The decline and fall of the small town

The Dedine and Fall o/ the Small To vn

IIIHI I

Its status quo way of life is an anachronism;

can it possibly be saved from extinction?

W I L L I A M S I M O N

J O H N H . G A G N O N

It is a fact of our twentieth century life that as the centers of economic, social, and political power have shifted from farm lind countryside to city and suburb, those small communities that are not absorbed by some metropolitan complex come under threat (if not actual sentence) of decline and decay. But why do some small towns wither and not others? And is there long term hope for any?

Actually, this Darwinian life and death struggle of American small towns is not confined to modern times. During the nineteenth century the petering out of natural resources or the demand for them (gold in California, coal in parts of the Midwest) and the considerations that determined whether a railroad went through one area rather than another often determined whether a village would prosper or become a ghost town. Today, decisions about where to place highways, intersections, dams, or where to move an industry can have similar effects--revitalizing or building one community, sentencing another to senescence.

But in the nineteenth century decline or vitalization were considered to result from the natural workings of laissez- faire. The fittest survived. The economic success grew and the failure faded away--a process that was not to be inter- fered with and that made for progress. Today the state and federal governments are actively intervening to try to maintain the small town--which they perceive to be a useful way of life, a balancing force against the rise of megalopolis.

But is it enough to simply inject redevelopment funds into a community to assure its health ? For that matter, what do we learn from using medical terms to describe a town's economic vitality--a robust community, a sick or moribund community? What really determines a town's viability? Is it different with each town ?

This article attempts detailed analyses of three neighbor- ing rural towns in southern Illinois, to determine why, despite many similarities in location, economic problems, and history, they developed differently after World War II.

The three communities--which we will call East Parrish, Clyde, and Spiresburg--are in an area distinctly "Southern" in many characteristics and values. It was originally settled in the first half of the nineteenth century by migrants from the southern hill country. They rapidly exhausted a land as inhospitable, if not more so, than what they had originally left. Its barren, clay-ridden soil did not, and will not in the future, support more than meager subsistence farming.

At the turn of the century coal was discovered in the area, and large-scale mining brought a new, unprecedented, and profoundly uncertain prosperity. Coal camps appeared, and rail lines connecting them to each other and to the outside world began to crisscross the region. Typical of the influence of the railroads, in a very few years entire town sites moved to the nearby rail lines.

The growing coal industry brought in a few Negroes and many immigrants, largely from Eastern Europe. Though farming continued, it increasingly became a part-time ven- ture, and everything became tied to a highly unstable, single industry--coal. Typical of coal mining areas, a culture full of strong contrasts developed (as Herman Lantz described it in his The People of Coaltown). Side by side there was vioIence and resignation, Bible-belt religion and hard-drinking, serious gambling, and (at least historically) no small amount of whoring. All three communities are within 40 miles of what has, with full justification, become known as "Bloody Williamson County."

By the mid-1920's, the local coal boom reached its peak, and from then on, except for a brief period during World War II, went into continuous decline. East Parrish, the largest of the three towns, declined from almost 25,000 to its present 9,000. From 1950 to 1960 East Parrish declined by 21 percent, Clyde by 11 percent, and Spiresburg by 6 percent. People continue to leave in large numbers--primarily the younger, healthier, and better educated. Nor has there been (especially as far as mining is concerned) any

42 TRANS-ACTION

substantial leveling off of employment. Between 1950 and 1960 the number of persons employed in mining in East Parrish decreased by 71 percent, in Clyde by 72 percent, and in Spiresburg by 61 percent. And there were substantial, if smaller, declines in such things as railroad car- loadings. All during the preceding decade the immediate area has been defined by government agencies as "chron- ically depressed" and "surplus labor."

By the early 1950's people in all three communities began to realize that the very survival of their towns was at stake. Responding to this realization, and prodded by federal and state governments and a nearby state university, community leaders became very adept at the rhetoric of community redevelopment.

