Horror Theater: Arrest. Prison. Camp.

Talking about the history of domestic motorcycles and micro -vehicles, one cannot but mention the outstanding designer Boris Mikhailovich Fitterman. Fitterman was born in 1910 in the family of a doctor. Having graduated in 1931 the mechanical Institute named after Lomonosov (now

Horror Theater: Arrest. Prison. Camp.

. The beginning of 1950 was very difficult. On me lay the load of the chief designer ZIS. The delivery of the BTR-152 was approaching. Although almost everything was debugged, there was still a lot of work. Finally came March 28th. Late in the evening in the GBTU, all parties signed an act of setting an armored personnel carrier for production and weapons. With a feeling of full satisfaction, I return home. A big job has been done! Now I will be able to complete another important work -a good armored personnel carrier! But. At 2 a.m. the doorbell call. Who's there? Open! Alas, everything is clear. The end of everything! I open the door. There are three, a pistol in the stomach, they ask: Is there a weapon? But what can a person have weapons from bed? Still sealing. Presented the order for search and arrest. The signature of Abakumov himself: After all, I am a person approved by the Central Committee. They rush me, rather say goodbye and go.

We come to Lubyanka. Brief interrogation, what am I, who am I? How I would like not to be! They lead to a medium -sized room, into which a bright light falls through the transom – not a lamp, but a spotlight. I stayed in non -existence for a day, searched in the morning, quite humiliating, and took it to a stone cabinet, one one and a half meters, the seat – a wooden box. It remained like this 12 days. I distinguished days and nights by the fact that in the morning I heard cleaning, and by that

Still that they brought food. On the last night they came after me, dragged somewhere. They dragged them to the arms, as I was very weakened and could not go quickly. They led to a large “dressing room”, the secretary waved his hand, and they introduced me into a long office with a large empty table, at which a dense red -faced man was sitting. He gloomily looked at me and asked my companions: This one? Remove! I recognized Abakumov and realized: it's over. I had to meet with him when the armored ZISPs for Stalin was made. I can’t say that these meetings were pleasant. I realized: there can be no mistakes here, everything is the end! At night, I was put in a “funnel” and for five hours I was brought to a investigative prison in Lefortovo.

A few words about Lefortovo Prison. It was built at the end of the 19th century according to the project of Milgotin, a military minister of the time as an officer prison according to the American scheme. Two buildings, right and left, under the common roof. Four floors, cameras on each of them. The corridors are suspended with iron floors, every step is heard. A mesh is stretched between the corridors. The railing is also iron, from pipes. Windows along the ends of the building, but everything is flooded with electric light. There are also four such buildings, and they seem to form the letter K. There are semi -basement and basement floors of special purpose. About them later.In the cell there are two iron beds with two narrow planks, a small table, and two stools. Faucet and simplified toilet. The chamber is empty. In the morning they threw me a liquid mattress, a thin blanket and the thinnest pillow, they gave me a mug with a spoon. At 8 o'clock they brought a ration of bread and some sugar on a piece of paper. Prison life began. You can't lie down during the day, but you can sit. The so-called guards distract from sad thoughts – guards who are obliged, passing by the cell, to open a peephole to check what the prisoner is doing. Among the guards was one old woman with the Order of Lenin on her chest. Probably served in this field for 25 years. She was small in stature, and 12 benches were kept for her, otherwise she would not have reached the eye.

