“On April 21, 1963, Moscow’s first real spring day, we were driven to Nikita Khrushchev’s official dacha outside the capital, a large, impersonal guest house free of ornamentation. …As I watched Khrushchev’s portly figure approaching, suddenly I thought, “Here is a personality that I must photograph in a big fur coat.” I asked the press officer for such a coat. He shook his head. “Niet.”

My wife asked Mrs. Khrushchev; alas, the garment was in mothballs in their Moscow apartment. After making formal portraits of the affable chairman, I switched the lights off, and, to the surprise of the interpreter, I asked Khrushchev directly. “Why not?” he replied. “Of course.”

Soon an aide appeared, weighed down under the most voluminous fur I have ever seen. The chairman sent the aide to his private dacha nearby to fetch a knitted woolen stocking cap to complete the costume. “You must take the picture quickly,” the chairman smiled, donning the coat, “or this snow leopard will devour me.””