But the consequences of both rhetoric and action have been markedly different among the three. East Parrish (population 9,000) has had virtually no change or improve- ment--nor does any appear even remotely likely. Clyde (population 7,000) has been able to check its decline somewhat and expects in the near future to derive the benefits of a federal water and land redevelopment project. Spiresburg, the smallest (population 3,000), has in the last six years attracted four new industries and thereby largely reconstituted its economic base.

East Parrish East Parrish first recognized its problem openly in the early 1950's when the East Parrish Industrial Fund was created with working capital of $100,000 raised from over 2,000 public contributors. This fund was deposited in the local bank where it remained untouched for eight years. Its first expenditure was to rebuild a dress factory that had burned down. This factory, typical of industry attracted by such communities, is "labor-lntensive," paying low wages and primarily employing women.

But while the basic fund was put to restricted use, the accumulated interest was more freely available. Much of it went to subsidize the local Chamber of Commerce; and this in turn strengthened the hold of the community conserva- tives over the Chamber.

Rarely was any money used in realistic scouting for new industry. As one member of the development board put it:

We didn't run around like some of the towns around here wining and dining company offidals or taking junkets around the country looking for companies. And we weren't going to offer the moon to some of these companies. Industry that you get that way either won't stay or won't pay off. Sure, there are companies that we might have looked at, but they are out for what they can get. They don't want to pay taxes, want free water, gas, and free land. It is just like raping a community. And then they move on. If you can get them on this basis, so can another town get them from you on the same basis. Hell, they have no ties to the community; they could move tomorrow. Besides, our real problem is labor. For all the talk around here, most of the people really don't want to work they're content on public as- sistance. And those that do want to work have been spoiled by the unions; they won't work for wages that the kind of industry that would come here would pay-- they [the workers] think that they can only work for the $16 and $17 a day they used to make when the mines were running. The next big economic event was the discovery of ex-

ploitable oil within the corporate limits of the community. However, the oil industry is highly automated. The oil ownership was concentrated among a very few, and addi- tional employment was barely noticeable. To this day the endlessly see-sawing, black, squat pumps constantly remind the population of still another disappointment.

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Business

as usual... Photo Essay by Barry Fitzgerald

"The only middle-class group whose children generally do not leave the small towns are the marginal retail merchants who often have little to bequeath except their businesses. The limits of recovery have been set by shopkeeper mentalities."

To date no federal funds have been requested--except for some public housing and clearance--and on at least two occasions they were rejected by community leaders when offered.

When we look at East Parrish's formal political structure one thing stands out: Since 1947, no mayor of the community succeeded himself (although two tried), and only two city commission members won re-election. This would sug- gest considerable political instability. Curiously, however, as one makes inquiries of community residents about community events during this period, one finds that essentially the same names appear. These names virtually never appear in contests for major political office (mayor or city commission), although roughly half of them have participated

in one or more public commissions. Formal government apparently became the target for the expression of the frus- trations of community residents, but rarely the framework within which serious solutions for community problems could be approached.

What, then, is the political life of East Parrish? Of the three communities, East Parrish is the only one with a strong tradition of working-class involvement in politics. This probably developed out of the high level of social solidarity characteristic of coal mining communities.

There is a basic cleavage going back for a number of decades between the miners (for whom the merchants remain those "bastards on Main Street") and the professional merchant group (for whom the miner remains the hillbilly

44 TRANS-ACTION

or hunkie to whom they once sold silk shirts at highly in- flated prices). As the medical director of the United Mine Workers Association hospital remarked, it was still almost impossible to get a Main Street merchant to serve on the hospital board. One effect of this cleavage was a historic pattern of miner representation in city government. One mayor, deposed in a recent election, was employed as a miner concurrently with his occupancy of the mayor's office.