The agenda was like this. At six in the morning – rise, at eight – tea, bread rations and 12 g of sugar. At one o'clock lunch, soup and porridge. At six in the evening – dinner, something like porridge. At ten – going to bed. And further. At 10.15 – for interrogation! The end of the interrogation is at five in the morning, then the return to the cell, an hour's sleep. And so every day. I had to sleep only from Saturday to Sunday, when the interrogation took place during the day, and from Sunday to Monday. During the day it was strictly forbidden to sleep, and if the guard noticed that your eyes were closed, he knocked on the door and ordered you to walk. It happened that it did not help, then he demanded that you put your head under the tap. At first, the lack of sleep was somehow tolerated, but then it got worse and worse. I waited with horror for the evening, for the knock on the door, for the shouting for interrogation! A month later, hallucinations began. If you did not answer the way the investigator wanted, or your answers seemed harsh to him, you were threatened with a punishment cell. I had to visit this establishment located in the basement twice. The camera is already normal. The floor is filled with water. In one corner there is a board for sitting, to which a board is laid diagonally from the door. You are left in a shirt, pants and galoshes on your bare feet. The temperature does not exceed 10 degrees, damp. Meals are two meals a day – bread and water, on the third day they give soup. It is impossible to sleep sitting up in this cold. After the punishment cell you will become more accommodating and more talkative. What did they want from me?

Claims to me, the chief designer of the plant, were rather strange. This is primarily a non-rhythmic release of cars. Where did the above-planned production by May 1 and November 7 come from? Doesn't that mean it was hidden? I wrote an article about the ZIS-150 car in the Moskovskaya Pravda newspaper and gave its description. But the article was ordered to me on the recommendation of the Central Committee of the Party. Finally, there were more Jews in the management apparatus of the plant than was supposed to be according to some kind of unspoken instruction! “You,” the investigator shouted to me, “knew this and did not report it to the appropriate authorities!” I did not suspect the existence in the USSR of a percentage of Jews in the apparatus of the enterprise. No one selected Jewish engineers on a national basis; knowledgeable specialists were accepted regardless of their nationality.

All this went on for three months, after which I was temporarily left alone. Then I was handed over to some very gray senior lieutenant, about whom I want to tell an almost anecdotal incident. During one of the interrogations, he asked me, in a rather rude manner, to tell me everything about the Jewish king. I'm used to his stupid questions. But this one took me by surprise. The fact is that the entire interrogation system was built according to a pre-written script. The script was apparently in charge of the head of the investigative department for especially important cases, Lieutenant General Vladzimirsky (I think I'm not mistaken in the surname). Every now and then my investigators ran to him if the interrogation went beyond the script. The general was short, broad-shouldered, with a colorless face and a long, pointed nose, black hair with a slight gray combed like Hitler's, a blue suit strewn with dandruff. Once he appeared in a general's uniform. Probably for my reason. My interrogator put a paper on the table, written back in 1918 in Germany. The document itself was not shown to me, I only saw the signature. She looked like this: Dr. Levin, XXII Gasse, Munich. Here is your Jewish king! the investigator shouted. Tell me about him! I tried to convince him for a long time that this was not King Levin XXII, but simply the address of a doctor living in Munich, that abroad they write first the surname, and then the address and XXII gasse is a street in Munich. The investigator persisted, and I felt that I was being drawn into a scam from which I could not get out. In the end, he realized that he was confused about something, and rushed to the boss for advice. The idea to draw the Jewish king into the process was his own. From Vladimirsky, who probably scolded him, he returned and said: We will no longer talk about the king.

So the days went by. Feeling that they were not pressing me, I decided on a demarche: I abandoned my protocols. And suddenly they came for me, put me in a funnel and drove somewhere for a long time. The day was cold, I was pretty cold. An hour later, the car stopped somewhere outside the city, in the courtyard of the monastery. The monastery was small, a church with an annex in the form of a gallery. I was dropped off at the annex that served as the vestibule of the church. I was offered to strip naked and conducted a thorough search everywhere, after which I was driven naked up the cast-iron stairs to the second floor. The camera, two meters by one and a half, was in the gallery. It was impossible to stretch out in height on a hanging bunk. During the day, it leaned back and laid on a railway buffer built into the asphalt floor. The table is also suspended. A slop that needs to be taken out every morning. I'm waiting, what's next? Over the course of thirteen days, I was summoned several times for interviews, beaten with rubber sticks, threatened with more subtle torture. I realized that resistance was useless, and I confirmed my previous testimony. My investigator, new again, asked me with a grin: Well, how did you like our dacha? I signed everything and began to wait for the court.

