Komsomolets Uzbekistana. November 22, 1972 I'm sitting in the Dmitrov Athletics School's track and field facility. In a gym filled with light and music. I'm sitting on a Swedish bench by the window, watching the "ruffles" girls, as they are affectionately called by the Republican Youth School of Athletics, perform their routines. Directly in front of me is the balance beam. Because of it, I can only see the girls' legs as they perform their floor routines. But I don't move closer, so as not to disturb the class. However, they've almost become accustomed to me. And I'm starting to get attached to them: I recognize the melodies, I sense their character.
Here they are, a flock of them running on the carpet to the music. Two Lolas, two Nigoras, Saida, Zukhra - all so different and yet so similar in their leotards, performing their required exercises, and in their passion for gymnastics.
They seem small and fragile near the equipment. Newly tired, they sit down nearby. I ask them about their sporting life, and they respond in a hail of answers. It turns out they're not so small after all, that they've been training here for a year, two, three, and that they're First-Class juniors, Second-Class adults, and their mothers happily let them go to classes, and they all get A or B grades - "we don't let anyone with a C into practice" - and that gymnastics, on the contrary, helps them...
But the coach claps her hands. "Let's do it all over again. Okay, head up, shoulders back, toes... Sofya Yakovlevna, please, with those. From here. A quick somersault... And!"
A chord. And the girls all ran across the carpet. They repeat this run, mastering every detail. Then they go to the apparatus, making room for the older ones.
I enjoy watching the work of Boris Peresadov, who choreographs the girls' acrobatics, and the accompanist, Sofya Yakovlevna Berlaga, who understands with half a word, half a hint, and the ensemble director, Zinaida Mikhailovna Bondarenko. The team works calmly, harmoniously, without unnecessary words, respecting and helping each other. And this is understandable: after all, Zinaida Mikhailovna is a senior coach at the Russian Youth Sports School, in the gymnastics department, a master of sports, a former champion of Uzbekistan, and a teacher with more than ten years of experience.
Once upon a time (and not so long ago!), Bondarenko trained several high-class gymnasts, whose successes made her famous far beyond the republic's borders. When the olders ones grew out of adolescence, went to university and left, some for Burevestnik, and some from sports altogether, Zinaida Mikhailovna recruited two "little ones" and began anew to raise "people" out of them.
So I came to Rushka to tell about the work of Zinaida Mikhailovna.
But why does Bondarenko greet me, a stranger, with such caution? Why does she listen with such distrust to my assurances of good intentions?
She will pull herself together and tense up internally whenever she talks with me. And it will be a long time before I can melt the ice of mistrust.
I was perplexed. Why? What once happened to her? What sowed mistrust in her?
I admit, at first I thought Bondarenko was a deservedly forgotten coach. And I was wrong. Her success in training athletes was recognized. In 1967, Zinaida Mikhailovna was awarded the Honorary Diploma of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Uzbek SSR. In 1970, for training a USSR champion, her name was inscribed in the Book of Honor of the Committee for Physical Culture and Sports under the Council of Ministers of the Uzbek SSR. That same year, she was added to the Honor Board of the Republican Supreme School of Sports Mastery.
...Everything would have been fine if it weren't for one sad story that began five years ago, poisoning the life of not only Bondarenko, but also disrupting the peaceful work of other gymnastics coaches.
But let's get down to business. Nine years ago, a girl came to the gymnastics classes of Lyudmila Aleksandrovna Manzhirova, a coach at Children's Sports School No. 4. She was thin and angular. Lyudmila Aleksandrovna observed the newcomer for a while, but then, deciding she couldn't make anything worthwhile out of her, suggested Bondarenko try her out. Zinaida Mikhailovna agreed and included the girl in her group. There was a time when she regretted it. She was a painfully awkward and clumsy student. She even considered expelling her, but something showed through in her awkward movements. And a certain flinty streak had crept into her character. They kept her in the group. She persevered, growing up. In August 1967, by order of the Turkestan Military District, she, already a renowned Uzbek gymnast, was awarded the title of Candidate Master of Sports of the USSR. Zinaida Mikhailovna nurtured the beautiful swan from a duckling. That same year, at the Schoolchildren's Spartakiad, she amazed the fans with her honed skills. A great gymnastics expert, journalist S. Tokarev wrote of her at the time: "I wouldn't forget to mention the sixteen-year-old Uzbek gymanst Elvira Saadi. A poetic name, isn't it? And a talent to match - a strong, ethereal girl!" Yes, she was a beautifully formed, excellent gymnast, with her own unique signature. And it's no surprise that, after leaving Zinaida Mikhailovna for another coach, Elvira officially achieved the Master of Sports standard within five months.
But this is where something incomprehensible, strange, and very sad happens...
At that time, Elvira actually had two mentors: Bondarenko and her mother. Two adults, two different personalities, two different perspectives on sports and, in many ways, they didn't coincide. Her mother actually taught Elvira a lot. But the mother's concern for her daughter's athletic career gradually begins to morph into its opposite: the mother attends training sessions, travels to every competition in every city they're in, and feels like her daughter isn't getting enough attention, so she constantly prompts, corrects, and admonishes the coach. Excessive concern becomes a hindrance.
