THE CITY: THE EAST ST. LOUIS BLUES

Most American cities are in trouble. Few are in more trouble than East St. Louis, III., a decaying industrial suburb across the Mississippi from St. Louis' soaring Gateway Arch.

Almost half of the 130 stores that once lined the city's main shopping streets are gone. So much business has fled the community that city hall is now the third largest employer, public schools the fourth. More than half of the city's families live on less than $3,000 a year; 21% of the labor force is unemployed. One-fourth of the 82,000 residents receive some kind of public assistance. Relations between the city's 38,000 whites and its 44,000 Negroes are abrasive at best. Though little organized vice survives and the once famous red-light district is deserted, East St. Louis has one of the worst crime rates of any U.S. city its size. There were 47 murders in 1968 and 15 so far in 1969. Only the brave dare walk its streets after dark.

Micawberism. East St. Louis has always been something of an illusion. From the Missouri side of the river, it looks like a throbbing industrial center. Actually, most of the industry is situated beyond the city limits, in a warren of privately incorporated company towns that draw on East St. Louis's cheap labor sources but contribute nothing to its support. A magnet for Northbound Negroes ever since World War II, the city is overburdened with unskilled workers whose families have strained the welfare system and glutted the schools. When large plants like Swift, Armour and Alcoa pulled out for better locations, they left behind a seething, sickened slum.

Unable to meet burgeoning budgets from a shrinking tax base, East St. Louis has survived for the past 15 years by the euphemistically named ploy of "judgment financing." While borrowing from banks, which invariably have to sue for repayment, the city has remained a step ahead of its creditors by taking advantage of an Illinois law that permits it to float bonds without public consent. This kind of Micawberism has driven the city so deep into the red that debt service accounted for 35% of 1967's property-tax revenues and threatens to devour more than half by 1975.

Moribund Machine. Rescuers are attempting various forms of fiscal resuscitation. City Administrator George Washnis, an optimist who believes that there is nothing wrong with the city that $750 million will not cure, is looking for $30 million to $50 million in catalytic federal funds, hoping that private industry will provide the rest over the next 20 years. Some money is already trickling in. A $2,086,000 grant under the Model Cities program is expected shortly, and the city could receive about $23 million more if other major federal grants come through. Illinois' Governor Richard Ogilvie recently approved a $50,000 program for the study of a proposed new airport, whose construction could open up 2,500 new jobs. A big development company is interested in putting up 3,500 low-income housing units worth up to $80 million.

Newly appointed Police Director Ross V. Randolph, whose salary of $25,000 is the city's highest, is making his presence felt. He is a former FBI agent, prison warden and state director of public safety. Randolph has announced plans to open storefront police offices in the hope of improving communications between the city's authorities and its deeply mistrustful blacks. One of the priorities facing his undermanned and undermanaged force of 92 officers is to halt an unexplained wave of snipings. Since the beginning of last year, 31 people have been wounded, two killed. Only last week a man was shot in the back from a speeding car.

Politically, at least, the outlook for East St. Louis seems to be brightening. A predominantly black committee, chaired by Negro Bus Driver Harold Brewer, has petitioned for a referendum returning the city to an aldermanic form of government by 1971. This could end the rule of Mayor Alvin G. Fields' moribund Democratic machine and give the black majority a real voice.

In East St. Louis, these relatively minor developments are cause for at least quiet celebration. All represent movement, and for a city at the very bottom of the urban heap, that can only mean improvement.

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