The troika judged – three generals, without a prosecutor. The secretary of the court read out my case, the confession of guilt, the court retired for a meeting – a smoke break and returned with a verdict: instead of the death penalty – 25 years in the camps plus five years of disqualification! I thought: And thanks for that. After all, seven people have already been shot. The verdict was also interesting: found guilty of treason – Art. 58-1 a, in sabotage – Art. 58-4, in the creation of an organization (which one is unknown) – art. 58-10, in slandering the party and the government (what it consisted of is also unknown) – art. 58-11, special regime camp, use only for underground work without medical assistance. After the trial, they let me sleep. Vertukhay is surprised: 25 years old and sleeping.

Here I am already at the stage. They are being taken, judging by the direction, to Gorky. The stage is large, supplemented in Dzerzhinsk by juvenile delinquents, eight years old and older. In Gorky, near the station, they lined up in a column and drove through the city. There are guards around, soldiers, dogs, juveniles screaming, they are not afraid of anything. People stare, but the convoy is not shy – a familiar picture for the city. They led me to red brick buildings. Deaf sliding gates, came. Began to enter groups. They are ordered to undress, again naked, to hand over things in a roast. Cells for 8 people with bunk beds made of pipes, a common latrine with a flush, a washing tap. Instead of mattresses, small Japanese mats. There is a table where you need to put mugs, and while eating – bowls. It is dangerous to speak, everyone is silent, they are afraid of each other. All have 58th. During the day they go for a walk. Walking yards are different, 150 meters long, 20 meters wide. So 20 days passed. From the transfer to Gorky, unforgettable memories remained. First of all, the scale: 10,000 people. For the project and construction, the authors received the Stalin Prize. A worthy monument to the era!

After a twenty-day stay in Gorky – loading into the train. Stolypin carriages, twenty-six people in a three-story compartment, food – herring and bread. We arrived in Vorkuta in the evening. There I fell seriously ill and lay for three weeks. My new patrons in the camp could not come to terms with my absence – they bombarded the shipment with demands for my delivery. Finally, at a temperature of minus 38.5, they put me in a sled and drove 20 km to the camp – Rechlag department, Severny settlement. They dropped me off at the gate and, at 40 degrees, demanded to undress to my underwear, and searched me. This procedure continued for about 20 minutes. It was getting dark. It was quite dark when they let us into the camp. I looked around. To the right are several log buildings and barracks – apparently administrative buildings. And then a flat field, dotted with ice paths, clearly marked on pure snow. Barracks are not visible, only smoke is rising. I did not immediately understand what it was. We came closer and saw that they were located in a lowland and steps cut in deep snow lead to them.

The first impression is terrible. Quarantine bar. Capacity, you can’t say otherwise, 70-90 people, bunk beds without mattresses, the pillow is replaced by your own hat with earflaps.The walls, frozen through and through, so that my hat very soon froze to the wall. In the middle of the table, two or three stools. Above the table, a lamp, 25 candles. At the entrance, a small cabin, like a compartment in the car, for the moron – an orderer, local authorities. At the other end, a dryer, there is a stove. Overall is warm, since the stove is red -hot. The people in the hut is random, temporary. At night, the company of thieves, armed with peaks – trihedral files, turned into stylets. With such a stylet, with a certain exercise, you can blow in the back, even with a dressed quilted jacket to punch through through. The guests went into the booth, handed the same style of moron and offered him to defend himself, but he only prayed for mercy. It was over in a few minutes. The thieves went out to the middle and announced: Do not be afraid, we avenged for ourselves and for you, we go to the watch to give up! For starters – a good lesson! I watched the murders of the morons later, when they got scores after softening the regime. One was even blown up in the mine.

A few days later I was transferred to the brigade. It has become better with food and bedding. They gave two bags stuffed with sawdust, one for a mattress, the other for a pillow.