The coach, a straightforward and blunt person, insists on standing up for her rights. Conflicts between the mother and the coach are constant, often before the eyes of the now-young woman - a young woman who has tasted the glory of sport. What happened was described so vividly by S. Tokarev: "There comes a time in sports when a student feels like an adult, but the teacher, lovingly, considered him a child and tried to lead him by the hand. He flicks his hand, but the coach's grip is stronger, and his grip hurts."
Her mother didn't alleviate this natural age-related phenomenon; she exacerbated it which led to a rupture. Elvira left for another coach. And there's nothing special aobut this, especially since the gymnast went to a talented coach and became an Olympic champion.
The only surprising this is that after Saadi left Bondarenko, it is unclear whose will it was that Zinaida Mikhailovna's name and contribution to the development of Uzbek sports was consigned to oblivion.
A newspaper article appeared, announcing Bondarenko's incompetence as a coach throughout the Soviet Union. Then, as the chairman of the republic's Sports Committee, E. A. Aminov, expressed his regret to Zinaida Mikhailovna: he had tried to prevent the disaster, but failed. The SKA coaching board sent a retraction to the newspaper. But the shot rang out. It's not for nothing that they say that evil tongues are more dangerous than a pistol.
Then the editorial office apologized to Bondarenko.
She received numerous apologies later. When she was forced to leave the gym, the only place where high-class gymnasts could be trained. When they 'forgot' to include her last name in the Spartakiad program. Moreover, they listed another coach's name next to her gymnast.
The Army Sports Club submitted documents to the Repulican Committee to award Zinaida Mikhailovna the title of Merited Coach of the Uzbek SSR, and those documents...got lost! Not just a piece of paper, but a presentation! They didn't even apologize. They simply explained that the documents had been lost.
Recently, the Republican Youth Sports School, where Bondarenko now works, reconvened and submitted documents to award her a title recognizing her work.
Zinaida Mikhailovna smiles sadly: I'm afraid, oh how I'm afraid, of new apologies.
But maybe Bondaranko doesn't deserve this high title?
Not at all! Here before me is the "Regulation on confering the title of 'Merited Coach of the Uzbek SSR,' approved by the board of the republic's sports committee in 1972. Clause A of the Regulation states that the title is awarded for training champions, medalists, and record holders of the Olympic, World, and European Games."
Munich Olympic champion Elvira Saadi spent nine years on the road to her triumph. Four years under Zinaida Mikhailovna's guidance, and five under Merited Coach of the USSR Vladimir Fillipovich Aksyonov. In 1970, the Committee for Physical Culture and Sports under the Council of Ministers of the Uzbek SSR entered Elvira into the Book of Honor for training her as a USSR champion. Two names appear alongside Saadi - V. Aksyonov and Z. Bondarenko - thus rightly affirming their equality. What has changed since then?
There in the Regulations, in Paragraph G it says: many years of work on the preparation of talented youth as part of the national teams of Uzbekistan, who subsequently achieved results at the level of the national teams of the country.
Bondarenko has been working as a coach since 1959. For six years, her gymnasts have regularly been part of the republic's national team, first the youth team, then the adult team.
Between 1966 and 1971, her students Irina Kiseleva, Bernara Babadzhanova, Galina Karkadaeva, and Elvira Saadi became prize winners of the Uzbek SSR championship or republic champions. They won USSR Cups, won USSR Schoolchildren's and People's Spartakiads, and USSR championships.
But this is, so to speak, history in documents. Truly, history all the way back to 1971!
And what do her collegaues and management say about Bondarenko? I don't know either Bondarenko's friends or her enemies. I go around to everyone. My peculiar press conference lasts for a day, not two. Busy people put off their work, stop receiving visitors, don't answer the phone, and talk, confess, for hours. From these stories, the image of an honest person is molded, a hard worker, living only by gymnastics, only by her girls, pedantic in her work, strict both with herself and with her surroundings.
Negative traits included straightforwardness and harshness. Are these traits always negative?
And all the time, one or another narrator expressed this, in my opinion, correct view.
Zinaida Mikhailovna deserves full credit for the training of I. Kiseleva, B. Babadzhanova, and G. Karkadaeva. As for Saadi, anyone close to Uzbek gymnastics understands that Aksyonov took into his hands not a sketch, not a preliminary drawing, but a nearly finished painting.
Vladimir Fillipovich took a trained gymnastics master and began painstaking work on finishing, polishing, honing her craft to perfection,, to the highest level - the Olympic level. And for this, he deserves our gratitude and well-deserved glory.
But can Aksyonov's services cross out the hopes, doubts, sleepness nights, searches, the joy of shared victories, the despair of failure, the pain of losing coach Bondarenko?
"I'm not complaining," says Zinaida Mikhailovna. "I have good girls. I work with them constantly. Five years have passed. But since then, it's like my wings were clipped. You see, my faith was stolen. I'm constantly tormented by the thought: here they are, my girls, still children. Their entire relationship with me is through gymnastics. Right now, all they want is to live. But the time will come when they, too, will have to not only take but also give to people. Won't they become confused then? Will they hurt someone close to them? And I want to tell myself: it's all empty! I have to work, and that's the whole point!"
Zinaida Mikhailovna sits next to me, pensive. In a minute, she'll stand up and, without even realizing it, slip into her usual routine of daily training. The usual, painstaking work will begin.
O. ORESTOV