Contagion in Minneapolis

Politically as well as culturally, Minneapolis is one of the Midwest's more progressive cities. Its civic-minded businessmen like their suits conservative and their politics enlightened. Since the 1940s, the Democratic-Farmer-Labor coalition has produced a series of dynamic liberal mayors, including Hubert Humphrey and the incumbent, Arthur Naftalin. Thus Minneapolis seemed unlikely to succumb to the mayoral campaign of a political novice whose principal pledge was "to take the handcuffs off the police." Yet that is just what happened last week.

Police Detective Charles S. Stenvig, 41, an independent with a ragtag organization, rolled over Republican City Council President Dan Cohen. Stenvig took city hall with 62% of the vote, amassing majorities of up to 81% in working-class areas. Cohen, 33, a Harvard Law School graduate, had the backing of the city's powerful labor leaders and the endorsement of big names, including Richard Nixon and Minnesota Senator Eugene McCarthy. Yet Stenvig carried all but two of the city's 13 wards. The result was all the more astonishing because, with a Negro population of just 3%, Minneapolis has suffered relatively little racial tension. Nor has there been much campus unrest. Like most cities, Minneapolis has a crime problem--though not one of panic proportions.

Continuing Decay. But the voters learn about upheavals elsewhere, on TV and in the press; fear is contagious. While Cohen put on a slick, well-financed campaign, Stenvig had only to state repeatedly that he would make the city safe for everyone. Cohen issued detailed position papers on housing, taxes, pollution and other issues, and attacked Stenvig as a Northern-style George Wallace. The detective meanwhile produced no specific programs, even in the law-and-order field. He answered personal criticism with the reassurance: "I'm not goofy."

Indeed he was not. Lacking a paid campaign staff, he relied on 800 volunteer workers to spread his message. Three-quarters of the city's 796-man police force helped. The Rev. Joseph Head, former national chaplain of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, summed up the winner's appeal: "Our community is plagued by militants, beating up kids, raping women. Somebody had to take over."

Another factor was the continuing decay of the Democratic-Farmer-Labor organization. The party split over the 1966 gubernatorial nomination, then lost the election. The Humphrey-McCarthy rivalry last year helped the process along. Naftalin, a Humphrey protege 25 years ago, declined to run for a fifth two year term this year, and his withdrawal created a vacuum that left many voters without allegiance to any commanding personality.

Color It Green. The Stenvig vote was another manifestation of the conservative law-and-order psychology exhibited in last month's Los Angeles mayoral vote. Lower-middle-class families particularly have been voting their fear and anger, and the depth of their feeling has been underestimated by some experienced politicians. The outcome in Minneapolis may also be a hint of things to come in other elections this year and next. As for the mayor-elect, he is not primarily concerned with state or national affairs. He must figure out how to run a city with a population of 490,000. After being assured of victory, Stenvig promised supporters at a beery party that he would consult widely before making any decisions. But he stressed: "My chief adviser is going to be God, and don't you forget it." Mrs. Marion Olson, a mother of six who managed Stenvig's campaign, confided that she had chosen green for Stenvig posters because "God loves green, or he wouldn't have made so many things green. And I wanted to show that God was on our side." Said one of the celebrants: "There's no false sophistication here."

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