So, a new life has begun. Ahead of 25 years. How will it work out? The first three months did not touch me. I worked on the surface. This is mainly cleaning snow on railway tracks, unloading coal from gondola cars, mainly at night, repair of the bridge. The working day lasts 11 hours. It is especially difficult to work on the bridge, at an altitude of 65 meters. Below is a raging stream, even in winter, a strong wind, frost 40 degrees and more, and the work is unusual, carpentry. Fortunately, a good partner came across, a Russian German from the Caucasus, which has already been overdue for 17 years. A wonderful person, kind, responsive. Deeply believer. He treated me very well. I gradually get used to camp life. To the mine lived in a hut with thieves. There were few of them in the camp, for 3,000 people only 100-120. In the same hut were Poles, officers and athletes, intelligent and pleasant people, 12 people. Initially, it was supposed to keep them in shackles, but soon it became clear that they could only work in the “royal” mode with its pace and norms. Suddenly for myself, I made friends with the leader of the thieves, a counterfeiter Volodya, who wished to study the Avtodlo and become a camp driver, with the exit for the zone. I quickly learned it, gather the month, the camp ZIL-150 served as a manual.

In the mine, where I was transferred later, the working day was shorter – 8 hours, they worked, however, in three shifts. From the moment of descent underground, protection and morons disappear. They are afraid, because we are “armed”: an ax, a shovel, scrap and an unlimited amount of explosives. Every day you have to go down 1453 steps down with the tool and rise as much. The descent is 40 minutes, the rise is twice as long, all this is included in working hours. In the shaft it is wet and dirty, you get used to it, but when you come to the surface, in the frost of 40-45 degrees, and you even need to stand for about 20 minutes while you hand over the tool. Then the bathhouse, change clothes and freedom.Again, Worah, morons, camp. There are no thoughts in the mine. It is amazing that no one is catching a cold. You get used to the darkness. Why they are afraid, it is incomprehensible. The darkness is unearthly, velvet, no glimpse, no ZGI is visible. The light is only from your light bulb, and if it goes out, and this often happens, you are guided only by intuition, it comes in about two weeks. However, the lamp can be replaced underground at a special point. There are light areas in the mine. These are places of lifting and unloading of trolleys, electric locomotive depots, transformer substation – capital concrete premises.

Upon returning to the camp, after eating, one and a half to two hours of free remains. I decided to use them to continue the work that I started back in solitary imprisonment – designing a road train with an active trailer. Since once a month you could write home, I asked me to send the necessary materials to me: instructions with tabs -drawings of both components and general types of cars, as well as tractors, books – textbooks of Chudakov and Gold. I worked in the technical office of miners. It was difficult without tools, in particular without a circul. It was replaced by a needle with a thread. When he received a real compass, it became easier. The young Estonian had a logarithmic line from our hut, he gave it to me. I still keep her. It was possible to calculate the scale from the drawings of instructions. He worked every day, like mad. It seemed to me, and I was right that this was the only way to maintain my intellect, and maybe to interest Moscow with its existence. For two years, I managed to develop two full-fledged sketch-technical projects of automobile and tractor trains with active trailers, draw up explanatory notes for them, with calculations and graphs. At first, the local authorities at the beginning of enthusiasm relate to my activity, but then got used to it, and when the results appeared, supported me and even provided me with a drawing equipment. The project was sent to the MGB, and then to our ministry. But some trouble came out of this. My former “friends” and “colleagues” were not at all happy that I was not only alive, but also created competent and, apparently, interesting projects that need to be given a positive review. Frightened, they hastened to say that no one needs a car of this type. This failure greatly damaged me, for it allowed the MGB to say: You yourself see what you are worth it!

But I did not think to give up. Although the new project of the winter all -terrain vehicle on the basis of the IMZ motorcycle did not send anywhere. Then, with one talented minister prisoner, we designed a wall clock with a pendulum for the camp dining room. By order of the authorities, we had to make them for the next holiday of October. On the night before the launch, it turned out that I was mistaken in the calculation – the clock went twice as soon as necessary.We cut out of the escape wheel one by one, through one, a tooth, and everything worked out well. The clock worked perfectly for four years, until the end of my stay in the camp.

