Original Article: http://dartreview.com/archives/1998/11/17/invoking_stalin_instead.php
Tuesday, November 17, 1998
When Benjamin Wallace-Wells, our esteemed Editor-in-Chief, told me the Review was planning on doing an issue on Communism in America, I instantly came up with an idea for a story— the father of one of my good friends holds a position of high rank within the United States Communist Party. I figured out I could interview him or something of the sort, so I blitzed her on her FSP and asked her if she could help me arrange a meeting with her dad. She wrote:
'...but I will warn you that The Dartmouth Review isn't exactly known as a friend to communists or other liberals so I think that he might be leery about doing this if he thinks that is just going to be a smear or a joke...so be kind and open.'
I told her, 'Yeah, yeah. Kind, open, blah, blah.' and e-mailed her dad a detailed letter about my plans for a story — a day in the life of a commie. Well, that's how I pitched it to the Review. I wrote my friend's commie dad, 'My idea is to walk around for a day with an office worker and interview that person throughout the course of the day. Of course, I will respect any requests for private meetings and the such.'
No response.
I am not one to give up so easily, especially not to no pinko commie. I decided to use the information super-highway. It was quite simple really. I tracked down the official communist web-site and got the phone number for their office in Boston and gave them a call. After a couple of rings, I got a pickup. Finally I was going to get to talk to a real live communist.
'The number you have dialed is no longer connected. No further information is available.'
Great. How efficient can communism purport to be if it can't even get their own phone numbers right on their web site? No wonder those bread lines were always so long.
I was getting real frustrated but figured that their national headquarters in New York would naturally have the phone numbers for all their district offices across the United States. Of course the main communist cell in the US would have the answers I needed. These communists don't have the bureaucracy which clogs up every other political machine. Sure they don't.
'4994'
'Hello?'
'Hello.'
'Uh...is this the office for the Unites States Communist Party.'
'Yes.'
OK. The secretary was a little slow at first. I was even able to get past her broken English/Brooklyn accent; all she needed to do was give me the info that I needed and then I can get on with my story. That's all, so I asked the nice lady my question.
'Have you checked our web site?'
'Yes I have and the phone number did not work. I got a machine that said the phone was no longer connected. Can you help me out?'
'Could you hold on for one sec?'
I said yes and waited. All I heard was the rustling of papers in the background and five seconds later:
'Sorry, I can't find it right now. Let me get your name and phone number and I will call you when I find the information that you need.'
'Thanks.'
As of one week after that eventful encounter, I still received no response from the COMINTERN.
Now I was angry. No communists were going to give me the run-a-round. I decided I need to be more aggressive. I was being too Trotsky; I needed to invoke Stalin instead; then they would respect my requests.
I called up the New York office again late one Friday afternoon and stated the reason for my phone call — I wanted to interview a communist and I wanted to interview one now. I told the guy (I guess the other secretary was getting ready for night classes at CUNY or something) that I was with The Dartmouth Review and that I would like to speak with their Director of Public Relations.
He told me she was out, but that I need a written request for an interview.
I agreed to fax out a letter the next day, but before we ended our conversation, he had a little outburst.
'Why would WE agree to do anything with the Dartmouth Review? Don't get your hopes up.'
I explained to him in the simplest terms I could think of, 'Fair journalism, integrity, blah, blah, blah' and told him to just make sure his boss got my message.
On Monday, I received a phone call from the PR. Commissar, Terry Albano. I was in class when she called, but my roommate took the message for me. I called back ASAP.
'4994'
'Uh..Hello. Can I please speak with Terry Albano?'
'Sure, just one moment.'
'Hello, Mr. Albano. This is Benjamin Oren from The Dartmouth Review returning your call.'
'That's MS. Albano.'
Great. Just my luck that I happen to speak to the first female communist since Rosa Luxumburg and she's already pissed at me. Fantastic. I knew I should've used 'Comrade' instead.
However, she seemed really nice over the phone. We arranged an interview with Vice-Chairman Sam Webb for the following Friday. I was excited. I was going to go home to New York for a long weekend, hangout, get some good food, talk to some pinkos. It was all going smoothly.
Too smoothly if you ask me. My mama always told me to be wary of communists — 'They'll only break your heart,' she said. I should've listened to mama.
I was all packed and ready to go home the Thursday before the interview. My khakis and navy blazer were neatly hanging in the backseat of my car, and I was getting psyched to savior the taste the fine Italian offerings of 'La Piazza,' the local pizza place in town.
But the communists wouldn't let me enjoy that for long. I guess pizza is too bourgeois for them because they called up to let me know that I wasn't going get to eat any real New York pizza that weekend. I wasn't even going to get to go New York.
They canceled the interview. The message on my machine said something about 'overlaps, meetings, reschedule, blah, blah, blah.' Damn commies!
Now, close to three weeks later, the communists still refuse to return my phone calls. I call them every other day asking for Ms. Albano and every other day the flighty secretary tells me that she'll give her the message. I think she's even beginning to feel sorry for me. Yesterday she assured me that Ms. Albano was indeed getting the messages, but that she's just really busy. I know that excuse. I've used that excuse. That's no excuse.
I'm on to you communists. You're afraid. You can run but you can't hide. I challenge you to come out and speak with me and the Review. Let the world know more about you since most of them don't subscribe to The Daily Worker. Spout party platform, praise Lenin, I don't care. Just give me a response.
I really don't want to start another Cold War.