The effects of this traditional cleavage became intensified because the middle-class elite (if this term is at all appli- cable) is itself badly split. Among the merchants a split occurs between those whose operations serve a broad area is handled very informally through the township super- market (there are 14 furniture stores in the community),

and those whose business centers entirely upon local retail trade. One cost of this second cleavage has been the inability--despite successive attempts--to have Main Street broadened and repaved with state funds and turned over to state maintenance because the local retail merchants refuse to surrender angle parking.

Typical of self-centered communities, there is no local industrial elite--even in the heyday of the coal boom most operations were absentee owned.

With the decline of mining, its importance to the community and the number of people it employs, the effectiveness of the miners and their ability to organize has lessened. In addition, a relatively high proportion of miners or their families are on welfare. In towns like East Parrish, welfare

APRIL 45

is handled very informally through the township super- visor, a very political office. Further, people generally know who is on relief. Both these factors make welfare recipients feel very vulnerable, and this tends to undermine their political participation. Also, the more promising young people, potential political leaders, leave in large numbers.

This does not mean that working-class politics has eroded in East Parrish. There has been considerable miner participation. In 1959, for instance, three of four city com- missioners were miners, and one of these was later ap- pointed mayor upon the death of the incumbent. But it does mean that their effectiveness and independence has been undermined. Election rhetoric centers heavily on class politics--but the election of miners has not given rise to

working-class programs. The miners in politics have been largely coopted by the "politicos" of the community.

Between the larger, more affluent merchants and the lower-class community a small but crucial group of professional, or near professional, politicians has developed--a a group whose basic constituency is greatly enhanced by a large number of dependent and chronic welfare recipients. As with government in an underdeveloped country, an amazing amount of money can be made by manipulating the local political structure, particularly in playing with taxes and land speculation, even where land itself is not worth much.

Significantly absent from political life are the community's hired professionals--schoolteachers and ministers.

46 TRANS-ACTION

...but no market

in futures

"Resistance to change has many causes. Most important perhaps, community leaders do not really believe enough in the futures of their towns to be willing to commit their own children to them. The lower classes have little choice."

Local school systems, because they are Sm,L ~,d - t ' ! among several authorities, are highly vulnerabi~ ' , lorto,,~. the staff in such school systems--either women ~,1 t,~ f , . , ilies that in turn are tied to the community. ,~r mcn oi rather low competence--are not likely to .wok inxoI~t ment. Ministers, at least Protestant ministers, mo,~- around a great deal and are at the mercy of lay leaders who arc primarily drawn from the community conser\atives. They tend to avoid speaking out on community issues because there is rarely a community issue that would not lind con> peting factions within the same church, and it: is a rare minister who, in the context of East Parrish's long history of community conflicts, would invite such a conflict into his church.

\Vhile tlmrthes seem m bc nearly totally estranged from power ant] communitx dc~i~ion-making in all three (om- nlunJties, in Ea.~t Parrish the social and fraternal organiza- lions have also tended to withdraw. A recent reform movement has taken ~ontrol of city hail, and it reflects primarily the needs of lo~al merchants, Ostensibly it is committed to industrial renewal, but little is expected to come of it. The professional politicians know all too well that they, despite this temporary setback, control access to county and state politicians, without whom little can be done.

As a result, the recent political history of East Parrish is one of apathy and distrust punctuated by episodes of s c a n -

dal and conflict. Where decisions have to be made--such as providing a new library or even something as trivial as

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paying for a local production of an opera produced by a nearby university--they are made by a very small number of citizens operating in a completely nonpublic way. This nonpublic process--which turns out to be the only way to get something done because it does not invoke some form of community cleavage--only further feeds community paranoia and resentment. During our interview with one of the city fathers who showed us the drawings for a pro- jected new library, he turned to his secretary and jokingly asked: "How much have we made on it so far ?"

Clyde Economically, Clyde, aside from its new dress factory, has seen no substantial change. Its biggest step forward came when a small group of community leaders, in the mid- 1950's, created a tax-raising administration with special bond-issuing powers under some long obscure state law. About $250,000 were raised in taxes that went into a local water development based on a nearby lake. After considerable lobbying, the federal government took over the project. The leaders hope that this development will attract new industry, and lead to expanded development of Clyde and environs into a prosperous and pleasant recreation center and resort.