After making watches, I decided to switch to mining. Under the ground, I had to be a builder, concrete building objects. From this hard and tedious work, I was transferred to tunneling – also hard, but more interesting. There were quite exciting moments, for example, horizontal drilling to a length of up to 120 meters.

I began to engage in rationalization, seeking to facilitate the work of my fellow prisoners. Thus, a project was developed to mechanize the unloading of timber delivered in gondola cars. A brigade of 12 people was engaged in it, a rather simple mechanism proposed by me made it possible to release 8 people for this operation. Everything worked out in the layout, I didn’t have time to build a working sample – I was sent to Moscow to review the case. To facilitate work with the drilling machine, I made a tripod that simplified its fastening.

Once, due to a paramedic's mistake when blowing oxygen under the skin in the lumbar zone (this is how sciatica was treated), oxygen got into my blood, which led to a cerebral hemorrhage and paralysis of the left side. Thanks to prisoners, doctors, nurses and just kind people, after three months I completely recovered, my ability to work returned.

The last year in the camp, after Stalin's death, he no longer worked underground. He was in charge of a technical office for training miners, in his spare time he taught car business to prisoners, many of them wanted to become a driver.

I want to tell you about one little-known episode from camp life in the summer of 1954. In March of this year, a government decision was made to review the cases of many prisoners. The local administration was very concerned about this: what to do if the camps were closed? It was easier with dogs. When it turned out that they were no longer needed, they were taken to the tundra and destroyed. And what about the mass of servants? Those of them who held high positions came up with the following. It is necessary to prove that the mass of prisoners is very dangerous for the state and any weakening of the regime will lead to serious consequences! The riots staged in many special camps should have confirmed this concept. For this purpose, they used provocateurs who called for the struggle for freedom. This happened with us too. 12 unknown prisoners appeared, allegedly from the Karaganda camp, who walked around the barracks and engaged in agitation. This, in the presence of an army of informers, allowed the administration to find out how the prisoners were disposed. A petition was drawn up for a review of cases, everyone was called to strike.

July 18 came, when the camp did not go to work. But everyone behaved very disciplined. Those who ensured its safety went to the mine, pumped out water, blew air.As before, every day from seven in the evening to five in the morning the camp was silent, as before, the regime was not violated. The kitchen, dining rooms, baths, hospitals, and assignization worked. On the first day at 19.00, sitting in the huts, we watched a strange sight. Frightened informacies with their things and mattresses fled from the barracks, where they lived, towards the Kardzer, wanting to find a shelter there. But no one touched them. Everyone was amazed. The most seemingly “decent people” now opened their gut.

This lasted 12 days. The weather was great. We rested, watched special trains brought amnestied thieves to freedom. On the last day of July, we were awakened by the roar of the loudspeakers. We saw that the camp was surrounded by a dense ring of troops, with machine guns and heavy weapons. We were required to enter the zone through the shift. It was not allowed to take anything with you. Otherwise, as we were told, after 30 minutes fire will be opened from all types of weapons.

When we began to go out, sorting on already prepared documents began. Part of the prisoners, more than 400 people, plunged into funnels to be sent to closed prisons. About 100 people, including me, were separated and taken to the tundra, where a large dug ditch expected us. They forced to sit on the ground, stretch your legs. Here we all understood, the end came. The clock is coming. They brought us to the tundra at ten in the morning. We are waiting for death. We respond to the situation in different ways. Some are sitting silently and waiting for the denouement. I also. Others come into a state of nervous excitement, scratch the ground with their fingers, some sob. But at seven in the evening there was an enhanced guard to take us back. In the camp we were announced that we were forgiven, but the instigators were taken away somewhere. In the morning we went down to the mine again. In our camp, everything went relatively calmly. In other places, in particular at the 25th mine, according to strikers, who, like us, were ordered to get out of the huts, they opened fire. There were victims, many wounded.

