We are sitting now in our intimate Mucha salon. According to the old Russian tradition we are lighting the candles in commemoration of the Day of February the 5th, 2000 when a Top Notch Bryansk Journalist Vikentiy Illarionovich Kostin died. Eternal Memory! Listen to the Music, please:Eternal Memory!
We are choosing the comfortable seats for ourselves, softly talking of wonderful 
things about Vikentiy, what a great man he was, how he liked to help people, being really a ” people’s person”, how he loved life and lived it to the fullness, enjoyed Mother nature, hunting and company. That is why all Memorial is accompanied with pictures of forest, animals, nature phenomena and environs, and music dedicated specially to him and his life as I see it from the distance of time passed.
This is a copy of the “Bryansk Worker” newspaper where he served devotedly till the day he passed away (to the left).
To the right I am displaying my photo from the past when me and him were just 28 in 1968. The year when our sincere mutual love grew into blossom. The wedding was held at the restaurant, the jazz band played, his buddies fellow journalists organized it well. Our daughter Larisa was born one year later, in 1969.
It happened that ten years later we parted our separate ways. I raised up Lara by myself in respect for her father.
Although he got married for the second time and had two sons from that marriage, the above mentioned photo as a souvenir of his youth made its way through all his life sitting peacefully in his jacket pocket where men usually carry their passports. So, the photo was worn out, yellow on the corners, and seemed old. The inscription on the back of the photo read: “To Dear Victor from Valya Filina”, that was how I called him.
At his funeral somebody from his family passed that photo to my relatives, and they delivered it to me. As a precious memento it is kept in our family album.
The other thing I would like to mention: it is a poem composed by Nina Diakova dedicated to that time when she passed her students’ practice after the third year of studies at the Moscow University, at the Journalism department. She received a very warm welcome from a young trio of graduates from the Leningrad University, Journalism Department: Vikentiy Kostin, Valery Kornya, Jane Chaliyan. Kolya Popinako, the graduate from Moscow University also was at that time on staff. Her very touching and moving lines were translated by me from Russian into English and offered to your attention.
Somebody of you who came to visit with us on this special very sad occasion, my big gratitude for all of you, is reciting Nina’s poem. But forgive us, Ninok, as your verses are beautifully long, I will arrange the short breaks between the stanzas, organizing 5 slide photo shows and 5 musical pauses with his beloved composers and performers. Thank you again for coming! Listen to the music “Angel cried”.Angel cried
Poem 5. The Author: Nina Diakova
The third year was finishing the classes, 
The only subject was left to pass,
Journalistic practice, ranked in masses,
To have a student-in-training to last.
” Send me to the “Bryansk Worker” Editorial”,
Where on the second floor among the crammed rooms,
I took my first lessons of the Tutorial, 
To be a true journalist, I can assume.
I was remembered as a correspondent,
Daring call to ask for a permission,
To come again as a University student,
I was cordially welcome for my mission.
My heart calmed down, thank God, 
Bryansk folks were ready to accept me,
They knew me very well before,
I arrived quickly. “Why so early?”
The Editor-in-Chief came forth,
“Oh, well, let’s continue our work,
So…the third year, almost the fourth, 
You are about to become a Pro.
Keep your flamboyance in a case,
For start, begin at the news room,
What is your next work place,
Time will tell and the Moon”.
Listen to the music, Alexander Rozenbaum “Odinokiy Volk” (Solitary Wolf) Solitary Wolf
Here I am, connected to the news, 
Searching daily, for the sensations,
My from-heart-to-heart talks’re in use,
In famous people’s conversations.
To speak to celebrities much longer,
This is of my own real preference,
Time is consuming, hence, thought throng, 
In 10 lines: a fact, time, and occurrence.
The Union is fifty, for example,
Jubilee celebration’s in full blossom,
Non-stop telephone calls, not ample,
Time to have for being idle, awesome!
The industrial plant’s being involved, 
Where, when and what’s happening?
