February 23, 1992
Journalist's notebook in Ukraine
by Marta Kolomayets
Kiev Press Bureau
A colleague's tragic death
"He was a man engaged to a young Ukraine," said Volodymyr Yavorivsky, as
he bid farewell to Vadim Boyko, who died tragically on February 14, at
the age of 29.
Hundreds of mourners crowded into the third floor atrium of the
Ukrainian State Television and Radio headquarters, tearfully passing
each other on the steps Vadim so often bounded, rushing to the studios
where he recorded his popular television programs.
Now, on February 17, the mourners paid their last respects to Vadik (as
he was affectionately known), searching for a reason why such a
promising, talented life was cut short. As slow dirge-like music played
over the loudspeakers, they filed past the closed coffin, sewn up in
black cotton and laden with bunches of carnations of all colors.
At the foot of the coffin stood a black and white photo of the young
journalist and politician. An enlarged copy of the same photo,
decorated with a black mourning band, hung above the coffin. To the
left, the newly adopted Ukrainian national flag, also decorated with
black bunting, kept guard over its native son. Wreaths from the
Ukrainian Parliament, co-workers and friends surrounded the coffin.
Perhaps as a carryover from the Communist-atheist state of the past, the
wake of devoid of all Christian symbols and rites.
Vadim's father sat at the foot of the coffin, numb to the proceedings.
As a few speakers addressed the crowd, he wiped tears away from his
weary, red eyes. Vadim's mother was too weak to make the trip from the
family's home in Svitlovodsk to Kiev.
Mykola Okhmakevych, the stagnant, Communist head of the State Television
and Radio, whose removal has been pressed for by both democratic
deputies and workers of the television station, said a few uninspiring
words. Often harshly criticized by Vadim and his colleagues, Mr.
Okhmakevych now spoke of how Vadim had always loved his job. An angry
mourner, who saw this hypocrisy, cried out: "He loved Ukraine above
all. He loved Ukraine, say it."
We all descended the steps with Vadim for the last time. The coffin was
then placed in a vehicle for Vadim's journey home to Svitlovodsk,
Kirovohrad Oblast, his final resting place.
x x x
It has been almost a week now since my phone rang just before midnight,
on Valentine's Day, February 14. It was my friend and colleague Dmytro
Ponamarchuk. Yet his voice sounded different.
"I don't know how to say this, Marta. Vadim Boyko burned to death
tonight." I could not believe what I was hearing: "What is this, a
cruel joke?"
Dmytro, working at the radio station, had been called about a fire at
Vadim's apartment; the fire department reported that his television had
blown up. Dmytro arrived at the scene just an hour or so after the