Working with Walter Surrey was like being thrown over the railing of a ship without a life preserver. There was no preparation, no training, no orientation, no warning; I just had to start swimming like crazy, or drown.

I chose to survive . . . and that meant always being ready for anything. Boredom was not in my job description.

Most of Walter’s early mornings in the office were devoted to getting his thoughts organized for the day. But occasionally there would be a pre-office-hours visitor who preferred not to be seen by the dozens of people arriving for work around 9:00. One such was a man named Valentin A.

I had only been working with Walter for a few weeks when he said to me one day that he needed to schedule a meeting with a man from the Soviet Embassy, and that it had to be an early morning appointment. This was in 1979 — remember the Cold War? — and I believe my response was the same as any normal person’s would have been:

“Did you say . . . the SOVIET Embassy??!!!”

Surely I had misunderstood. But no . . . my hearing was fine. Walter explained that, because there was no such thing as private industry in the USSR, all business had to be conducted with the appropriate government ministries in Moscow — light industry, heavy industry, oil and gas, agriculture, and so on — and that a contact in the Embassy was essential to making the necessary introductions overseas on behalf of our corporate clients. “Valentin A.” was that contact.

So, with some trepidation, I consulted the first of the two gigantic Rolodexes on my desk. Again, remember that this was 1979, way before the advent of electronic contact lists, or much of anything else electronic. In fact, we were still typing on IBM Selectric typewriters, which, as you older readers may recall, did not have an “Undo” key.

Anyway, I found Valentin’s business card identifying him as a diplomat in the Economic Affairs Section at the Soviet Embassy in Washington. Nervously, as though he might somehow be watching me through the phone lines, I dialed his number. He answered his phone just as I was thinking, “Oh damn, now what do I say?” As it turned out, though, his English was excellent, his manner was cordial, and we confirmed an appointment for the following morning. That night, I anxiously anticipated the next day when I would finally see what a real Soviet official looked like.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Probably a thug with a bad haircut, ill-fitting cheap suit, and hideous vinyl shoes. But that was not at all what I saw when I walked to the reception area to greet the man I had already labelled in my mind as “My First Commie.” He was attractive, well-dressed, and quite charming — just your average businessman type. He clearly had to be a spy . . . right?

Well, not really: I was undoubtedly over-dramatizing. I decided I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

But two days later, I received a call from Mike (not his real name), an FBI agent seeking one of those early a.m. meetings with Walter. Putting Mike on hold, I ran into Walter’s office and whispered, rather dramatically, “FBI on the phone. Are you in trouble?” He smiled, shook his head, and replied, “Oh, yeah — I forgot to tell you to expect him.” The next day, Mike showed up to meet with Walter behind closed doors. And that’s when I knew that this was going to be one hell of an interesting job!

As for Valentin, he and I developed a pleasant rapport over time and I found that — contrary to my initial mental image of a typical Soviet official — he even had a sense of humor. I first discovered this when he happened to have an appointment with Walter on the day following the 1980 Winter Olympics hockey match at Lake Placid where, in what was later dubbed the “Miracle on Ice,” the American team whipped the Soviet team’s collective ass by a score of 4-3. As I escorted Valentin from the reception area to Walter’s office, I politely asked him whether I might get anything for him: “Coffee? Tea? Hockey puck?”

[Pregnant pause . . . ]

Holy Mother of God! Had I really just said that?!!

Yes, I really had. And no, despite my worst fears, I did not lose my job. Nor, apparently, did I do any damage to U.S.-Soviet relations, which already were — as they are today — pretty much in the crapper. In fact, Valentin laughed.

Walter and I had a good laugh, too, when I later confessed my faux pas. Life went on; it was, in the long run, not the end of the world.

On the contrary, for me it was just the beginning of an amazing decade, and beyond.
And I had learned the secret of surviving life with Walter: always tell the truth, and almost everything was fun if you had the right attitude.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/20/26