Illustration: Holly Stevenson

Whoever becomes the new editor-in-chief of Kommersant, he will inherit a whole heap of wonderful stories and legends. Managing such a household was within the power of the myth-draining Ksenia Ponomareva, the artistic Andrei Vasiliev, and Raf Shakirov, at the very least, managed.

The quiet Alexander Stukalin, under whom the newspaper, in the words of its owner Boris Berezovsky, “stagnated,” did not notice the metaphysics of the process at all - for which, most likely, he paid. Andrei Vasiliev, discussing the reasons for Stukalin’s resignation, says: “He was an excellent editor-in-chief. I think I know why he was fired, but to say so is to delve into the owner’s personal dislikes.” Yes, I wouldn’t delve into this either, although I think the point is only that Stukalin was somehow completely inconspicuous, too much so, as if he never existed. He was not only incapable of inspired inventions: he thought like an official or, if you like, a techie, which he is by education - only in this way could the revolution in Ukraine be pushed into the international section on the 9th page instead of the main news block on the first three.

The Kommersant mythology certainly calls for a more demonic manager. The editor-in-chief of Kommersant must master the art of franking. The legendary first leadership team - led by Yakovlev - knew how to do this masterfully. Immediately after the editorial office moved to a fantastic office at that time on Vrubel Street, in a former high school building that had undergone European-quality renovation, the management issued “Vrubels” - paper money, which was used to sell grub in the buffet and canteen. The idea quickly went sour, but in journalistic Moscow they talked about Kommersant with envy.

The subject of envy and misunderstanding (although it would seem - what could be simpler) was a gym with a sauna and, funny to say, a video rental store. Not going to the gym was tantamount to writing a letter of resignation. At least that’s what those who went to the gym thought. At one time, it really seemed that decisions at the publishing house were made by trainers, young ladies from the fitness reception, and Dr. Mikhail Kirtser, who joined them.

Vladimir Yakovlev, who bought the Stolitsa magazine to the horror of the workers, proved that he makes the decisions. “Capital” is a separate line in mythology. While the workaholics from the newspaper earned the publishing house a living, Stolitsa, at Yakovlev’s request, spent money widely. Only intelligent people can behave so rudely. God be with them - with unprecedented salaries and travel allowances. Yakovlev punched us in the gut: all employees of Stolitsa were given a mobile phone - a luxury unheard of at that time. The closure of the project was celebrated so widely by newspapermen that the deadline was almost missed. The social sphere in Kommersant is generally more developed than in the State Duma. Cars, mobile phones, production of visas and passports, booking air tickets. Someone joked that the publishing house even had its own customs office. Or maybe he wasn't joking.

To create the main newspaper of the country, they basically recruited people without journalistic experience, from the street. To avoid Soviet stamping. The stamping had to be new, non-Soviet. A powerful rewriting department was responsible for its quality, which could, if necessary, rewrite the entire note. The terrible word “note” was used to describe everything there: no articles, texts, reports or even interviews. “They call for a rewrite” - it sounded like a sentence, it went as far as assault and valerian. Over the years, however, the importance of the service has faded: journalists themselves have become accustomed to making “verbal” headlines, short “introductions” and crossing out words like “I think”, “it seems” and “probably”.

Kommersant employees go to eat and drink directly opposite - to the Jack Rabbit Slim's bar. The habit was born under Yakovlev: he was a great opponent of the green serpent, and at the workplace only employees of the culture department were allowed to suck from a bottle (it is clear that without they simply won’t give out the product for alcohol). Evil tongues claim that Slim's was invented by one of the co-owners of Kommersant in order to pump money out of the working people. Opponents of the glossy lifestyle - employees of the crime and sports departments - have chosen a dumpling shop on Volokolamka, where they traditionally order beer, vodka and lagman - the best in the city, according to their assurances.

“Blue House” in the Village of Artists, a plank structure of a completely innocent appearance, occupies a very significant place in merchant mythology: trips here, to the nest of vice, are attributed to literally all noticeable merchant men - well, starting somewhere with the head of the department. But this is on a straight hierarchical ladder. But there were also the so-called “eight-thousanders” - a group of special correspondents with a salary of eight thousand US dollars (after the 1998 crisis, it immediately fell to one and a half thousand and since then has not risen to its former heights). They were seen on the way to the Blue House especially often, making an understandable exception for Natalya Gevorkyan, who, although an “eight-thousander,” was still in a different department.

Legends are quickly forgotten if they are not managed. Berezovsky very accurately felt that something was wrong with mythology: he was tired of the old fairy tales, and the editor-in-chief was not creating new ones. But Kommersant is fertile ground. As soon as the oligarch announced the reshuffle, rumors, each more fantastic than the other, began to mushroom. Even Garry Kasparov is tipped to become the boss of Kommersant. That would be a Fenka!

Verstka and metaphysics