Not Really So Nosy

Millions of Americans become incensed decennially at the nosiness of their Government. They forget that the U.S. census is not nearly as outrageously curious as it once was. In 1890, for example, the federal inquisitors asked no fewer than 470 questions. Among the most impertinent: "If there are any idiots living in the house, what is their head size (small, large, or natural)?" "Has the origin of this child been respectable?" "Is this resident habitually intemperate, a tramp, or syphilitic?"

The nine million heads of households who received the long forms by mail (up to 73 questions) before sending them in last week faced no such questions. The touchiest disclosures they were asked to make were how many children the women in their homes, whether they were married or not, had borne, and whether their quarters had flush toilets. The Census Bureau rejected questions that some governmental agencies wanted it to ask, such as whether the respondents used contraceptives, were illiterate or were paying alimony. The short form (23 questions), received by 36 million households, could easily be completed in 15 minutes or less.

Those who did not get a questionnaire were not really overlooked by the census. They were scheduled to receive personal visits by one of 172,000 special enumerators. These counters also were to visit flophouses, transient hotels, isolated rural areas and other nooks where people could conceivably be missed. Thus, the Census Bureau expected to count all U.S. residents accurately.

That is not to say that the 1970 census was without its quirks. An unemployed husband in Philadelphia was told that his working wife must be listed as "head of household" and that he should list himself on the line "wife of head." One of the special enumerators who made house calls, Mrs. Rose Levine, 52, was asked to check residents of a nudist colony at El Cajon, Calif. She kept her clothes on and also managed "to look directly at them and see their personalities," rather than their bodies. Many respondents wondered why the Government asked for their telephone numbers. The answer was reasonable enough: if a questionnaire was not properly filled out, the residents could be asked to supply responses by phone, saving time and money.

High Stakes. The Government considers the $210 million being spent on the census a solid investment in turning up statistics that will, among other things, help the nation decide:

> How to apportion thousands of election districts, ranging from the Congress to city council seats. With the new judicial toughness on the one-man, one-vote principle of representation, an accurate count can have a profound effect upon political patterns.

> Where to direct efforts to solve problems of minority groups and the nation's poor by learning how many there really are in the U.S. and where they are concentrated. Civil rights groups have conducted special campaigns this year to make certain that minority populations are fully counted.

> How to allocate funds for such varied governmental programs as highways, schools, hospitals and urban renewal. By noting population shifts, housing conditions and the relationship between where people live and where they work, the census helps local governments, too, make long-range plans. On the federal level alone the distribution of about $5 billion a year in subsidies depends on census facts.

>How countless private agencies and business firms can best reach their potential clients and customers. The census provides invaluable information for market analysts. Commercial firms will be able to secure computer tapes of this year's census results--though the names of individuals and the information linked to them are protected by law from disclosure.

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