February 23rd has a special meaning for people who grew up in the Soviet Union. Originally started in 1918 as the Red Army Day, then renamed “The Soviet Army and Navy Day” and now “Defender of the Motherland Day” this holiday became a de facto Men’s Day when all men were celebrated even if they never served in the military. Starting at the young age it was a day of anticipation for boys, when girls would bring them small presents and souvenirs to school just so the boys could brag, compare and play with them for the rest of the day (the favor was returned on March the 8th). For those who served it was a highly anticipated day off, with delicacies such as two boiled eggs and buckwheat for breakfast and maybe a rare day on the town (if you happened to serve near one). For the rest of the people it was another reason to have a drink.

Over the years my opinion about my military service has changed from a wasted years of my life, two years of missed opportunity and needless sacrifice, to a fun and careless time when all I had to worry about was escaping any semblance of work and exercise at all costs. Although I was one of the most worthless soldiers the Soviet Army had ever seen, they got exactly what they paid for with their 7 rubles a month, which was just enough for a lunch and a few packs of cheap cigarettes. I made sure of that.

Even though the Soviet Army is long gone, I still get a few messages from friends and relatives on this day. Mostly it’s a connection to the innocent days of our childhood when a simple souvenir and a card made us feel like men (slide show of old holiday cards below).

Much has changed since the days of my military service. In the video below the Choir Of the Ministry of the Internal Affairs performs with the duo Ottawan, something that couldn’t have happened 25 years ago, when people from the same ministry were busy banning Western music.

httpvh://youtu.be/XkoHoAPTzdM

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I often wondered what causes people to become upset about a closing of a business, but be completely unmoved by other closings or downsizing. Is it the history, nostalgia or tradition? Job losses, growing unemployment, shrinking tax base? The answer most likely is the smell, which probably explains all the commotion around the closing of the Folgers plant downtown. Folgers is not the first Kansas City or Downtown company to close, but other businesses quietly drifted away into oblivion without Facebook support groups and Twitter followers. It must be the smell of coffee…

One of the downtown businesses that is still around but way past its former glory is the AT&T Long Lines building at 1425 Oak. It still serves as a long-distance hub for the Kansas City area, but there are only few people left working there, down from over 1,700 who were employed in call centers and various business departments, as well as the training facility, cafeteria and whatever else made the biggest phone company in the world ring. Every long-distance phone call made in Kansas City went through this building. Built in several stages and completed in the 70’s it was an example of a secure, earthquake- and explosion-proof architecture of the Cold War years. Inside were the technological marvels still impressive to this day; the phone company led the technological progress from the invention of the transistor, to the TV transmissions, communication satellites, and computing.

Yet when the calling centers were closing and the people were let go, no one shed a tear. The shareholders probably received a nice payout.

Nowadays, not too many people walk on these rugs.

Granite-lined lobby is empty.

The bells are still in the floor but not in the company logo any longer.


Once-thriving market for the microchip-themed wallpaper is long-gone.

No one is taking a break in the cafeteria.

No one is enjoying the view.

Lonely scales remembers the times before the obesity epidemic…

…and the Oak Street Deli no longer serves thousands of meals a week.

Built-for-the-ages door springs are not getting a workout…

…and there is no need for the old light fixture to be on.

No one is calling “Dottie”…

…and a mailbox is collecting nothing but dust.

Retired carrier pigeons who used to deliver messages to the far-flung places like Wellington,MO are still hanging around in the building.

This building is full of history and pride, and the calls that went trough these switches and cables reunited many people in times of happiness and trouble; it stands as a reminder of the time when a long-distance call was an event, albeit pricey, but still a something to remember.

The old Long Lines building still had its last laugh, it shows up in many photographs towering over the Sprint Center for a little free publicity.


Maybe it’s a better legacy than a worthless Facebook group.

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I used to be better at remembering useless dates, I blame the atrophy of my memory on the iPhone. It’s the iPhone’s fault that I am posting this photo three days late. Vladimir Illyich Lenin died on January 21,1924.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Bh1fj_RCyQ&start=80

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Recently my friend EmawKC (I struggled for years to figure out what it stands for and gave up) happily helped out the City of Overland Park with his almost voluntary donation.
Through the miracle of modern forensic science I was ably to recreate the events leading up to the event. I believe it started something like this:

This is a live reenactment of what happened just prior to the act of the donation itself:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPx20Gb5Jro

*At this point of my research another policeman pulled up behind me and ruined the cinematographic moment. Although I wasn’t doing anything wrong being on public street filming a public employee, I didn’t feel like hanging out there any longer. Maybe next time time I will do a better job of blending in.

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Christmas is a very nostalgic holiday, probably more so than any other. It’s the time when people realize that another year is left behind, kids have grown older and now want an iPhone instead of a barbie, and everyone else is sporting more and more gray hairs. People remember their own childhoods, old presents, relatives who are now gone, and the time when Christmas dinner meant killing your own goose.

These photos were taken in Neosho Rapids,KS in 1945.

Read the original Life Magazine article with more photos.

This story had a surprise ending.

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