Madison and Lana Peters (AKA Stalin's daughter)

What are the things that puzzle, enrage, delight and tickle you as you go about your life in Madison?
Henry Vilas
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Madison and Lana Peters (AKA Stalin's daughter)

Postby Henry Vilas » Mon Nov 19, 2012 8:07 pm

Svetlana Alliluyeva, Iron Joe's last surviving heir, defected to the West and eventually moved to Madison and married a semi-famous architect. She spent her last days in Wisconsin.

This APNewsBreak has Madison in its dateline: FBI releases Stalin's daughter files

Mad Howler
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Re: Madison and Lana Peters (AKA Stalin's daughter)

Postby Mad Howler » Tue Nov 20, 2012 12:05 am

Thanks, I kind of heard this story and thought it weird that I am hearing about Lana (god rest here soul) as I thought it old news. ... tml?ipad=y

Then I looked at the link you provided, and it hit me. Such observation over the years has in all likelyhood triggered an interesting and unrecognized outcome. It is definetly a small world and getting smaller.

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Re: Madison and Lana Peters (AKA Stalin's daughter)

Postby Marvell » Tue Nov 20, 2012 10:00 am

In November of 2006 I called my ma to talk turkey about Turkey Day.

"We're invited to some friends for Thanksgiving," said Mamma M. "Would you like to come along?"

"Sure," I said; I didn't have anything else going on, and my parents' friends are generally pretty diverting.

"Great!" said ma. "I should warn you, though - there's going to be an old Russian woman there."

"Oh?" I responded, wondering idly where this topic could possibly be going.

"Her name is Svetlana," ma continued, "And the thing you need to know about her is that she's Stalin's daughter."

"As in...Josef Stalin? The mass-murdering tyrant?"

"The same. And here's the deal - she really, really doesn't want to talk about Stalin."

"So...ixnay on the Alinstay?"

"Exactly."'s Thanksgiving, and we arive at a cozy farmhouse in rural Lone Rock. We go in, make our introductions, and sure enough - there's an older woman with a notable Eastern European accent sitting by the fire. Being an obliging sort, I sit down next to her.

"How are you?" I say to Stalin's daughter.

She grunts at me. "When's dinner?" she asks, with a discernable petulant note to her tone.

"I'll check," I respond obligingly. I get up and seek out one of our hosts, who is busying himself in the kitchen.

"Hi Jack," I say. "Svetlana wants to know what time dinner is."

"We'll eat about six," Jack responds; then adds, "Tell her there's pie."

"Dinner's at six," I announce to Svetlana upon my return. "Jack told me to tell you that there will be pie."

She brightened notably at this. "We can eat pie, then?" she asked hopefully.

"Well, typically you eat the dinner first, and then the pie."

Her face sunk. "I suppose that's right," she grumbled.

So - when people ask about what I said to Stalin's daughter, I always tell them that we mostly talked about pie.

Which seems fitting, somehow. If I had survived life with a monstrous tyrant, I'd be one pie-eating son of a bitch.

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