For all his eagerness to lead them, Yeltsin’s initial reaction to the Interregional luminaries as people had been one of culture shock. At the summer meetings, he “looked on them as something alien” and did not want to be photographed in their company.76 The secretary of the group, the same Arkadii Murashov who cast the objecting vote in the Moscow council in 1987, says Yeltsin kept a sphinx-like silence in caucus and almost never spoke in the steering committee.77 Nevertheless, as the only co-chairman to sit in the Supreme Soviet, Yeltsin represented the group’s views in that body. More vitally, he metabolized heretical ideas—by osmosis and in exchanges brokered by Popov, Mikhail Poltoranin, and Murashov, all of whom stressed that interlocutors were never to take a professorial attitude toward him. Yurii Afanas’ev, the economist Nikolai Shmelëv, the aeronautics specialist Yurii Ryzhov, and the theater director Mark Zakharov were among those who found a common language with Yeltsin. Excited to be in out of the cold, Yeltsin awakened to the need to have a modicum of system and coherence in his thoughts.78 He was playing with the kind of ideas it had once been his duty as a Communist Party boss to suffocate. What Popov and the Interregionals were now saying about the regime, and Yeltsin with them, was scarcely less damning of Soviet ways than what Yeltsin had execrated the political prisoner Valerian Morozov for saying in Sverdlovsk in 1983. One of Morozov’s misdemeanors had been to go to Gorky in search of the castaway Sakharov, who now, a few years later, was in harness with deputy Yeltsin.
For Popov, the man from Sverdlovsk, warts and all, was the answer to a prayer. He personified the longing for change and had the reassuring quality of hailing from the ranks of the establishment. “We reconnoitered for a very long time, we picked them over. But here in fact was life throwing Yeltsin into our hands. They themselves kicked him out, they themselves made him a renegade.”79 Popov was sure Yeltsin would find a way around the queasiness of the intellectuals in the MDG. Any possibility of the saintly Sakharov becoming Russia’s Václav Havel was extinguished when he died of a heart attack on December 14, 1989, at the age of sixty-eight. Yeltsin garnered respect by walking behind the bier in a sleet storm, speaking briefly at Luzhniki, and then going to the graveyard and to the funeral repast. The entente with Russia’s Westernizers was contemporaneous with the fall of the Berlin Wall and of satellite regimes in Eastern Europe in the autumn of 1989. For the first time, Yeltsin’s statements were emphasizing democracy and some species of market economy as facets of “de-monopolization.”
The learning process was accelerated by a whirlwind tour of the United States from September 9 to 17, 1989, sponsored by the Esalen Foundation of California. In New York, Yeltsin did a walkabout in Manhattan, went to the top of the Empire State Building, helicoptered twice around the Statue of Liberty (he was “doubly free,” he told Sukhanov), gave lectures at Columbia University and the Council on Foreign Relations and to Wall Street investors (wowing some and offending others),80 and was interviewed on Good Morning, America. He spoke at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, the World Affairs Council of Dallas, and the University of Miami, met corporate executives at several stops, wore a white ten-gallon hat in Texas, and stopped in on an Indiana hog farm, the Johnson Space Center, Ronald Reagan’s hospital room at the Mayo Clinic, and a Florida beach house. Yeltsin had been to Western Europe as a representative of the CPSU; this was his first encounter with the United States and his first with any capitalist country as a private citizen.
Itching to establish international credentials, Yeltsin wangled an invitation to the White House office of President George H. W. Bush’s national security adviser, Brent Scowcroft, with the promise of a “drop by” from the president. He had to enter by the West Basement entrance and was waspish with Scowcroft and Scowcroft’s assistant, Condoleezza Rice. Yeltsin lightened up when Bush came by for fifteen minutes of small talk. Vice President Dan Quayle followed and liked him. “He may not have had Gorbachev’s polish, but I could immediately see how confident he was.” Quayle was taken that Yeltsin was well enough briefed to poke fun at the bad press the two of them had been receiving. “My feeling was mixed with a whit of annoyance : Was my press so bad that it made its way to everyone’s attention?”81 The Russian “emerged from the West Wing to tell the press corps that he had presented Bush and Quayle with a ‘ten-point plan’ to ‘rescue perestroika .’ Inside, Scowcroft complained that Yeltsin was ‘devious’ and a ‘twobit headline-grabber.’” James A. Baker formed a similar appraisal at the State Department.82 For Yeltsin, it had been gainful exposure: Much to Gorbachev’s chagrin, he had his foot in the door of official Washington.
Yeltsin was bowled over by the variance between what he saw, communist stereotypes of American life, and the dreariness of Soviet reality. He and his party felt almost like characters in a science fiction novel. “Don’t forget,” Sukhanov wrote about the tour, “that we were travelers from the ‘anti-world’ and in our heads the U.S.A. was the country where universal chaos reigned.”83 They did find some scenes that conformed to their expectations—the filth and overcrowding of the New York subway, for one—but many more that did not.84 Yeltsin was most moved by the cornucopia at a Randalls discount supermarket in a suburb of Houston, which he asked to inspect when he saw it next to the expressway between the space center and Love Field. He went over its shelves—video taken by a member of the group shows him examining onions and potatoes under a sign “You Just Can’t Buy It Better”—and to its bar-coded checkout stand, and was in disbelief when the manager said it inventoried “only” 30,000 products. Yeltsin’s eyes were watery as he reboarded the bus. In the air between Houston and Miami, he remarked to Sukhanov that the grocery market for ordinary Americans, far better stocked than VIP dispensaries in Moscow, pointed up the fatuity of the “fairy tales” fed to his generation by Marxist-Leninist propaganda. “They had to deceive the population…. And now it is plain why Soviet citizens were not permitted to go abroad. They [the bosses] were afraid that their eyes would be opened.”85