On the Mississippi: Cruising Peaceful Waters

Georgi Grechko, the Soviet cosmonaut whose three trips into space have made him a national hero, was at it again. Grechko is a natural when it comes to pleasing a crowd, more than willing to press the flesh and fortified with a broad, kind smile that adds a human touch to his celebrity status. Here he was in fine form again, but on this humid summer evening, in spite of the cheers and waves, the crowd didn't know Grechko from any of the other people he was with. After all, this wasn't Red Square but Red Wing, Minn., and most of the well-wishers who surged forward to catch a glimpse of this space traveler had never before seen a "Russian" in the flesh.

Together with 45 other Soviets and 125 Americans, Grechko was spending a summer week "steamboatin' " down the Mississippi River, from St. Paul to St. Louis, on the legendary Delta Queen. Stopping daily at towns along the way, the first ever "Mississippi Peace Cruise" brought the "evil empire" to America's heartland, and the heartland, curious and honored but not intimidated, opened its arms in welcome.

The Delta Queen came to Red Wing the first night out from St. Paul; no stop was scheduled, but a hopeful crowd, some of them sporting handmade posters, had gathered at a nearby lock. When Grechko saw them, he couldn't resist their enthusiasm. As the paddle-wheel steamboat rested in the lock, he climbed across from a starboard deck onto the concrete bank and began shaking hands, accepting pats on the back and handing out small mementos from the Soviet Union, mostly pins and buttons that called for universal peace and an end to the arms race, mostly in Russian. Grechko waited as long as he could before getting back on board, and as the Delta Queen slowly churned away from the lock, a song broke out from those on deck: Let There Be Peace on Earth.

Inside the steamboat's Aft Cabin Lounge, an American peace cruiser spoke to Grechko in a loud voice, enunciating with that exaggerated care that is used to breach the language gap. "I couldn't go on the Volga Peace Cruises because I'm afraid to fly," she said slowly, referring to the seven such voyages down the U.S.S.R.'s Volga River, which first began in 1982. "So I took a train to get to this one." Smiling, Grechko paused for a moment to look away from the woman, as though he did not understand her. "I know," he said finally. "I am also afraid to fly. I am afraid of height." Again that smile, and the woman -- "Oh, c'mon, a cosmonaut?" -- couldn't have been more pleased.

On board and off, the good-natured interchange persisted. Take a Soviet by the arm, bring him or her to a quiet corner and ask whatever burning question comes to mind. No problem. Have a drink together, or dinner; go on deck in the evening and talk about literature or politics, as the light fades and the densely wooded banks of the river grow dark and eerie. One night, somewhere between Prairie du Chien, Wis., and Dubuque, Iowa, Dmitri Agrachev, the cruise's official Soviet interpreter, was playing Scrabble, in English, with three Americans. "It's not a very nice word," he began, "but I'll use it," and laid out five letters: P-U-R-G-E. No one so much as raised a smile or a brow. Three hours later, Agrachev had finished off his opponents.