Good for the Corn

"In an idle and somewhat sportive mood," the Des Moines Register's Chief Editorial Writer Lauren Soth wrote a few paragraphs last February inviting a Soviet farm delegation "to get the lowdown" on Iowa's prime products, corn and hogs. Moscow jumped at the offer, and Kansan Dwight Eisenhower soon endorsed the idea of exchanging farm visits.

Last week, still a bit astonished by it all, Editorialist Soth was off touring the U.S.S.R. with a group of Americans, while twelve Soviet agricultural bosses thrashed happily through Iowa's tall-corn country -- shoulder deep in corn, hogs, hospitality and home cooking.

"Here We Are, Goodbye." At the Des Moines airport, the Russians were greeted by more than 2,500 curious, friendly people. Three girl language students waved a welcome sign in old-fashioned Russian, and the Tribune (afternoon sister of the Register) ran a five-column headline in hand-lettered Russian for their benefit:

The delegates turned out to be top-drawer officials, ranging from a big collective-farm chairman to the boss of all Soviet farming, Acting Minister of Agriculture Vladimir Matskevich, 45, a suave, shaven-headed Ukrainian henchman of Communist Party Chief Nikita Khrushchev. Under the influence of Iowa's warm welcome and 90DEG heat, they quickly melted, shed their dark jackets, switched to shirtsleeves, straw hats and smiles. When someone complained about the heat, Matskevich stole Iowa's favorite reply: "Yes, but it's very good for the corn."

Iowa's Governor Leo Hoegh rattled off a memorized greeting in Russian, and one delegate delivered a rehearsed speech in English: "Hello, my friends. I'm glad to see you. Here we are. Goodbye." At a Cedar Rapids luncheon, the Russian visitors almost jumped out of their shoes when 275 lowans, singing the Corn Song, suddenly raised their arms -- a gesture resembling the party salute -- to illustrate the song's last line: "That's where the tall corn grows!" Later the Russians learned the words, sang it themselves with gestures (but no clenched fist). At a cocktail party they passed up vodka, instead tried Scotch and bourbon highballs. Scoffed one of them: "This stuff could not down a man."

"The Russians Are Coming." In their chartered, air-conditioned bus, tailed by more than 60 newsmen, the Russians crisscrossed Iowa for days. "The Russians are coming" became a popular cry. At Guy Stover's farm near Reinbeck, a lone demonstrator turned up with a sign: "There is no freedom in Russia." Mrs. Stover burst into tears, crying: "We wanted everything nice and friendly." A local minister wrested the sign away before the Russians noticed.

Everywhere the Russian farmers stopped to talk to children, kiss and play shyly with babies. Eying pretty farm girls, they nudged each other and giggled like schoolboys. They played rustic jokes on newsmen and on each other, passed out hundreds of green-and-gold souvenir medals from the Moscow agricultural fair.

They attended three Chamber of Commerce dinners and a Kiwanis lunch, spent a night at the Kozy Korner Motel in Humboldt, played the jukebox, window-shopped, chewed gum, tried "Tummy Buster" and "Idiot's Delight" sundaes at the Milky Way Dairy in Oskaloosa, "the middle of the Middle West."

The Golden Secret. Despite the fun, they worked hard. They prowled over a dozen farms, snapped hundreds of pictures with $49 cameras presented by Eastman Kodak, asked thousands of questions. Eagerly they pounced on every new idea or machine for farming. They talked and acted like alchemists expecting to find at almost any moment the secret formula for Iowa's golden bounty, for the fat grain bins and seven-foot stands of corn, for the prosperous farms and happy people. They could not believe that most Iowa farmers work their quarter sections (160 acres) by and for themselves.

At the 160-acre Alleman farm north of Des Moines, a guide explained that young (25) Richard Alleman would need one helper for his harvest. "One!" shouted a Soviet official. "By us a hundred!" Busily they searched around for field hands and superior officials. A guide explained: "Two things still trouble them: Where are all the other workers, and who specifically tells each farmer what to plant?" In the Soviet Union, after 38 years of Communism, production of some major foods (meat, butter, milk) has fallen below czarist levels; in Iowa, during the same period, production has increased 60%. One visiting Russian last week credited Iowa's prosperity to good weather. "Our rainfall is so much less," he said. At the end of their first week in Iowa, the Russians had said nothing about the real difference between farming in the U.S.S.R. and in the U.S.: freedom. But Iowans hoped they understood that the difference meant prosperity and a full realization of the bounty from fertile soil, well and happily tended.

*Translation: Russian Visitors Begin Iowa Farm Tour. The Tribune misspelled the Russian word for farm, which should have been printed:

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