The next day, a meeting was held in the camp. The head of the speech, General Derevyanko, arrived in uniform, lacquered boots and with a glass. Looking briefly at the petition, containing a request for a revision of cases and softening the regime, he cut off: Who will work? At this “performance”, the future general prosecutor Rudenko was present as a representative of the Central Committee.

However, the authorities were punished, shifted, and the head of the Gulag of the USSR, the general of the Army Maslennikov shot himself. After these events, the regime was significantly weakened.

After the strike, I submitted another statement on the revision of the case. My main enemy in the camp, the head of the 1st department, with great satisfaction brought me a negative answer to the hospital and advised: Stop writing! In the certificate it was written that the verdict is considered correct and is not subject to revision. This was the answer of the prosecutor's office of the MGB. And how the man was upset and embarrassed, when three days later he brought me another paper, in which on behalf of the military prosecutor's office it was reported that my case was accepted for consideration.

It was then that I, having left the hospital, was appointed head of the technical office of the mine, placed in a good new barracks, the food became more or less decent.

This went on for almost a year. It was a year of waiting for a miracle – release. From a letter from my relatives, I learned that my case was being reviewed and a summons to Moscow would soon come.

Everyone in the camp is excited, waiting for change. Some of the camps were closed, but ours remained. A new contingent of prisoners and already unnecessary animals were transferred into it – horses, oxen, pigs. The most odious figures from the guard disappear. There is a stall, a commercial canteen. They began to bring vodka to the camp, they drank it, and the bottles were thrown into the restricted area. Snitches began to be massacred, they were killed with an ax or a pike. A secret organization of prisoners Black Cat appeared, which included mainly former Bendera. All attempts by the frightened administration to restore order did not lead to anything. The camp collapsed. I had an important occupation: I made myself a wooden chest in case of departure.

But Moscow is silent. Suddenly, on the morning of November 11, 1954, an orderly from the 1st department appeared: Immediately pack your things for shipment. I ran around good friends, said goodbye and on the road with one escort on a regular train to Vorkuta. Again, I'm out of luck here. The escort hands me over on receipt, and I stay for 18 days in a dark, nasty hut without a mattress or pillow. There is nothing to do, I live in semi-darkness, half-drowsiness. All around are thieves, there is no Article 58, card games, an abomination.

Days go by, no one calls me, even for roll call. In general, forgotten! On the 18th day, having lost patience, I sign up for a meeting with the head of the verification commission from Moscow. A beautiful middle-aged woman asks what kind of complaints. I answer that I have forgotten, I give my last name. She reacts quickly: it turns out that she was instructed to find me. My friend, the chief of the 1st department in the camp, sent me to Vorkuta, but not without intent, of course, did not send a call from Moscow. I could sit on the shipment until the second coming, since I was not listed in any registries. And he received food, because he was listed in the barracks as a unit.

After 20 minutes I was loaded into the Stolypin car, however. he did not go to Moscow, but to Vologda. But I was sold out of hand and immediately. This mistake forced me to spend three days in the Ekaterininsky transfer. And here is Moscow. Voronok brings me in transit through the Butyrka prison to the center on Lubyanka, to the MGB. The cell is like a hotel room, the floor is parquet, the window is only half closed. It can be seen how in the upper floors opposite the inhabitants of the offices hastily tearing some papers. There are a lot of books, but no newspapers. During the transfer in Vorkuta, I read about the trial of Beria and the crimes of his assistants. I read it and was glad that my three investigators, Nosov, Likhachev and Vladimirsky, received the highest measure. Still, justice prevailed.

Finally my turn came.Unexpectedly, at 18:00, they quickly cut my hair, shaved it, and hastily let me read my file. On October 20, 1955, I was released.

So the temptation is over. A new life began. What will she be like? Acquaintances and friends met in different ways. With many, it turned out the way it did in the famous painting by I. Repin They Didn't Wait. The time was unclear – who are these rehabilitated? I learn that for the BTR-152 after my arrest, the chief engineer of the plant, Krylov, received the State Prize.

