Beyond the Smolensk gate stood two match factories, the El’chaninov and the Sinel’nikov. They were very different. The El’chaninov plant was in the “latest style.” It was rebuilt several years before the war and looked like a huge glass greenhouse. All the machinery was new with half being automated. Inside one heard the quiet hum of electric motors, central heating was everywhere, and the workers wore white coats as in a hospital. Around the factory was a new settlement for workers with small individual houses set in gardens.
Nearby, the Sinel’nikov match factory looked like a barracks. Assorted lumber and odd carts were sloppily strewn about. Everything was untidy. The workers lived in the city in no set location.
The El’chaninov matches were packaged in elegant raspberry colored boxes, 2 x 2 inches and less than half-an-inch thick. “El’chaninov Factory. 48 Matches” was stamped on them. The Sinel’nikov matches came in the simplest boxes. Incomprehensibly, Sinel’nikov workers were very proud of their factory, did not complain of their fate; management was always friendly. But El’chaninov’s workers were always whining.
The linen and leather merchants were very rich. Their presence was very beneficial for the town. The merchants competed against each other as to who would excel in charity. Mikhail Ivanovich Liutov built one of the finest hospitals in Russia, Stroganov built schools, and Sinel’nikov equipped the fire department. When my mother undertook the creation of the Viaz’ma library, all the merchants wanted to build it so it would carry their name. Only after having purchased the land, and with great difficulty, was my mother able to convince the merchants to build the library jointly and to stock it. The merchants of Viaz’ma were not only rich but generous, a type of people common in Russia.
The Liutov hospital stood between the city and the railroad station. Liutov hired a superb architect for it and obtained the newest medical equipment
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from Switzerland. The wards and operating rooms had rounded corners so that dust would not collect there. He brought in Italian experts for the special floors. The walls were tiled. Needless to say, Liutov procured the best doctors and nurses.
In the market square there was a one-story building called the “Trading Row.” This was an arcade with a covered passageway and shops in the interior. All kinds of merchants and storekeepers had businesses there. All of these merchants were either manufacturers or curriers, but they sat in their shops daily even though they had nothing to do with linen or leather. They sold necessities. The stores had boots, axes, scythes, harnesses, matting, hammers, nails, tar. There were barrels of herring, pickles, and all kinds of other things. The shops belonging to Stroganov and Kalashnikov were next to each other. One of the Stroganov brothers always sat on a barrel in front of his shop and played cards with Kalashnikov, also on a barrel instead of a table. You would arrive there and be greeted with a “What do you need?” “I need some nails.” “Go find some nails for yourself, whichever you need. The smaller ones are in the boxes. Let me know later what you took.” People walked around in the shops on their own. They took what they needed, tried on the boots without the owners even watching. In the Russia of those days, it was possible to conduct business in this fashion. Evidently, people were honest.
The eldest Stroganov brother, who was repeatedly elected mayor, was superbly educated and a natural scientist with a European reputation. He held honorary degrees from the universities of Edinburgh and London, and had doctorates from the universities of Heidelberg and Leipzig.
I think it was in 1912 that he went to London for a long time. His brother and Kalashnikov decided to visit him there. They did not have his address, all they knew was that he was in London. They arrived there and asked for the best hotel. They were told the Ritz. They booked rooms, sat down by a window facing the street, and began to play cards. Having stayed there for two weeks, they decided to return to Viaz’ma. “It’s a hell of a city. We sat by a window for two weeks and did not see brother once.”
The Viaz’ma merchants always wore dark blue homespun coats, similar wide trousers, boots, and peaked caps. They wore silk braided belts. And if the light, tight coat was unfastened, the whitest of white shirts could be seen underneath. The store smelled of tar, matting, herring, but everything was cleanly swept.
As in other cities, there were