Radio mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO MIRROR the Soviet vice-commissar of foreign affairs was negotiating a treaty with the American Relief Administration for its aid in feeding the 30,000,000 starving Russian peasants along the Volga; but until the negotiations were concluded all newspaper men were being kept out of Russia. The Soviets were suspicious of capitalist newspapermen; on the other hand, the newspapermen and their readers back home in America were suspicious of the Soviets and half inclined to believe that all this famine talk was merely a clever ruse to get money out of Uncle Sam. The result was a stalemate as far as getting the news was concerned. Two of Floyd's correspondents had already got as far as Riga when Floyd arrived there, but they couldn't get any farther. They had asked Litvinov for visas into Russia, and had been put off. Floyd adopted different tactics. He arrived in an airplane he had chartered in Danzig. He put the airplane in a hangar and left instructions for its pilots to bring it out every hour and tune it up, in readiness for instant flight. Then he went to a hotel and sat there, waiting, while his two associates went around town whispering of mysterious plans their boss had in rnind. IT wasn't long before Litvinov summoned him. Floyd put on his most innocent expression and answered the summons. "What are you doing in Riga?" Litvinov asked. Floyd replied that he was on his way to Moscow. "You must make application for a visa first," Litvinov said. "Then you will go in with the rest of the correspondents." "Well, if that's all I have to do," said Floyd, "it won't be necessary for me to go at all. I have two men here who've already applied for visas, and they can get on the train to Moscow tonight." It seemed, from the Commissar's words, that things couldn't be accomplished quite as fast as that. "I know you are planning to fly into Russia," Litvinov continued. "You surprise me," said Floyd. Litvinov smiled and said, "I don't think I do, but I will now. Anti-aircraft guns will shoot you down if you try to fly across the Russian border." "But, your Excellency, that border is thousand of miles long, and there aren't enough anti-air guns in Europe to close it completely." "Even if you did get across the border, you would be taken prisoner when you landed in Moscow." "Would your people really do that, Your Excellency? I understood that one of the points in the agreement you're negotiating with America for relief is that all American prisoners must be released. At this time, would your people imprison another American?" It ended up with Litvinov taking Floyd in his own special train to Moscow that night. Floyd got to Moscow five days and the Volga ten days before any other American correspondent. He had successfully bluffed Litvinov, and while he was in Russia he went ,on successfully bluffing the rest of the Soviets. Before he left Paris he had written out a couple of telegrams to himself. One of these arrived while he was in Moscow. He knew that Soviet censors had read it before they passed it on to him. It intimated in unmistakable language that the Senate committee which was even then considering the question of recognizing the Soviet Government, was sitting back in Washington breathlessly awaiting Mr. Gibbons' report. And it helped consider ably in smoothing Mr. Gibbons' way to whatever section of Russia he wanted to visit. CLOYD'S next extended trip out of Paris ^was a different matter entirely. Do you remember "The Sheik" and the tremendous sensation it caused? Well, things were fairly quiet in Europe at that time, and the Tribune sent Floyd and a photographer across the Sahara to Timbuctoo with instructions to see and photograph as many sheiks as possible, just to find out if they were the hot stuff the author of the book claimed they were. He set out from Algiers in February, weighing 170 pounds, and arrived in Timbuctoo on July 4, weighing 135. In between there had been enough excitement to account for that loss of weight. Eight hundred miles out, in a region where there is only one well in 500 square miles, the caravan ran out of water. And they couldn't find the oasis. At last, Floyd spied a small dark speck far off on the horizon. It was a well, but it was almost dry. Half a day's digging yielded half-a-barrel of water. At last their camels were watered and their canteens filled, and they trudged on, crossing the desert in the blistering heat. From the driest place in the world, Timbuctoo, the Tribune sent Floyd to the wettest place, the west coast of Africa. His duty — to stop at every port on the way to Cape Town and see if American goods were being admitted duty free into certain territories according to the Versailles treaty. Floyd got his story. 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