AGAIN IN HIS NATIVE LAND

Now New York was behind me. The helicopter raised and carried me over San Francisco, and beyond—to Oakland and Berkeley. Finally, the helicopter lowered us to a landing area near the edge of the shore, in Emeryville—a suburb of Berkeley.

I once again fifteen years later, was in the homeland of Jack London. I was anxious and happy. This time, completing my way along the United States, I arrived at the University of California in connection with an agreement about a scientific exchange between our countries.

I had an accommodation at the International House of the university, a guestroom on the second floor.

In the morning I awoke early, and set off to the gates of the university and then onto Telegraph Avenue. Telegraph Avenue starts with the gates of the university and goes to Oakland.

Here, in Oakland, the fate of many of his heroes in connected with this place. Somewhere, on Telegraph Avenue, lived the main hero of the novel Martin Eden.

And in western Oakland lived Bill and Saxon—heroes of the novel The Valley of the Moon, there occurred the strikes described by Jack London with gripping realism, and the bloody clash of strikers with strike breakers, and the merciless reprisal of the police against the workers. Real events of the class struggle of proletarian Oakland were the impetus for the writing of these scenes in the tenth chapter of the second part of The Valley of the Moon.

Here, to this crossroads—the central square of Oakland—comes Telegraph Avenue. An eight-story house is on the eastern edge of the square. In the middle of the square is the oak tree of Jack London. Since I saw this oak the last time, it has grown markedly and flowered, spreading its branches far.

Telegraph Avenue led me to Broadway, and I continued my way along it. I stopped to eat in a caf� where girls about seven years of age were collecting donations from those who were eating. Some elderly women threw change into the baskets of the young girls. Similar collections are not an uncommon occurrence the United States. Youths, many Negroes among them, would stop me on the street in the evenings and ask me for money. They would usually ask for up to a quarter at a time.

Now came the objective of my travel. From afar could be seen the sign "Jack London Square." There is a restaurant "Sea Wolf" on one side, on the other a hotel "Jack London Inn." In the corner of a parking lot, protected from the sun, stands a bust of Jack London.

All the constructions on the square—these are recent structures appearing many years after the death of the writer, for the most part after 1951, when the ruling council of the port of Oakland accepted the resolution to call this square by the name of the outstanding writer.

There, in a far corner of the square, stands the famous saloon "Heinhold's First and Last Chance Saloon." In all, two windows and a door leading to the square, that is all that remained.

Several steps from the saloon stands the cabin from Alaska. Judging from the logs, it is about 100 years old. It was placed in the square only several years ago. I looked inside, and found a table, fur cap, small stove, saucepan, frying-pan, teapot, and many other items. All the utensils are genuine, and came from Alaska.