January 19: “Tomorrow—the day of Kennedy’s speech. I won’t find out about it until twenty-first, twenty-second, or twenty-third. My fate depends on what he says.”
January 20: “Long-awaited day. Hope Kennedy comes out with some positive statements in my favor. He can certainly do me much good if only he sincerely tries to lessen tension….”
January 22: “Part of Kennedy’s speech was in today’s Pravda. My cellmate said it couldn’t be better for me. Also he said that Khrushchev had gone to visit Ambassador Thompson which could be a good omen. Potatoes for supper.”
January 23: “Kennedy failed to say anything about the U-2 flights, etc. It could help me very much if he took a favorable attitude on this question. I am sure he will have to commit himself soon, probably at his first press conference. Potatoes.”
The following day brought a big surprise: ninety-two Christmas cards!
Nearly all were from the San Francisco Bay area. On December 12, San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen had written: “While you’re making out your Christmas cards, you might remember to send one to Francis Gary Powers, c/o American Embassy, Moscow, USSR. Let him know that U-2 haven’t forgotten.”
This was my real Christmas. For the first time I received mail that hadn’t been opened and read. The sheer volume had apparently caused the censor to mutter the Russian equivalent of “To hell with it”; more than half the letters had been passed on unopened.
Several teachers had asked their classes to write me; the compositions were extremely moving. One class had sent a little package of various odds and ends from their pockets which they wanted to share with me. Included were several pieces of bubblegum.
Zigurd, who had never seen bubblegum, watched in amazement as I popped a huge bubble. Try as he might, however, he was unable to do it himself. We used all the pieces in the attempt.
On January 26, when I had just awakened and was getting out of bed, the news came over the radio: the two RB-47 pilots had been freed!
I was tremendously happy, for them and for what this portended for me. According to the Soviet account, the pilots had been released in return for Kennedy’s promise there would be no more overflights.
Finally that fear could be put aside.
Diary, same day: “I have much hope. Visited by KGB colonel from region of Vladimir. Wanted to know if I had any questions and said that my position was much better than before. Said he was very optimistic. Cabbage for supper.”
Writing to Barbara, I asked her to send a thank-you letter to Herb Caen, “if you can spare the time.” I also noted that perhaps it was unwise for us to get our hopes up. After all, the RB-47 boys had never been brought to trial and sentenced while I had.
Diary, January 27: “More news about the release of the other two, but not one word about me.”
On the twenty-eighth, Radio Moscow reported that President Kennedy had been on hand to meet the two fliers on their arrival at Andrews Air Force Base.
January 31: “Last day of my ninth month. This has been a month full of expectations and disappointments. The world situation has improved, and as a result I am sure my situation has also improved, but it isn’t noticeable yet. Seems I should have heard something by now….”
I finished a letter to Barbara, to be mailed the following day, since I had exhausted my quota of letters for January. It was an angry letter. While I had heard a brief summary of Kennedy’s first press conference, which appeared most encouraging, some of the reaction to the release of the RB-47 pilots disturbed me greatly.
“Two of the people, who made statements should be shot as far as I am concerned. You probably read about them in the papers on the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh. They are Representative William Avery and Senator Aiken. Aiken said: The nation might gain the impression that the President is thankful to Russia for releasing the two pilots.’
“I personally hope that not only the President but the whole nation is thankful. As far as I am concerned, it is no disgrace to be thankful for something that means so much to so many people. I am proud of Kennedy for being thankful, and if I ever have the opportunity, I will tell the two men what I think of people who would rather have the two RB-47 boys stay in prison because their being free places the United States ‘in an embarrassing position,’ as Avery said.
“What would they have said if it had been their sons or relatives? Would they have said the same thing? If not, then they had no right to say it in this situation. I am perfectly willing to let one or both of them come and spend the remainder of my sentence in my place if they think someone should remain in a Russian prison, although the treatment I am receiving is much better than they deserve.”
In the back of my mind was the sickening realization that if Kennedy was under political pressure for this, my chances were suddenly less than bright.
In closing, I gave way to my real feelings:
“Barbara, I don’t know what to think. I have tried to figure out what is in store for me, but I am completely baffled. Everything looks good, but I am still here. Has the Soviet Union decided that two people are enough? If so, it looks as if their gesture was a half-gesture, and they are keeping an ace in the hole (me).
“Oh, well, they didn’t invite me to come, and I don’t suppose I have any reason to complain. But they didn’t invite the other boys either. I am quite dizzy from trying to reason out what is going on. It would have been best if I had heard nothing about it at all. I am constantly hoping that each day will bring me some news, and each day I am disappointed when it does not arrive.
“My chances are still much better than I first thought, but each day that nothing happens probably lessens them a little. Maybe this is just pessimism on my part. It is entirely possible that things are being done for my release right now and that it takes time to do this. My impression of Khrushchev is that he is a person who doesn’t do things halfway, but there is much more involved than I know about.
“It would certainly help me a lot to know something definite even if it were bad. It is the unknown that bothers me so much….”
After cursory entries on the first and second of February, I stopped writing in the diary. It was too much a reminder that nothing was happening.
There were a few bright spots during the month.
Among the American magazines the authorities purchased for me in Moscow was the January National Geographic. There was a large color spread on Mamie Eisenhower’s farewell tour of the White House. One Sunday afternoon, when the guard and the cleaning woman expressed interest in seeing the pictures, we opened the magazine on the shelf of the feeding-port door and, with Zigurd translating, I told them about the history of the White House and its significance to Americans. When we finished with the magazines, we showed each other pictures of our families.
That afternoon one little bit of the Iron Curtain ceased to exist. That was a bright spot.
Another was beating Zigurd at chess, an occasion rare enough to be memorable.
Upon my arrival at Vladimir, one of Zigurd’s first questions was: did I play chess? My affirmative reply pleased him immensely. It was only much later, after we had come to know each other well enough to say such things, that he admitted his disappointment after our first game. I knew how to move the pieces, but as for the philosophy behind the game, I knew next to nothing. Chess was big in Latvia, as in the Soviet Union. Newspapers carried chess problems, and Moscow Radio reported notable matches with all the excitement of an American sportscaster describing a no-hitter baseball game. One day Zigurd mentioned beating an opponent blindfolded. This time it was my turn to be skeptical. To prove it, he had trounced me soundly, sitting all the way across the cell with his back turned. Gradually, under his tutelage, I became a better player, but the occasions when I beat him were few and far between.