Politically, Clyde differs considerably from East Parrish. It has no real tradition of lower-class action. As a county seat, it has a higher proportion of middle-class people working for, or involved in, county and courthouse ac- tivities. This is also the reason why the main political focus in Clyde is on county, rather than civic, affairs. It does not even have the same "coal-camp" appearance of East Par- rish. To the innocent urban eye it looks very much like any small town in Illinois; one has to go to the unincorporated fringe, or to a tavern in an obscure alley off the square, to see what almost 2O years of poverty will do to human beings. Of the three towns, only in Clyde does one hear frequent and almost compulsive talk of "white trash."

Also, probably because it is a county seat, a number of industry executives live there. The town's previous mayor was a retired railroad vice president; its present mayor is a retired coal company president--in manner and style very much resembling his famous brother who led the miner's union. One of the last major coal companies--the one re- puted to be the most ruthlessly exploitative--maintains of- rices in Clyde. This small executive group has left its mark on the politics of Clyde.

If the politics of East Parrish resemble in a strange way the politics of France before DeGaulle, the politics of Clyde resemble the politics of DeGaulle. There have been a series of strong mayors who have not "sought" public of- rice, but who have demanded that the community offer it to them. The present mayor in his first election cautioned supporters that, if campaign posters were put up, he would decline the office. These strong mayors have given the

community its neat, clean appearance; they have also sapped the political vitality of the people.

The present upper-middle class, which might ordinarily have been expected to provide considerable leadership, will obviously bring little change. It has split into two elements. The more conservative element was described by one citizen:

There is definitely a group of inheritors--doctors, law- yers, those running insurance agencies, stores, garages. For the most part a very unaggressive lot . . . . These people are in no great hurry to see things change.

One conservative spoke about his group this way: True, we might lack some spirit. For most of us, it is a matter of getting out of school and inheriting your father's business. This is what happened in my case. I'm not sure I really wanted to come back . . . . But, as I say, it is a life with many compensations.

To the extent that they take an interest in politics, they are Republican and concentrate on town affairs.

The other element mostly consists of the recently prosperous--including those who rose from Italian or Slavic coal mining families. They--with a few mavericks from the older elites--tend to dominate county politics which are largely Democratic. They are more concerned with the decline of the community than the older group, possibly because they are more vulnerable--yet they accept, with little quibble, the present structure of control.

Clyde has experienced none of the turbulence of East Parrish politics--but that is probably because it has not evinced as much interest as East Parrish--the interest caused by frustration. It developed no new community organiza- tions, engaged in no campaigns to raise funds from community residents, and rarely did economic redevelopment become a political issue.

It is thus not unexpected that Clyde's major bid for renewal came not from some broad, popular campaign, but from an administrative unit of government; that it did not seek funds through public appeal, but through taxation. Despite the fact that, as one resident put it, "for years the merchants have been hanging on by their teeth hoping for a miracle to save them," and that the pressures of poverty are such that the state's attorney (the Illinois name for county prosecutor) complains that he "can only do a small part of what the state requires because I spend 90 percent of my time doing social work," this community feels it can afford to take the long view. But even at this point, the brightest estimate of the transformations to be wrought by the new lake development offers a promise for only a small section of the community.

The only public opposition, an angry typographer employed by the community's daily newspaper, can be seen on occasional Saturdays parading around the town square, carrying now familiar sandwich boards that decry the community's domination by a small and selfish group and that challenge the community to undertake its own program of

'48 TRANS-ACTION

revival. And just as this single, isolated figure is accepted with good humor but not much thought by the residents of Clyde, so there appears to be a somewhat thoughtless and casual acceptance of an unchanging drift.

