When California's great Proposition 13 property tax rebellion wound its way through the "high-tech" world of Silicon Valley, wealthy San Jose chose bullets over bread.

In the battle being fought over public funds in American cities today, this area's experience shows that when local governments decide which group gets what--or suffers least--those who need the greatest assistance are hurt most.

Probably nowhere in America is there a greater disparity between private affluence and declining public services.

Here in the wealthiest of metropolitan areas, where three-bedroom houses sell for as much as $300,000, the public schools are fighting bankruptcy, basic public health services are deteriorating, the gap between economic classes is widening and groups of citizens compete fiercely among themselves for limited public dollars instead of cooperating to meet common needs.

"I think you could fairly say that we fought the guns-and-butter issue in our minds and the guns won," said Mayor Tom McEnery. "We've

This report, the fourth in an occasional series examining key issues in selected American communities, was reported and written by staff writers Haynes Johnson, David Hoffman, Margaret Shapiro, Jay Mathews and Joanne Omang, with polling by Barry Sussman and Kenneth E. John. added 114 police officers in the last four years roughly since Proposition 13. At the same time we've cut about that number in parks and library staff."

All this has special irony here, for San Jose has been, and in many ways still is, the model of the good life in America. The physical setting is superb. Near both the ocean and San Francisco Bay, ringed with mountains, favored with a benign climate, San Jose always has been blessed with abundance. From the days when it was California's first capital until after World War II, it stood in the center of a vast agricultural market, with canneries and miles of farmland providing fruit and vegetables for the nation.

Within the last generation, it has become the center of the computer age and the heart of Silicon Valley, a name that will not be found on any map but that is associated worldwide with the silicon chips essential to computers. Electronics firms occupy the fields where farms stood not long ago. They serve as a magnet for the highly educated, highly motivated entrepreneurs who have transformed this region into one of the most spectacular growth areas in American history. In just 30 years San Jose has grown from a city of 90,000 to one of 670,000, and surrounding Santa Clara County has experienced nearly a five-fold population increase in that time.

To this area come delegations of mayors and governors, even prime ministers and heads of state. They seek to lure the computer firms that provide the new high-technology economic base that has made so many so affluent here.

In some respects San Jose is a victim of success. It grew too fast, took its prosperity for granted, and in the process failed to ensure that its public services kept pace. The budget difficulties brought on by Proposition 13, precursor of the Reagan administration's domestic budget cuts on the national level, intensified an already serious underlying problem. The situation has worsened with the recession and successive waves of reductions in state and national funds.

This is not to suggest that San Jose has embarked on a mean-spirited binge to hurt the poor and afflicted, or that it is inhabited by uncaring citizens without a civic conscience. It does suggest that even the most affluent and successful of communities are paying a heavy price in maintaining essential services for all of their people. A dichotomy exists here: public services are declining; people are being hurt; but for the prosperous majority this remains a place where they like to live--and they have not been willing to pay for additional public services. "The paradox is that here we're supposed to shift the social services out of the public sector and depend more on the community agencies to take care of them," said Dwight Kintner, president of the Santa Clara Council of Churches. "Yet the very things that helped us perform those services have been cut out.

"The cutback of CETA Comprehensive Employment and Training Act workers affected us considerably, and for agencies such as ours that meant doing away with that kind of supplemental help. There are all kinds of impacts in terms of our direct services. So at the same time we're asked to do more with less. Of course, that characterizes our whole economy now." Chapter II: CUTBACKS AND DISQUIET

Two weeks ago San Jose's largest school district became the first American public school system since 1943 to go bankrupt.

The irony of such hard times amid affluence was expressed by Dave Fadness, a businessman who heads one of the city's activist homeowner associations: "We are one of the . . . technological centers in the United States, and yet our schools are crumbling."

All government agencies here are in a period of dramatic retrenchment that began five years ago with the passage of Proposition 13. Library hours have been shortened, parks are becoming overgrown, dead animals are not removed as frequently and mental health nurses have been laid off.

