Success of a Weekend Inspector

After a week of 18-hr, workdays, Baltimore Mayor William Donald Schaefer, 59, likes nothing better than to devote a little more time to his one true love. He putters around the city's familiar alleyways in a 1975 Pontiac, gleefully noting potential sites for redevelopment, shaking his head at uncollected garbage, scowling at potholes. His observations fill pad after pad of "Mayor's Action Memos"--acerbic calls for remedial action that will be issued to his staff on Monday morning. Example: "Why is an abandoned car ... still visible to me and invisible to the impounders of illegally parked vehicles?"

These days much of what Schaefer sees on his weekend inspections pleases him. In the ten years since he assumed office, Baltimore has blossomed. The once dingy downtown of the nation's ninth largest city (pop. 783,300) gleams with the glass, steel and fountains of Charles Center, a $175 million commercial complex. The 240 acres surrounding the city's formerly decrepit docks now feature a 33-story World Trade Center, a science museum and Harborplace, a stylish arcade of restaurants and emporiums developed by James Rouse, creator of Boston's Quincy Market. A $21.5 million aquarium containing more than 5,000 specimens will open in September. As the city's crumbling row houses have been refurbished, so has the spirit of its citizens. A local version of "I Love New York" appears on bumper stickers and buttons around town: BALTIMORE IS BEST.

Whether or not they believe that slogan, many Baltimoreans are inclined to agree with Maryland Congressman Steny Hoyer that their mayor is "the best in the country." Like New York City's Koch, Schaefer is a lifelong bachelor who returns his city's enthusiasm with total attention and visceral emotion. He will storm, fume and curse when he feels Baltimore's interests have been slighted. He cheers frenetically at Colt and Oriole games. He hoards trinkets and tokens from municipal events. Schaefer has never left his birthplace and still shares a West Side row house with his mother Tululu, 86. Even his education was home grown:

City College and the University of Baltimore, which gave him a 1943 law degree. An industrious servant of the local Democratic machine, he spent twelve years working his way up to president of the city council, a post he held for four years before winning the 1971 mayoral race with 85% of the vote.

To encourage the renovation and repopulation of the city's dying neighborhoods, he instituted a "sweat equity" homesteading program, offering abandoned buildings to urban pioneers for $ 1 if they would promise to inhabit and improve the property. To sweeten the deal, Schaefer's administration provided low-interest home-improvement loans. Incentives for commercial development have been equally unorthodox. In 1976 he created the Baltimore Economic Development Corporation (BEDCO), an efficient, privately operated agency that acts as a one-stop clearinghouse for businesses seeking building sites and financing in Baltimore.

Some political observers expect Schaefer to make a bid for the governorship or perhaps the Senate next year. So far, he has said nothing about his aspirations beyond those he has for his city. Cuts in federal aid to cities under the Reagan Administration will, he fears, jeopardize his plans to reduce crime, continue building and improve transportation--an eight-mile subway system will open next year. Baltimore's recent successes may even work against it. Says Schaefer: "Now, unless you scream about going down the drain, Washington assumes you're doing fine. We're doing fine, but we still need a lot of federal help."

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