Spiresburg Spiresburg clearly has been the most successful of the three towns. In a sense, the crisis caused by the decline of the coal industry came to it first. Spiresburg lost its two major mines during the early years of the great depression and, while it retained a number of persons employed in mining, it served essentially as a dormitory for miners of the general area.

Like Clyde, it is a county seat and the core of the community is located around the courthouse. Also, like Clyde, Spiresburg is a second city in its county, subordinate in industry, retail, and service activity to a nearby town.

In these respects, as well as in general location, types of industry, natural resources and so on, it has some similar- ity to the other two. If anything, it has more disadvan- tages. It has not been nearly as successful as Clyde in at- tracting potentially prominent, capable, and educated people to live there. It is markedly smaller than either--less than half the population of Clyde, a third that of East Parrish. But it is the character and activity of the political and community leaders of Spiresburg that is most dra- matically different.

They are a fairly well-integrated group of small merchants and independent professionals and semiprofession- als. Even schoolteachers and ministers, in contrast to Clyde and East Parrish, are included. Reading a roster of offices for social clubs, official and semiofficial boards, and local government offices for a period of years, one quickly de- tects an interweaving and reoccurrence of names that sug- gests nothing so much as a well-rehearsed square dance. To the middle class, high or low, a lot of sociability is most of what is required for access to community life. The pattern of integrated community leadership is so great that lower- class participation is all but impossible. (Its dormitory status, which meant a dispersal of its workers over the countryside, obviously weakened class solidarity, unlike East Parrish where residential and work populations over- lapped.)

Social contacts among Spiresburg's upper group is the highest for all three communities--while social participation for its workers and reliefers is the lowest for all three. The frequent and easy contacts among influentials are fa- cilitated by Spiresburg's size--it is small enough so that its community leadership can take a collective daily coffee break. While sitting in a restaurant in early afternoon for less than an hour with the mayor, the senior author met most of the town's leading merchants, a local insurance agent, the police chief, postmaster, state senator, optometrist, and the newspaper publisher.

In three of the cases of successful plant relocation in Spiresburg government aid was sought and utilized; in the fourth the community provided its own resources. The wages in all four plants are at best marginal, and there are few white collar or managerial positions.

However, the limits of Spiresburg's recovery have been set by the shopkeeper mentalities of its leadership. By these standards the town has recovered. But in Spiresburg's lower class there is a continuing, if ineffectual, discontent. And in the upper class the most promising young people leave, usually for college, and seldom return. Spiresburg's situa- tion is best symbolized by the contrast between its four almost brand-new factories--on its outskirts--and its town square which looks today much as it must have about 1925.

The Issue of Leadership

From this comparison of the three towns it seems ob- vious that the quality of community leadership--particularly political leadership--is a crucial determinant of the course of development. The picture is amazingly consistent with that thesis. And it is also reflected in the feelings and attitudes of the citizens of each town.

The depressed spirit in East Parrish and Clyde, and the unrealistic attitudes toward their problems, is revealed by the answers people had to questions about events that had occurred recently. (For example, what was "the biggest thing that happened in the community during the last year?") The ones they emphasized were on the horizon rather than of immediate importance. Very prominent were a major interstate highway due to pass close to both towns and the federal lake resort project--both due for comple- tion well in the future. Seventy-three percent of the citizens of Clyde, the town most directly involved, mentioned one or the other. Even though East Parrish was not as closely concerned, 27 percent also referred to them.

Similar results came from the more specific question that asked people to describe the "most important problem facing the community." Almost 80 percent of Clyde's respondents spoke of unemployment or poor business con- ditions, as did 66 percent from East Parrish. (The continuing political conflict in East Parrish, not present in Clyde, accounted for 17 percent, and so kept the score for economic depression from being even higher.) Spiresburg, too, registered a 47 percent vote for unemployment and poor business which indicated that its recovery was also far from complete. On the other hand, 36 percent of Spiresburg's respondents listed problems associated with growth--the taxing of existing community facilities or the financing of improvements--as being the "most important."