Nowhere has the crunch been felt more than in the public schools, where once-largely independent governing boards now must rely on state largess. The anti-tax requirements of Proposition 13, which cut property taxes for homeowners, also made it harder--in most cases impossible--for the school board to levy its own taxes as in the past.

San Jose Unified went bankrupt when it signed a three-year contract that guaranteed teacher pay raises based on anticipated state money that never arrived. School opened as scheduled this year but teachers, whose salaries were rolled back to the 1981 level, immediately began a work slowdown.

The bankruptcy came after several years of agonizing cutbacks in programs, staff and schools that were echoed in the city's 16 other school districts.

"The first thing that went were the special teachers in elementary school," said Sam Rodriguez, principal of San Jose High School, "All the special teachers were cut. Okay, the high school still continued to have a lot of things while the elementary schools suffered. Supplies were cut. Bus transportation was cut. Field trips were cut out. You couldn't buy a Xerox machine, a cabinet, a chair, nothing. If you didn't budget things right, there were some schools that didn't have enough money to make it through the year and had to borrow from some of us who could save things. We try to help one another out.

"Then we went to cutting periods. We went from a six-period day to a five-period day. The kids didn't even have a full classroom set of textbooks and it was very difficult for them to do homework."

School nurses and guidance counselors are gone. The school day has been reduced, making it the shortest in the state. High school sports now entail a fee.

Gone, too, are many elementary school music, science and physical education teachers. Classes that were once taught separately are now combined into larger groups. Teachers are scrounging scraps for art classes--waste paper from a printer, for example.

Rodriguez was given video game machines by nearby computer firms and has used the quarters inserted by students to help pay for school sports programs. A vice principal held a wine-tasting party to raise money to buy a computer. A home economics teacher held a pancake breakfast to buy more food for her classes.

"I think some of that is laudable, but I somehow resent that those things have to be done," said Bernie Gold, a 23-year veteran teacher, as he and several colleagues bitterly lamented what they viewed as lack of support for the schools in a community where only one of every three families has school-age children. "Why don't they have a bake sale to buy a bomber? They always have enough money to buy a bomber."

Said Jackie Blackwell: "It would be nice if there was two of me--I'm a counselor, school psychologist, child welfare and attendance worker and administrator. Two years ago these were four separate jobs."

Some of the teachers' resentment has begun to spill over into the public mood, according to a Washington Post poll of 855 San Jose residents. The survey showed that a strong plurality of people believe the quality of education is worsening.

Responding to these growing concerns, the state legislature, supported by tax-cutting conservatives and Republican Gov. George Deukmejian, recently increased this year's educational spending by $800 million, but that money will not totally restore services cut because of Proposition 13.

Beyond the schools, the county government, which provides health, welfare and court-related services to San Jose, has cut more than 2,000 jobs. Among those laid off were the public health nurses, maintenance workers and probation officers.

Sally Reed, the appointed executive of Santa Clara County and a Republican who voted for President Reagan in 1980, says that before Proposition 13, a probation officer supervised 140 released offenders. Today, it's 310. "There's no point in having probation if they're going to have 310 people," said Reed.

Some of the cuts most worrisome to Reed have been in staffing at shelters for abused children and in disease prevention programs. Because there is little money for expensive psychiatric beds, many mental patients classified as dangerous to the community have been released from acute care facilities into halfway houses after only six days.

Reed and other local government officials say they feel caught between the short-term demands to trim budgets and the long-term consequences for the quality of life in the valley.

"A lot of our decisions in the long term make no sense. To keep people healthy we allow them to get very sick, but we will keep our emergency rooms open," Reed said. "You can only live so long on this level of service. I mean, it's just a matter of time before someone on probation does something so outrageous that the public outcry is so great that we have to do something about probation . . . .

"There's a lot of disagreement over what government ought to do. That's why I talk about cuts in psychiatric wards and I talk about adoptions and children's shelters, because I don't think you can find anyone who does not think that's government's role. That was government's role 100 years ago in European countries. Government has always provided a home for children and psychiatric care for the mentally ill. And those are the things that are getting hit."

