About this remarkable figure in the world of cinema, it is justly said: "He was loved by all!"
The legendary Kyiv actor, director, and screenwriter Leonid Bykov would have turned 96 years old on December 12, 2024.
In the archive of the regional police, there is a gray folder, which contains volume of criminal case No. 28-849. Diagonally across the cover is a red line drawn with a pencil. And the note reads: "Keep permanently!"
1 On April 11, 1979, Maestro died in a traffic accident near Dymer. His "Volga" was hit by a truck.
Who was responsible for that terrible accident? The truck driver? In the decades that have passed since the crash, numerous theories have emerged! Some claimed that the "Volga" collided with an oncoming panel truck, while others insisted that the driver of the car tried to avoid an asphalt roller and crashed into a dump truck. Others speculated that criminals had drained the brake fluid from the director's vehicle.
I managed to read through this volume of investigative documents marked: "Keep permanently!".
I read the resolution on the initiation of a criminal case:
“City of Vyshgorod. Investigator of the Vyshgorod District Police Major Yerko V. S… On April 11, 1979, at 16:30 on the 46th kilometer of the Kyiv-Minsk highway, two kilometers from the village of Dymer, Bykov L. F., driving a GAZ-24 car, 43-00 KIO, veered into the oncoming lane and collided with a GAZ-53 truck, 11-18 KHM…”
That day, Leonid Fedorovich was returning to the capital from his dacha.
This accident was witnessed. One of them, Ivan Vasilyevich Krasny, a driver from the Dymer forestry, recounted:
“I was driving from Dymer (UAZ-469), overtook a GAZ-53 loaded with glass wool. A wheeled tractor was moving towards us (distance - about 200 meters). I saw that behind the tractor, slightly to the left, a white "Volga" was following, it seemed to "squat" with its rear wheels. The distance between the "Volga" and the tractor was about two meters. Then the "Volga" veered left in the direction of its movement and jumped into the oncoming lane. I saw the car collide with the truck…”
Leonid Bykov was behind the wheel of the "Volga." He died instantly. The criminal case was then investigated by Senior Lieutenant of Police Viktor Chevguz. After several months, he concluded that the truck driver was not at fault for the accident.
Let me quote a fragment from the forensic automotive technical examination report:
“The driver of the GAZ-53 had no technical ability to avoid a collision with the 'Volga' through emergency braking.”
So, did Leonid Fedorovich make a terrible mistake? Was the director a competent driver? There is an important detail in the case materials. He obtained his driver's license back in 1965 from the traffic police in Leningrad. In the warning ticket that accompanied this document, there are two "penalties." In 1965 and 1975, Bykov was stopped twice by police for violating overtaking and maneuvering rules. In 1966, there was also a note in his ticket for violating the rules of passing intersections and railway crossings.
2 I write this to show: Leonid Fedorovich did not flaunt his name and fame like some current celebrities and privileged individuals. After those years, there were no remarks against him from the traffic police. However, that fatal overtaking on the highway near Dymer seems somewhat strange. Although experts concluded that both the braking system and the steering mechanism of Bykov's "Volga" were functioning at the time of the accident.
For a long time, I was troubled by the thought of what the truck driver might reveal over time. He changed his place of residence, and I could not locate his new address. The truck driver never gave any comments; he seemed to have "vanished" into the sea of life.
Yet persistent journalistic inquiries bore fruit. I managed to find this driver and speak with him. He shared what weighed on his heart after that accident.
The driver lives in a small town in the Kyiv region. I decided to invite a former investigator who handled the case, Viktor Stepanovich Chevguz, to accompany me on the trip to meet him.
And here we are at the home of Serhiy Kolysnychenko (I intentionally changed the surname at this person's request). We ring the doorbell. In response – silence. “Ivanovych is probably in the garage working on the car,” the neighbors say.
The garage boxes belong to residents near the house. One of them was open. We enter. And here unfolds a scene worthy of a cinematic shot. It is so detailed that no documentary film could capture them.
Imagine: two men stand silently, not recognizing each other (so many years have passed!). The first to speak was Chevguz:
“46th kilometer of the Dymer road. Accident. Bykov… Do you remember?”
It was clear that after these words, Kolysnychenko tensed up, frozen in shock for a moment, like a statue, bewildered, and a wariness appeared in his gaze. He quietly muttered:
“That same senior lieutenant. Investigator. My God, I wanted to find you myself…”
“Don't worry, Serhiy Ivanovych, no one intends to hold you accountable. I haven't worked as an investigator for a long time,” the latter explained. “We wanted to talk with you about this great man, to remember…”
It is remarkable: decades have passed, yet the driver still harbors a deep-seated fear of the investigation.
“After that accident, I went gray. The pain in my heart remains. (Serhiy Ivanovych took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one – editor's note). Tell me, why did I, and not someone else, end up on the road of Leonid Fedorovich? Bad fate? It is hard to carry this cross even over the years, believe me. Oh, it is difficult.”
“Serhiy Ivanovych, your conscience is clear both before Bykov and his children. You are not to blame for anything,” Chevguz reassured him.
“You know, I still have the certificate you sent me in 1979. I’ll tell my wife to bring it,” he replied.
Half an hour later, the former investigator held in his hands the very certificate No. 14 dated June 10, 1979, yellowed with age but neatly preserved. It was evident that this document had been carefully kept in the Kolysnychenko family. After all, who knows what the law enforcement agencies might decide to rethink. Life experience has seen many examples of how investigations can take unexpected turns and how harshly they can impact people's fates. Therefore, such papers have become a norm to be kept for decades.
This certificate states in black and white: there was no crime in Kolysnychenko's actions.
“Yes, I typed that certificate,” Chevguz remarked. “I recognize my typewriter. But notice: it even states that Kolysnychenko can obtain his driver's license at any convenient time for him, at Volodymyrska. Where can you find such service nowadays? (This was said jokingly – editor's note).
Mrs. Tetiana, Serhiy Ivanovych's wife, joins the conversation:
“We were at a christening when the postman brought the summons to the investigator. We read it and immediately started crying right there. I saw how other people discreetly wiped away their tears. Before that, the neighbors had already been mentally “packing” Serhiy for prison (he lived in a village). The village buzzed: “Oh, what will happen? Will they imprison the guy? And it’s been less than a year since he and Tanya got married. What a tragedy!”
Mrs. Tetiana still vividly remembers the horrifying scene: late evening, her husband stands on the doorstep, swaying, blood on his clothes… He barely manages to squeeze out:
“Tanya, I killed a person.”
“I killed a person.” This phrase will echo in his soul