Would the picture get "better or worse in the next few months?" Fifty percent of East Parrish votes went for worse; in Clyde 26 percent felt this way; but in optimistic Spiresburg, only 12 percent.

How attached the respondents were to their communities and how they felt about them are described in the table.

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Spiresburg is the easiest to single out. Its economic im- provement has had an effect on (and perhaps also was af- fected by) the attitude of its citizens. A majority thought it no place for a young man just starting out (63 percent) ; but that is considerably lower than the 78 and 83 percent who felt that way about East Parrish and Clyde. They also show the highest community identification and commit- ment--68 percent selected it as their ideal community of residence; 84 percent felt their fellow residents "really care" about it.

The differences between the depressed communities, Clyde and East Parrish, were not great; but such as they were, they emphasized the greater magnitude of East Par- fish's decline.

Change---But Don't Upset Anything

In these three towns different traditions and different political structures have led to three essentially different modes of adjustment to similar crises. What these modes do have in common however--despite a prevailing rhetoric of community renewal--is a deep-seated resistance to social change of any real significance. And in this respect they resemble hundreds of other declining communities too far from urban centers in an urban society.

This resistance to change has many causes. Most important perhaps, community leaders do not really believe enough in the futures of their towns to be willing to commit their own children to them. (The lower classes have little choice.) There was only one professional or semi- professional in all those we interviewed in all three communities who did not sometime boast about how well his children were doing somewhere else. The only middle- class group whose children, generally, did not leave, are the marginal retail merchants who often had little to bequeath except their businesses.

And it is precisely this element, notably in East Parrish, that is most committed to community renewal. The mayor of Spiresburg talked--as most people did--about the loss of young people to the community; each new plant was referred to as having taken care of the graduating class of the community high school of this year or that year. But

the reference was not to the entire graduating class, only that part of it primarily, if not exclusively, lower class. That is, that portion not going on to college. The son of the mayor himself, obviously, had no future in a plant with few managerial or professional jobs.

Since the leaders are not really committed to the future of the towns--except in the most abstract way--there is little incentive to undertake community renewal that might rock their boats; and any genuine community renewal would have to rock it. The president of East Parrish's only bank was most explicit:

This community has lost population and it may have to lose more. But things have settled down quite nicely and everything operates smoothly. East Parrish has a pretty stable economy. Of course there are no new industries. But when I started this bank in 1943 there was a mine payroll of over one million dollars a month, now it is down to one hundred and fifty thousand. Then there were three banks with combined assets of about four million, now there is only one (his), but it has assets of over twelve million . . . . The town may get smaller in- stead of bigger. For a community, like a man, things have to balance out.

The town might die, but he was doing nicely. Things balanced out.

This banker was a leading member of the East Parrish Industrial fund; it is easy to see why it was so cautious about spending its $100,000 to attract new industry. Even in Spiresburg, though everyone was in favor of prosperity in general, some did not want too much--too much being defined as the point at which it might bring competition to established businesses and established allocations of power.

The present high level of integration of leadership in Spiresburg is sustained by systematic back-scratching. For example, the town's optometrist makes it perfectly clear that none of the town's four practicing physicians would dream of giving an eye examination. Unfortunately, economic back-scratching cannot survive where there is exten- sive economic and social growth, vital to community renewal. You can't have everything. Despite the rhetoric, the choice has been made.

PERCEPTION OF AND ATTACHMENT TO COMMUNITY

Items: E. Parrish Clyde Spiresburg

Most of the important decisions in are made by a small group of people who are on "the inside."

There have been so many changes in - - that it is hardly the same town. Most people in really care about what happens to the community.

is no place for a young man just starting out. It is better to live in a small town than a big city. Percent selecting present community

in free choice of ideal community in which to live.

* Percent agreeing.