The annual output plan’s been resolved,
Really? A truly fantastic finding.
The success reasoning is quite logic,
“Put it in the explanation rows,
Make it clearer…” I am not a geek, 
To understand as the invention grows.
Watch the slide photo show “Vikentiy’s Nature”
no images were found
“As far as I grasped the main gist,
I can write an article, thanks.”
“You’ve completely dispersed the myth,
Of a difficult job dealing with pranks. 
Move to the Industrial Department,
As not everybody has a taste,
For the economical attachment,
Oh, I forgot about your serious phase.”
Where the economy is concerned,
A student encounters the problems, 
Of shocking importance and learned,
As quicker in one day as for dozens.
The task is given: a business trip,
To a Food Production Facility,
To find out what kind of grip,
And industrial output ability.
Listen to the music “Glukhari” (Capercaillies) Capercailliers 
“What to begin with?, a good question,
“Director” was put down in my note pad,
And all of a sudden, as I mentioned,
Like being spit on the face, the director’s contempt.
In his attitude to the correspondents,
So nosy, want to know all, 
He was upset as nobody listens,
To his opinion of plant reorientation toll.
“Dried potatoes, carrots, jam,
Who is buying them among locals?
No profit.” “What to manufacture then?”
He started to yell:” Even, the toys.” 
“The toys” words I took as an offense,
And quit. Reporting to my Seniors,
In sweat, worrying of my defense,
Advising as go to the Communist leaders.
I came. Nobody was at the office,
But a grouchy secretary who said: 
“This is the way how the newcomers,
Into the profession usually failed.”
My diastolic pressure ticking high,
Fever, cold – all confusing,
“Fit or not fit for the profession?” is a trial,
What could they do with me, a looser?” 
Watch the slide show “Vikentiy’s Oudoors”
no images were found
The most frightening my colleagues’ opinion,
It was not a very big sensation,
That I tried to rescue myself in thinking,
“Why the director got into frustration?”
My hand was eager to start, 
The material in writing,
But how to continue? With what?
The thoughts disappeared, biting.
The lack of experience I feel,
Not enough present meditations,
Plus facts of life, hard in real, 
Seem to lead me to finalization.
Alas! I didn’t have an experience yet,
I hadn’t written not a single line,
Expecting from the boss a scolding regret,
Opposite, he had grinned smiling.
“Well, it was a serious lesson, 
Valuable for a correspondent.
Fine, Nina. Time will pass on,
This test will help at the end.”
He pacified me, giving hope,
Told about his life ups and downs,
One needs to take a special note, 
Never give up! That’s what counts.
Listen to the music “Zachem” (Why).Why?
He gave me another task:
To go to the construction site,
To analyze on the spot and ask,
What is wrong and what is right. 
Is it an act of sabotage or what?
The object is about to set in motion,
But work there had stopped,
All is ready to blown out of proportions.
“Analyze, Ninok, be businesslike,
No gentle softness, be a scorch”, 
I wrecked my mind, prepared a strike,
In the form of a critical research.
He looked through it,
Nodded: “To Print!”,
Approval received, meet
The first successes flint. 
I won’t sleep the whole night,
To my senses, probably, I came,
If the title would be in my sight,
At the end mentioning my name.
I’ll send a copy to my Dad,
To Telman city with pride, 
My heart with joy to jump to my head,
I am emotionally about to cry.
Watch the slide show “Vikentiy’s Scenic Views”.
I am at a new regional level,
“Know how” to respond and write,
Becoming more serious and clever, 
Learning as well how to fight.
In case of criticism attacks,
The Higher Authorities’ support,
Was promised. If courage lacks,
You’re not alone, daring sport!
After home visit with my grandfather, 
So remote from the centre,
Returned back to the routine further,
Than it could be expected.
In no time I flew onto the floor,
“Hey, young lady! Take a breath!”
“Have I been late?” I was concerned. “Oh! 
Without you it started the mess!”
“Oh, really?” – “Just kidding.”
