Not that law-and-order obligations were ever forsworn; the party chiefs with the passage of time defined themselves more as “developmental prefects” for coordinating economic growth and ensuring that some of the benefits trickled down. Administrative intervention for harmony of operation was bound to happen in an economy where market mechanisms had been squashed by the state. In economic indices, Sverdlovsk oblast ranked third among Soviet provinces. The Urals staples of mining and metallurgy continued to expand, slowly. Beloyarsk, the Soviet Union’s first nuclear power station, powered by a sodium-cooled breeder reactor, started up in 1964 at the town of Zarechnyi, north of Sverdlovsk (it was disabled by fires in 1977 and 1978). In the 1981–85 five-year plan, Yeltsin and the oblast were active in the crash campaign to transport natural gas from the middle and lower Ob in west Siberia to customers in Europe; five pipelines and twenty compressor stations were constructed in the taiga.
In Sverdlovsk civilian pursuits paled before the production of armaments. The oblast had 350,000 military-industrial employees, more than any other Soviet province.4 Defense plants could not be mentioned by exact name or whereabouts in the media, and the province was off-limits to Westerners throughout the Cold War. The Urals Wagon Works in Nizhnii Tagil was the highest-volume maker of tanks anywhere in the world; its product is still wheeling around the former Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, India, the Arab world, and North Korea. Two of the ten cloistered “atomic cities” in the USSR lay north of the oblast capitaclass="underline" Sverdlovsk-44, known today as Novoural’sk, home to the Urals Electrochemical Combine, which was the largest factory for enriching uranium in the world; and Sverdlovsk-45, later Lesnoi, whose Electrochemical Instrumentation Combine was the country’s premier facility for serial assembly of nuclear warheads. Yeltsin as first secretary was accountable for the well-being of the atomic towns, whose very existence was a state secret. A number of flagships of military industry were situated in Sverdlovsk city. The Kalinin Machinery Works, for example, was an artillery plant retooled to rockets in the 1950s; it cranked out surface-to-air missiles (such as the one that downed Francis Gary Powers’s U-2 spy plane over Sverdlovsk in 1960), medium-range ballistic missiles, and torpedoes. The Urals Turbine Works manufactured tank engines, the Urals Transportation Machinery Works armored vehicles, the Vektor Works missile guidance systems and radars, and Uralmash, the biggest employer in Sverdlovsk, artillery pieces. Military Compound No. 19, built in the Chkalov raion of Sverdlovsk in 1947 with blueprints from Japan’s Unit No. 731 in Manchuria, was the busiest of the USSR’s three centers for producing biological weaponry. An accidental emission of aerosolized anthrax spores from its dryer took nearly a hundred lives in April 1979. Moscow attributed it to tainted meat.5
If the early part of the Brezhnev period, when Yeltsin broke into party work, were halcyon days for the nomenklatura, the later years were not. The economy was in the doldrums, and there were signs of creeping social and political crisis. Urals minerals were increasingly expensive to mine, the labor to work its antiquated factories was running low, and agricultural production was stagnant. In no region of the USSR had negligence of consumers for the benefit of heavy and military industry been as bad. Per-capita supply of housing, food, and retail goods was below average. Of the thirty-seven worstpolluted cities in Soviet Russia in the 1980s, eleven were in the Urals and six were in Sverdlovsk oblast (Kamensk-Ural’skii, Kirovgrad, Krasnoural’sk, Nizhnii Tagil, Revda, and Sverdlovsk).6
Yeltsin had good reason to depict the first secretary in his autobiography as “god, tsar, and master” of the province, head and shoulders above the lesser mortals around him. “[His] word was law, and barely anyone would dare not to heed a request or assignment from him…. On practically any question, the first secretary’s opinion was final.” Yeltsin wielded his influence in Sverdlovsk, he insisted, only to benefit society. “I made use of this power, but to benefit others and never for myself. I forced the wheels of the economic machine to spin faster. People submitted to me, people obeyed me, and owing to that, it seemed to me, work units performed better.”7
Two hundred obkom staffers were at Yeltsin’s beck and call, dishing out guidance, punishment, and favors. He had a finger in every pie of political relevance, although he would stay away from organizational trivia unless procedures broke down or higher-ups wanted a report. He had the selfassurance to be open to his associates’ input. Taking a procedure from the construction industry, on Monday mornings he chaired a planning session (planërka) of members of the bureau of the obkom, where they were invited to raise their concerns casually. The formal convocation of the bureau on Tuesday (every second week, on average) was more crisply run. At several meetings a year, it was time for “personal responsibility”; bureau members did a self-evaluation in front of their colleagues, followed by a Yeltsin report card. As it tended to be in the Soviet Union, the party boss’s word was most conclusive when it was spoken, not written. If the two ever deviated, the verbal held. In countries with rule of law, formal understandings on paper take precedence. In the communist system, the primacy of informal oral commands and handshake agreements reflected the weakness of law, insidious secrecy and mistrust, and the need for authority figures able to cut through the thicket of often conflicting administrative requirements.
Yeltsin made short work of the ineffectual Yevgenii Korovin, sending him to the trade unions; Leonid Ponomarëv soon found himself an academic dean in Moscow; it took several more years to get rid of Leonid Bobykin.8 For the circle of obkom secretaries, Viktor Manyukhin, an apparatchik who worked with Yeltsin for fifteen years, notes in a vinegary memoir about him, “The principles of selection were cut-and-dried: good training, knowledge of the work, and, the main criterion, devotion [predannost’] to the first [secretary].”9 The two party officials on the best terms with Yeltsin, Oleg Lobov and Yurii Petrov, both construction specialists, were each to make it to obkom second secretary, and Petrov would succeed him as number one in 1985 after several years in Moscow. But Yeltsin did not reward fawning praise, and for most appointments he was results-oriented. To head the oblast government, he picked the distinguished director of the Kalinin Works, Anatolii Mekhrentsev, in 1977. Yeltsin had an affinity for technocrats like him and for eager younger candidates whom he could promote—if they played second fiddle. With Mekhrentsev, although Yeltsin respected him, he fretted when Mekhrentsev was introduced that his awards and production medals would be listed. At an early meeting, Yeltsin cut off the introducer: “Don’t announce any awards; there should be no heroes among us.”10 There were interpersonal rivalries, and an intercity competition between Sverdlovsk and Nizhnii Tagil, but in the main the political elite of the oblast was tight-knit. Most obkom officials were alumni of either UPI or Urals State University; they communicated on a first-name-and-patronymic basis; they partied on one another’s birthdays and attended the last rites of family members. If there was a disagreement, the first secretary resolved it. When Manyukhin, as first secretary of the city of Sverdlovsk, criticized Petrov, a Nizhnii Tagil native, for bias toward the second city, Yeltsin sided with Manyukhin and had Petrov right the balance.11