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The Dufek File


several frantic exchanges of cables, last-minute flight arrangements, and multiple visits to the Czech Embassy to procure my visa. Even the most vexing problem, getting the device sterilized, had been solved. The conventional method of steam autoclaving at a high temperature would have ruined the delicate electronic circuitry of the device. Newer ethylene oxide gas sterilizers, which operated at room temperature, were unavailable anywhere behind the Iron Curtain. Fortunately, though, I had planned to attend the meetings of the International Cardiovascular Society in Stockholm at the beginning of July. I knew that the Swedes were eons ahead of the Russians in terms of medical technology, and I made arrangements to get the pacemaker sterilized at the Karolinska Institute there. Then I would fly directly on to Prague, with the pacemaker in a sterile package.

The next several letters in the file are from me to my wife back in North Carolina:

Stockholm, July 1, 1962
Dearest Marilyn: You can't imagine what an exhilarating sensation it was to be leaving Russia. I had the finest breakfast in the past three months on board the Scandinavian Airlines flight flying out. The change in feeling between Moscow and Stockholm is incredible! Even though it's wet and gray outside, I already love this town! As far as I'm concerned, the sun is shining everywhere. I know this is an emotional reaction, but it's based on very obvious reality. It strikes one instantly how differently people are handled in Russia and in Sweden. For instance, when you arrive in Russia, as your plane lands, a Russian police official steps on board before anybody is let off and collects everybody's passport as each person leaves the plane. They are so damn suspicious of the entire decadent capitalist world, as well as the "neutral" world and even of their own people, that they have to plant somebody on the plane the minute it lands. In Stockholm, . . . a five-second glance at the passport—no visa required—and I was in Sweden. I find it hard to believe that my emotions should be so strongly moved by this difference. . . .

I wandered into a half-empty cafeteria for food. Gad, what food! It's terrible to be so hedonistic, I know, but it isn't the food and the stuff in these gorgeous stores so much as the honesty and the reality of life here. There is no big fraud being perpetrated here—no huge signs and slogans about "FORWARD TO COMMUNISM" and "WE ARE BUILDING COMMUNISM" and "PEACE TO THE WORLD!" while the dull, controlled, sad,

Above: Papers about the pacemaker's development, Takaro's operative notes, and a report on Dufek's case.

and miserable life of Moscow so obviously contradicts the baloney. I was not in the least nostalgic about leaving Moscow—their dream may be beautiful, but they don't seem to know beans about human nature and human dignity and they don't seem to care, either. The distance between dream and reality is not only infinite but, in my opinion, unbridgeable. . . .

I almost hate to go back behind the Iron Curtain again to Prague, but I feel I must try to help out this nice Czech doc. I'd really rather go straight home to you and to a country that, while it is cock-eyed, screwy, and troubled, is at least not totally fraudulent.

Stockholm, July 3, 1962
Well, I had the pacemaker sterilized today at the Karolinska Institute (that's what they call this beautiful medical center) since it can't be done properly in Prague. I met a couple of Czech docs here. They seem to know all about Dufek and the upcoming operation, and they gave me some dope about him and about the set-up I'm to expect. It should be an interesting experience, and I hope for Dr. Dufek's sake that all goes well. Also for the sake of the American embassy people, because I get the impression they are going to try to get as much mileage out of this as possible.

Prague, July 4, 1962
The trip to Prague through East Germany was uneventful, and the Dufeks were

"I had the pacemaker sterilized today at the Karolinska Institute (that's what they call this beautiful medical center) since it can't be done properly in Prague," wrote Takaro to his wife back home. "I met a couple of Czech docs here. They seem to know all about
Dufek and the upcoming operation."

waiting for me, along with the Czech vice consul for our embassy—a Mr. Jim Ward. The Dufeks are very fine people. They are most anxious about the outcome of this trip—naturally. Dr. Dufek is about 52. The most striking thing about him are his
tired-looking eyes. They are of the clearest, lightest blue I've ever seen. Mrs. Dufkova—Jarmila—is in that same age range, a bit shy, and they have a lively 12-year-old daughter, Daniela, who is a charmer. We got along fine in three


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