Many Soviets Wax Nostalgic for Stalin Rule : Reform: ‘Back then, we were drinking vodka and eating caviar,’ says resident of small city that is a bastion of conservatism.

“I would hang Gorbachev from a tree!” shouts Maria Ivanova, a retired dishwasher, pointing to the very branch she has in mind for the man she blames for the plunge in her standard of living.

But at the mention of dictator Josef Stalin--who killed, jailed or tortured millions of Soviets earlier this century while building a state-run economy of stifling bureaucracy--Ivanova’s 75-year-old eyes brighten and she flashes the thumbs-up sign: “I still love him!”

While Americans may take the benefits of free enterprise for granted, the view from this small manufacturing city an hour’s drive north of Moscow can be downright hostile.

To people here, Soviet President Mikhail S. Gorbachev’s halting moves to reform the economy have meant less meat and butter in their kitchens, rubles that shrink in value every day and more uncertainty about fuel and other household supplies than any time since World War II.

Indeed, many in Klin yearn for a powerful leader who will whip the Soviet economy back into shape rather than expose it to the chaos of market forces, unfettered prices and profit-hungry entrepreneurs. Theirs are the emotions that have borne dictators to power for centuries.

“The most important thing is that Stalin took care of the working class,” declared Igor Tarasov, 53, strolling to the bus stop on Lenin Street. “Back then, we were drinking vodka and eating caviar. I make more money now, but I can’t use it. Everything’s more expensive.”

Tarasov, who was neatly attired in a leather cap and blue blazer on a damp and chilly autumn day, also credited Stalin with chasing after the sorts of people whom many Russians associate with capitalism: criminals and speculators.

But like a lot of Klin residents, he conceded having no real sense of how a Western-style economy works. Said Tarasov, a driver at the local chemical factory: “I have no opinion about capitalism. I never tried it.”

Experts on public opinion say that the wish to follow a firm, guiding hand runs deep in Russian society. From Ivan the Terrible in the 16th Century through the regime of Leonid I. Brezhnev in the early 1980s, the style of leadership was often absolute. Even as support has grown for a market economy and democratic reforms, a substantial segment of the public still longs for a firm ruler.

“Do you believe that only a strong man can lead Russia to prosperity?” pollster Yuri Levada asked Russians recently. More than 70% agreed.

But Levada added that most people are not looking for another Stalin. “The general mood was not for an undemocratic strongman,” he said.

Klin, considered a typical community of the Russian countryside, is not without its democrats and free marketeers.

As music by Madonna and Bruce Springsteen played in the background, Tatyana Smirnova took a breather from her job cleaning tables in the state-run cafe where she works 12 hours a day to offer a wish list of consumer goods she can’t afford: French makeup, a leather jacket and “good-quality” stockings.

Young people, maintained the 24-year-old Smirnova, understand that free enterprise may lead to prosperity; her husband has gone to work for a private building venture. “I hope very much that I can have these things soon,” she said.

Another budding capitalist, Gena Kurgenyan, parked his truck--filled with watermelons for sale--in the town square. “Gorbachev gave people the opportunity to make money,” he said. “I believe the situation will get better. I’ll be patient.”

One of his customers offered a drastically different view. Mikhail Gerasimov, 22, puffed on a cigarette and lamented the shortage of groceries.

“I think this land needs a master who will keep the Russians in line,” said the wiry factory worker. “Everyone talks about needing a new political leader who will take care of the country. . . . I never had to think of food before now.”

Told of his customer’s remarks, Kurgenyan, 28, retorted: “There’s no need for another Stalin. (Gerasimov) wasn’t being creative. He didn’t have initiative. That’s why he’s looking for such a leader.”

Russians this year have faced a withering set of economic problems: soaring inflation, rising unemployment, plunging farm production and looming energy shortages.

“People haven’t seen a change in the marketplace, in common life,” worries pollster Levada. “We expect more pessimism in the near future.”

For Tatyana Pavlova, who works at Klin’s Tchaikovsky Museum--the composer spent some of his final years here--common life is increasingly devoted to improvising ways to take care of her household needs.

The 42-year-old mother of two sews her own clothes, plants potatoes to supplement the family food supply and raises chickens to supply eggs that can’t be found on store shelves. “I can’t make shoes,” she added wistfully.

On one occasion, Pavlova recalled, two friends argued about whether living standards would rise if Stalin were back in charge. As she relates the discussion, the more democratically inclined friend told the other: “OK. We’ll have Stalin--but you stay inside the concentration camp, and I stay outside.”

Nostalgia for Stalin seems most pronounced among Klin’s elderly, including many who remember the weeklong occupation of their town by German soldiers in World War II. To these fixed-income pensioners--who lived their lives in a system that locked prices at artificially low levels--the confusion of market forces is profoundly demoralizing.

Ivanova, the retired dishwasher, held up her hand to make another point: “Years ago, I could get a golden ring for 25 rubles (about 75 cents at today’s exchange rate). Now, I can’t afford new clothes.”

Asked if she understands free enterprise, she responded: “It all comes down to speculation, this free market.”

A block away, Tatyana Kalugina, 72, her head wrapped in a blue scarf, stood in line by a dairy truck to fill a metal milk bucket.

“When Stalin was in charge,” she said, “people were honest. No one was stealing--and I could find needles and thread in the shops. Now, it’s impossible.” Kalugina, who described herself as a peasant, said she was collecting wood to make sure she and her husband will stay warm this winter.

Across town at the farmer’s market, Alexander Slashev, 60, compared a free-enterprise economy to “anarchy.” As local shoppers browsed on all sides, he blamed “speculators” from the south--the republics of Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia--for abusing new economic freedoms and causing misery in Russia.

Yet, Slashev, in rubber boots and a cap to keep warm, revealed himself to be something of a capitalist--at least in the manner of Klin.

“I grew it,” he said, pointing to the small pile of medicinal herbs and berries at his feet. “I have a right to sell it and make a profit.” Then he added quickly: “Not a tremendous profit--just some money to survive.”