They returned everything – awards, membership card. True, at first the prison term was not counted as seniority, but a year later, after the 20th Congress, they changed their minds. A warm welcome awaited me at the factory. It was especially touching that one of my enemies, whose actions I learned after my release, came up to me and asked for forgiveness.

More about Boris Fitterman on his page on our website.

The events of the great and difficult life of Boris Mikhailovich Fitterman reflected, perhaps, the entire history of the domestic automotive industry.

Boris Fitterman went from a locksmith to a prominent scientist and auto designer. He worked at the Scientific Automotive and Tractor Institute, performing responsible tasks at various enterprises of the country. At the Stalin (later Likhachev) plant, B. Fitterman took part in the creation of new models of trucks, buses, cars, the first Soviet trolleybuses, an armored special vehicle based on the new ZIS-110 passenger car. He also worked on the reconstruction of a self-propelled harvester, the design of tractors, and the creation of motorcycles. His merit is great as one of the creators of all-terrain vehicles, armored personnel carriers, in particular the BTR-52. Developed the first snowplow in the USSR.

During the Great Patriotic War, Fitterman headed a special bureau at the ZIS for the creation of equipment and even engaged in the modernization of one of the mortars, having been at the front.

In 1943, he was appointed chief designer of the ZIS automobile plant. After the war, occupying such a high position, Boris Mikhailovich was not afraid to marry Ida Penzo, whose first husband, cameraman Vladimir Nielsen, was shot in 1938 as an enemy of the people. She herself spent several years in the Stalinist camps.

On March 28, 1950, Fitterman came home at 12 midnight. He has just signed the act of acceptance into service of the BTR-152 machine of his design. And two hours later, a piercing call rang out in their apartment on Plyushchikha: they came for the designer with an arrest. After nine months of pre-trial detention, he was sentenced on trumped-up charges to 25 years in special regime camps, followed by a five-year exile.

But neither the prison nor the camps destroyed his creative spirit, the desire for new discoveries:

– Repressions at the ZIS, – Fitterman later recalled, – fell mainly on Jews. In the March days of 1950, many Jewish workers of the ZIS were fired from the factory. Then the arrests began, within a few months 60 people were arrested.One of them was mistakenly Russian engineer L. Dobrushin, who, apparently, was repressed for being a namesake of a famous Jewish writer.

In addition to Fitterman, among the arrested were the chief designer for electrical equipment G. Goldberg, deputy. Head of the body department of Zhabotinsky, deputy. Main Metallurgist M. Kogan, leading designer G. Sinkin, senior technologist A. Schmidt, deputy. The head of the production of P. Mostoslavsky, a responsible employee of the laboratory of cutting B. Minsfeld, economists, engineers, business executives, even food workers, the head of the medical unit D. Samoroditsky, doctor A. Finkelshtein. I could not save from the execution of his assistant Aron Filippovich Eidinov himself I. Likhachev. The directors were not touched, but accused that he not only kept too many Jews in command posts, but also “bred” at the factory of Jewish nationality, who allegedly created a secret counter -revolutionary organization.

When Fitterman returned from the camp (in 1955 he was rehabilitated and released from the Lefortovo prison 5 days after 5 days), he got a job at the Scientific Motor Institute (Nam), taught at MADI and continued to engage in construction. The sphere of its scientific and production interests that brought excellent results were low-leaved cars, air pillings, foreign cars, in particular the FIA-24, vehicles for the disabled, the ZAZ-1102 car (Tavria), well, the settings 965 (Humpbacked, Zaporozhets). By the way, it was in those years that Boris Fitterman wrote his monumental work “micro -automobiles”, which became a textbook for designers of such machines.

He came up with an interesting modernization of a bicycle with increased speed. In 1991, B.M. Fitterman, whose health was greatly undermined in prison and camp, died.

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