Leningrad journalists of trio,
The toughest one was Vikentiy Kostin,
Fresh graduates, Oh sole mio!,
Valeriy Kornya joked as a buffoon. 
“Are they geniuses? Or mediocre?”
Jane, the third one of that trio,
Having an Armenian name of Chaliyan,
It’s difficult to answer as so often,
Mutual attraction started at once.
Listen to the music “Wolf Hunting”. Wolf Hunting 
They, recent students, by themselves,
Showed a great interest in Moscow,
What’s new in song writing? Who else?
The inspiration to their heart and soul.
What do Moscow students sing on evenings?
I give the answers in detail. 
They listen eagerly, time’s lingering,
Night whispers stop to fail.
There worked also Kolya Popinako,
A graduate from Moscow as well,
He was a hard worker, not a suck hole,
He had professional skills, one could tell. 
If comparing two journalistic schools,
Of Moscow and Leningrad, two eternal rivals,
The first one – more scholastic tools,
The latter, down to earth, less recitals.
I guess, their role is different in media,
Our University prepares the bosses, 
Intellect is combined with tedium,
Leningrad – journalistic glosses.
They always will go further,
At skills, the fact is not idle,
However, if you look at them closer, 
They always help me without pride.
Watch the slide show “Vikentiy’s Forest”.
no images were found
Day by day they taught me nicely,
My Senior was Medvedev then,
His brains worked excellent, precisely, 
By nature an analyst he was born.
Coached me as well Mr. Dobkin,
Tall and slim, with fine taste,
Helped voluntarily, akin,
As Chief of Newsroom at that phase.
Why were they so good to me?
Who was I? A fledgling. Just a student, 
From time had passed as I can see,
“My Thanks, Bryansk!” is being sent.
Later, I was offered a full time part,
With those people, in the same nest,
And I responded with all my heart,
Creating, inspiring, doing my best. 
I put fashion pictures in a folio,
Attracting readers from the start,
Escaping but taking shots in solo,
So, in me a pro-photographer had died.
I still had much work to do,
Even if a camera never said: 
“Hi, Nina, or how do you do?”,
Till now she is not my friend.
Listen to the music “Hunting, just Funny!” Boar Hunting Just for Laughs
My colleagues once arranged the tour,
To visit the Khatyn Memorial Village,
By bus we came to Belarus, 
Enjoying the views was our privilege.
The young artists were extremely loud,
The bus seemed shaking of their noise,
I was but happy amidst that crowd,
And did not want another choice.
Overwhelmed with a load of impressions, 
Excited by joy and friendliness,
I did not think of former sessions,
Exams and tests, the students’ mess.
From Telman mama had arrived,
Along with my younger sister,
To visit with me and look around, 
To see and breathe my bliss.
To enter the Chemical Institute,
Always was my sister’s dream,
For me, impossible even with assiduity,
Be technically inclined and alchem.
She tried – in vain. Don’t give up, 
Next year an attempt will be again,
So, to stay in Moscow, for a start,
We’re in search of a job, the same.
As everywhere else in the land,
In Vnukovo helpers needed,
To sort out airmail by hand, 
Okay, be busy till spring, indeed.
Watch the slide show “Vikentiy’s Hunting”.
no images were found
Summer’s up, time for a new class,
Of the fourth year, the main trend.
This is a pride of the profession, an ace,
A student of the fourth year’s a brand.
(Translated from Russian into English by Valya Filina, c. Calgary, February 2010).
“Forgive me, Brother”, with such words from Alexander Rozenbaum’s song my brother would have addressed Vikentiy. This is it. Listen to it, please: Brother, Forgive!
One. Mourners carried the coffin with the body of Nodar Kumaritashvili, the Georgian luger killed in a practice run at the Olympics, during his funeral in Bakuriani, Georgia. Thousands of Georgians paid their last respects to the young luger, whose death cast a pall over the opening of the 2010 Winter Olympics and sent his nation into mourning.
