learned the metro system, hopped on busses to see where they went, and even rode the train beyond the limits to which we were restricted, just to see what would happen. Nothing! Along with looking after my charges Catherine, Matthew, and Abigail, Gil’s wife Susan allowed me to take the open gym teacher job at the Anglo-American school. As a 17-year-old myself, I didn’t have much of a curriculum, but I knew how to have fun with a ball, or a puck and we had plenty of cold and ice. I made a glorious $70 a month. At the embassy I went to the Superbowl and saw the offices just outside the “hardline,” the steel vaulted door with a cipher lock on it just like the banks had. Only those with a secret clearance could go through. Intriguing… One day, Gil said, “Here, wear this camera around your neck. You’re a journalist!” I went to Star City, Russia’s Cape Canaveral. I saw American astronaut Deke Slayton and the Apollo-Soyuz crew give a presentation to Star City residents. Afterwards, there was a reception at Spaso House, the ambassador’s residence, with black caviar that seemed to flow from ice fountains. It was more caviar than I would ever see in my life with the exception of the great barrels of caviar in Yakutia’s open-air market. I chatted with the astronauts and cosmonauts and met Alexei Leonov, the first man to walk in space, and had a hint of embassy life. Gil also had parties where he would regale guests with stories of his days as a cowboy, his summer job growing up. I learned that part of being a diplomat is sharing something of yourself. Red Square was as imposing, ominous, and magical in Soviet days as it is today. The changing of the guard at Lenin’s Tomb, the clock’s chiming on the hour, and the important looking black Zil limousines coming through the gates gave the Kremlin the sense of power its designers intended. I was given a tour by Martha Peterson who lived upstairs. She showed me the sights and asked me a lot of questions about the Vietnam War, which had recently ended. I wasn’t all that political at that point, but like most Americans, I didn’t think the war reflected well on America or helped us geostrategically. It seemed funny she would ask. Later, Martha was expelled from the Soviet Union for being a spy. Apparently not until after she had displayed her martial arts to her KGB watchers. She didn’t go down without a fight when she was allegedly caught red-handed at a drop zone with information from the Russian spy she handled. Martha’s exploits are featured in the Spy Museum in Washington. Russian train stations are magical places with a variety of people, families, refugees, criminals, and artists, coming and going 24/7. I went to one Vokzal, or station, and happened upon an old woman, all of five feet and 75 pounds... Dear fellow capitalists, (Mom, Dad, and Brother Chris) November 16, 1975 Moscow, Russia Sometimes on my day off I just pick a bus and go. That’s what I did today…. I hopped on another bus and was soon in familiar territory... I was at the bottom of the train station escalator when I noticed a woman speaking to me. She was sort of old I guess but not unhealthy. She was pointing at a small suitcase and wanted me to put it on her shoulder. I offered to carry it, but she wouldn’t move while I had it, so I put it on her shoulder. It’s a wonder she didn’t fall over backwards, the thing weighed a ton. If it was filled with iron it wouldn’t have weighed more than it did. It happened that she got on the same train as I did. She sat happily on the suitcase since all the seats were taken. After a few stops she got off. I thought back to how heavy the thing was, and I was feeling sort of guilty for not insisting on carrying it for her before. After a little hesitation I got off the train and offered to carry it for her. I forget whether or not she argued about it, but if she did it wasn’t very strongly. It seemed like we had been walking forever and we were still in the subway station. I had switched the suitcase from my right hand to my left hand and by that time I was carrying it with both arms. She kept trying to tell me things, but I couldn’t understand. She wasn’t Russian I finally figured out. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t Soviet; she was just from another part of the USSR. Finally, we were outside, and she was still trying to tell me something. Like most people she thought if you said something often enough and clearly enough the message would be understood. She told me to hang on a second. I waited with her friend for a few minutes and she returned with a mug. She then pulled out a half of a roll of bread and handed it to me. Then she got a bottle of wine out and poured some in the mug and handed it to me. Both of the women waited anxiously for me to drink. I gritted my teeth not knowing what to expect and took a gulp. They both laughed and told me to turn away from the crowd since it must be illegal to drink in public. The partner had silver teeth. I quickly finished the bread and wine and thanked them very much; they thanked me too and I went on my way. That outrageously heavy suitcase remains one of life’s great unsolved mysteries for me. Tungsten steel? Uranium? I think I’m going to have to go with gold bars. But that kind of experience – when you connect with the local people even if you don’t speak the language – stays with you for a long time… maybe forever. The other thing travel does for you is deepen your historical understanding by putting things in the context of the other country. For example, another Russian mystery for me was where were all the old men? The babushkas drove trucks, chipped ice off the sidewalks, even monitored the men’s locker room in the swimming halls, but there were very few old men anywhere. The Soviets’ sacrifice of an entire generation in WWII was immediately evident on the street. I did see one vet who wheeled himself around on a homemade trolley. He had lost his legs and yet he moved through the crowd quickly. He somehow caught a tram, swinging himself up on the platform and tucking his trolley under his arm. Churchill’s comment that the war was won with British brains, American brawn, and Russian blood is true. The millions of Soviets who lost their lives during the war – an estimated 26 million – and to Stalin’s terror – up to a further 20 million – has left a hole in Russia’s psyche and a societal trauma through which they are still living. The depths of their suffering in the 20th century are unfathomable for us Americans. One American at the embassy, Political Officer Larry Napper, gave me an introduction to Russian history. I joined the Callaway family and other embassy folks for a dacha weekend and Larry and I took the embassy rowboat downstream. We came to a forest and decided to park the boat and take a walk. Larry talked about Russia’s involvement in WWII in more detail than I had ever heard. I didn’t know Churchill’s formulation nor how close the Nazis had come to claiming Moscow. He asked if the rowboat would be ok while we hiked. I said, “Sure, there’s no crime in the USSR.” We got back a half hour later and the embassy rowboat was gone. It’s easy to think of Russia in the Soviet days as dark and dreary, no color. But that’s not correct. Cross-country skiing, relaxing at a dacha, taking in the Bolshoi or skating at Gorky Park were all colorful and bright in winter. I was invited to the apartment of a Russian girl once during a snowstorm. We were the only souls on the street one night and caught the tram together. We talked about an art exhibit coming up that weekend and she invited me into her flat. I don’t think either of us were interested in the art exhibit. I went up and waited on the steps for a long time while she talked to her mom. But Mom was not about to let an American into her apartment. The trains were also full of life and connections. I traveled to Leningrad and Helsinki over the Christmas break. Unfortunately, I drank the water in Leningrad and contracted dysentery. I remember when the doctor seemed so concerned saying, “Don’t worry doc, you’ll give me some pills and...
