Free Moscow, December 25th, 1991 by Conor O'Clery

pictures had hung.
    The former Sverdlovsk boss had plunged with zeal into the role of first secretary of the Moscow Communist Party. He believed Gorbachev “knew my character and no doubt felt certain I would be able to clear away the old debris, to fight the mafia, and that I was tough enough to carry out a wholesale cleanup of the personnel.” During the first year of perestroika, he and Gorbachev spoke occasionally. They had a dedicated telephone line to each other. As one of the KGB officers assigned to guard the Moscow party chief, Alexander Korzhakov got the impression that Yeltsin “worshipped” Gorbachev, noting how he would rush to pick up the special handset when it rang.
    Yeltsin found that the task of reviving Moscow, the center of the intellectual, cultural, scientific, business, and political life of the country, was impossible under the failing command system. Moreover, he came to the conclusion that his predecessor Viktor Grishin had been an “empty bladder” who had corrupted the Moscow party organization.
    The city was in a wretched state. Everywhere there was “dirt, endless queues, overcrowded public transport,” he observed. The vegetable warehouses in particular were a scandal, full of rotting produce, rats, and cockroaches. Sorting and packing was done by resentful squads of citizens dragooned into service.
    At first Yeltsin was able to use glasnost as an instrument of reform in Moscow. He summoned a conference of 1,000 members of the Moscow party; there, with Gorbachev looking on, he berated them for being complacent and ostentatious and for exaggerating success while cooking the books. On his instructions, the proceedings were published, and caused a sensation. People queued at newspaper kiosks to read Yeltsin’s outspoken remarks. Gorbachev himself had criticized “bribery, inertia and complete unscrupulousness in party ranks,” but Yeltsin was doing something about it. He was firing Moscow officials he found guilty of “toadyism, servility, and boot-licking.” These included one official called Promyslov, chairman of the city’s executive committee, who spent so much time on foreign junkets that a joke, which came to Yeltsin’s ears, ran that Promyslov made a short stopover in Moscow while flying from Washington to Tokyo. Yeltsin dismissed a party secretary who had the walls of his opulent home covered with animal hides, telling him, “You are only a party leader, not a prince.” He set out to “liquidate” many of the city’s redundant scientific research institutes, which had become the preserve of thousands of idle bureaucrats, something for which the faux members of the Soviet intelligentsia never forgave him. He tried to put a stop to enterprise managers exploiting workers from the countryside, who lacked Moscow residency permits, by hiring them as cheap labor.
    The burly fire-breathing Siberian also took to barging unannounced into factories, hospitals, construction sites, schools, kindergartens, restaurants, and shops, as he had done in Sverdlovsk. He confounded managers with statistics. He had a gift for memorizing numbers. After studying documents en route in the car, he would emerge and make a point of showing that he was no ignorant provincial and he knew a thing or two about their business. He took to riding in the crowded Moscow metro and on the city’s ramshackle buses, particularly at rush hours. He joined lines at food stores to see for himself how people were treated. Unrecognized once in a meat shop, he ordered a cut of veal, knowing that a supply had just been delivered. Told there was none available, he charged behind the counter and found it being passed out through a back window. He had the management dismissed.
    Yeltsin liked to reward those officials who met his high standards by giving them wrist watches. He would peel the watch from his arm for someone who pleased him, then a few minutes later produce an identical timepiece from his pocket to give to