82%*

24

68

78

8O

58

72%*

12

62 83 88

53

78%*

15

84 63 90

68

5 0 TRANS-ACTION

Further, whether as rationalization or compensation, or because those who might think otherwise have already flown to the cities, a strongly anti-urban system of values has emerged. One community resident observed:

When I or my wife want to take a walk we can do it without being robbed or assaulted. You can't say that in St. Louis or Chicago.

This is an overstatement, but not without some truth. However, he does not ask what the young people of the community ask continually: Where in town is there anything to walk to ?

Since for most the money lies in the cities, those who stay must believe, or profess, a rejection of purely merce- nary values. A young returnee to East Parrish commented:

This is a friendly town. I known 'most everyone. When I walk down the street, everyone says hello. Here I am my own boss. I make less, but I also worry less. In St. Louis, at GM, everyone was worried that the guy at the next desk would get a promotion before you d id- - I could have stayed, they called from Flint and offered me a promotion. You have to grow up sometimes, a person has to learn to walk a straight road.

Or a young publisher in Clyde: You might say that we here in Clyde have learned to settle for second best. But I prefer to think that we just value things differently . . . . I have ten minutes from my house what the big city businessman has to travel hundreds of miles to get and then for only a few days a year. The lessons are plain. First, superficial indicators are

not the accurate predictors of community health they are often conceived to be. Whether a town will climb, slow its decline, or go under altogether is determined often very largely by the character and activity of its middle and upper-middle class political leadership.

But there is an even more important lesson hovering ominously in the background. The economic progress of each of the three Southern Illinois towns studied is different, and they have responded differently to crisis; but none represents a substantial--certainly not permanent come- back in the face of increased urbanization.

Their approach to the future is one of improvisation. Their horizons must remain l imited--for redevelopment is not only a promise but a threat to the ideologies of small town life. They must lose their best people and business concerns to the larger towns because of greater opportu-

nities, education, and satisfactions there. Those who return

will be failures--or be willing, for whatever reason, to

settle for what represents second-best in our competitive

society. It is impossible for any similar small town to maintain

a first-rate school system--and the children, and the future, must suffer for it. The fundamental character of the leadership of these communities will limit the nature and direc- tion of growth--because they do not want to face real

competition. If they had been willing and prepared to face it, they would have moved out long before. They cannot be expected to deliberately make their own worst fears come true.

The land and the economy of the United States will not support as many small towns as they did before. It is very difficult not to see the future as a long drawn-out struggle for community survival, lasting for half a century, in which some battles may be won but the war will be lost. A future in which most such towns will become isolated or decayed, in which the local amenities must deteriorate, and in which there will finally be left only the aged, the inept, the very young--and the local power elite.

F U R T H E R READING SUGGESTED BY THE AUTHORS:

Small Town in a Mass Sodety: Class, Power, and Religion in a Rural Community by Arthur J. Vidich and Joseph Bensman (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1958). Particularly insightful in the consideration of community ideologies generated by residents of small towns. The People o/Coaltown by Herman R. Lantz (New York City: Columbia University Press, 1958). Historical perspective and a consideration of pathological reactions to living in declining communities. The Rulers and the Ruled: Political Power and Impotence in American Communities by Robert E. Agger, Daniel Goldrich, and Bert E. Swanson (New York City: John Wiley & Son, 1964). An extended, complex attempt at a historical and comparative study of the political structures of communities. The Talk in Vandalia by Joseph P. Lyford (Charlotte, N.C.: McNally & Loftin, 1964). A first-rate piece of social reportage providing immediate imagery of community self-perception.

William Simon (left) and John H. Gagnon are senior research sociologists at the Institute for Sex Research at Indiana University. They are studying social and sexual adjustment in American youth and adjustment in male homosexuals. Both have worked in the area of urban sociology and social problems. The ethnographic research for this article was part of a project of the National Opinion Research Center supported in part by the US Public Health Service and reported more fully in Reports on Happiness by Norman N. Bradburn and David Caplovitz (1965).

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Documents

The decline and fall of the small town