Jeff B. Harmon At War

As is Russian custom, everyone takes his turn giving a toast before we down our glass of vodka. The toasts from both journalists and officers are predictably boring (i.e. “To Soviet and Western understanding;” “to glasnost,” etc.) When the time comes for my toast, I am in my cups. “Comrades,” I say, lifting my glass, “to Nancy Reagan’s vagina.” The Western journalists are visibly shocked. But when the toast is translated, the officers burst out laughing. I know then that I’m going to get along just fine with the Soviet military. – Jeff B. Harmon on Soviet armored personnel carrier