Seeking Shelter

As the candid awe of the recent Russian farm delegation indicated, the U.S. need have no doubts about the skill of its agricultural production. Housing is another matter. For two decades before the end of World War II, the U.S. fell behind badly. Since then, a housing boom has gone far to close the gap, but whether its quality matches its quantity is still questionable. Last week a visit by ten top Russian housing administrators provided some interesting insights.

Invited by the National Association of Home Builders, the Russians arrived in Washington for a 30-day tour of 13 cities to study U.S. methods. Their chief: hearty but acid I. K. Kozuilia, boss of all urban construction in the U.S.S.R. Their manner: inquisitive skepticism, caused partly by apparent unwillingness to be as folksy as the Russian farm group, partly by what they saw.

"Very Progressive." In nearby North Springfield, Va., the businesslike Russians inspected a big new tract of mass-built, medium-priced ($14,000-$18,000) houses. On the way, they commented on the lack of flowers along the roads, later expressed amazement that so many trees had been cut down at the building site. "In Russia," one of them said, "anyone who cuts down a tree without permission is heavily fined."

Then they began dozens of questions about mass-production methods, approvingly appraised mechanized earthmovers. New to them, and thunderously thumped, were steel doors and gypsum-board walls to substitute for plaster, as well as cost-cutting low ceilings, which they carefully measured. They showed puzzlement when a builder explained the usefulness of a low room divider between a living room and dining area. Placed on the divider, said the builder, a swiveling TV set permits children to view while eating. "It's been one of the biggest selling points of this house," he said. The Russians burst into laughter. Then one murmured politely: "Very progressive."

Work Harder. After watching portly A. V. Vlasov, head of the Soviet Academy of Architecture, struggle good-naturedly with a tippety butterfly chair, the delegates were shown by pretty, pink-clad hostesses around a futuristic pink kitchen. The Russians were unimpressed. Noting a built-in radio, Kozuilia ventured to suggest that housewives might be distracted and let the lunch burn. When he saw a built-in cosmetics drawer near the sink, he cracked: "And do you also sleep in the kitchen?" Again a builder explained: "You'd be surprised how this helps sell houses." Said Kozuilia: "Oh, I see, it helps soften criticism."

The Eyes Are Better. As N.A.H.B.'s President Earl Smith proudly showed the Russians his plush new Washington headquarters, Kozuilia gave more evidence of his skill at oneupmanship. Learning that Smith sometimes spends twelve hours a day in the modernistic office, the Russian said: "The Soviets believe that when you sit in your office it is less profitable than when you spend time outside on the building projects." Replied Smith: "Oh, but I keep in touch by using the telephone. I'm on the phone a great deal." Sternly, Kozuilia ployed: "The phone is all right, but the eyes are better."

In Boston, the delegates hurried through a tight schedule with their newly learned American phrase: "Let's go." They were intensely interested in all forms of prefabrication and multifamily housing. They popped prepainted shingles into their briefcases, amassed samples of every description. But frills and capitalist oddities mystified them. Watching a school going up, N. P. Lysenko, Kiev building boss, thought the highly paid hod carriers lugging bricks from a huge pile to waiting masons were bottlenecking the operation. In Russia, he said, bricks are unloaded in packages at a mason's elbow. And when one delegate saw a new floor being sanded, he asked: "Why? Is it faulty?"

To persistent questions about the state of their own housing at home, they gave only vague answers, and understandably so. Forced industrialization has nearly trebled Soviet urban population since 1926. But disorganization and war destruction have crippled housing so badly that Soviet courts and newspapers are jammed with complaints. According to a recent survey by Radio Liberation, the Soviet city dweller now has only 42.7 sq. ft. of living space v. 61.4 sq. ft. in 1926 (minimum provided by New York's Low Rent Public Housing: 198 sq. ft.). An average Soviet family of four must share its utilities (one water faucet, three electric outlets, no gas) with eight other people.

Insisted Minister Kozuilia: The situation will soon be improved "190%."

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