Zoe Lofgren, a Democratic county supervisor, recalled how the county board first agonized over the cuts but finally accepted them.

"When I first got on the board, I think I had been here about four or five weeks, and the prior county executive announced that we were $4 million in the hole for that fiscal year. I couldn't believe it. And it just got worse . . . . We cut all year long . . . . It's not always a fun thing. We laid off 700 people a year ago June. It was depressing. But it had to be done."

Lofgren, whose political initiation came when she walked door-to-door with her mother on behalf of liberal Democratic presidential nominee Adlai E. Stevenson in the 1950s, added: "I don't think we're ever going to be back to the grand design programs of, say, the Johnson era. Maybe that's not entirely a bad thing. There were some good things that happened in that era, but there was a lot of waste as well."

Iola Williams, the only black member of the San Jose City Council, speaking of the shock waves Proposition 13 produced: "It meant everyone had to alter their expectations from government." She said she is not sure, in retrospect, that was so bad: "Now we have better use of our resources." In a city where issues of growth have caused political fortunes to rise and fall, the tax rebellion has given a new twist to the furor over city expansion.

After two decades of crazy-quilt development that resulted in double sessions in schools, smog, overflowing sewers and backed-up traffic, San Jose in the 1970s entered a period of "controlled growth" symbolized by the campaign slogan of former mayor Janet Gray Hayes: "Make San Jose Better Before We Make It Bigger."

But the tax freeze forces and the recession changed that. The city had to start looking for new revenues and, to some extent, new jobs. The canneries and nearby auto factories laid off thousands of workers, creating an atmosphere of economic insecurity in a valley of prosperity.

Even the "clean" electronics industries that had come to dominate the city's economy by the end of the 1970s began to feel the pinch. Atari shocked the community when it decided to lay off thousands of workers and move some jobs to Asia. Other firms, less publicly, revised sweeping expansion plans.

"Everyone has this fear, this paranoia, that we're going to end up like Detroit," said Gary J. Schoennauer, assistant city manager and planning director.

This disquiet came to be symbolized by a flat, brown valley wedged between the hills in the southern end of San Jose. Indus- try had been pressing to open it up for development. This swath of land, called Coyote Valley, was the last major stretch of agricultural land in San Jose, and ex-mayor Hayes recalled that for years she had stood "with my finger in the dike," refusing to approve the plan.

But under recession-induced pressure from organized labor, a developer and high-technology companies that wanted large, campus-like headquarters, the San Jose City Council last year voted unanimously to open the valley to industry.

Tom McEnery, the new mayor who supported the development, said: "The recession made people frightened."

Despite the cutbacks, there is a sense of tempered optimism in political circles about San Jose's future. Local politicians boast that San Jose has the best quality of life of any big city in the nation, and they point to a major urban renewal effort to revitalize an aging downtown.

They say that, despite the recession, the electonics firms want to keep their headquarters in San Jose and to continue expansion--providing more than enough jobs for this city and others that seek them. In fact, thepolitical and business leaders believe they are in the enviable position of worrying not about job market contraction but rather about accommodating all the jobs they foresee coming to this area in the next 10 years.

At the same time, they say they are convinced that Proposition 13 and the anti-government mentality are here to stay. "I think they would approve it again," said former mayor Hayes of Proposition 13.

A Washington Post poll suggested otherwise. A majority said they believe Proposition 13 is working out "unfavorably" for most people, apparently reflecting fear that the prosperous life style they sought and found here may be changing. Chapter III: RISK-TAKERS

The maps sold at the San Jose airport do not show Dave Huibregtse's street. His immaculate, split-level house on a cul-de-sac sprang up too quickly, and too far toward the city's raw southern edge, yet in attitude and life style little Lodgeview Court now occupies the sociological center of San Jose.

In this sprawling valley of seemingly endless subdivisions, stop lights, supermarkets, automatic bank tellers, service stations and vacant lots, the old American dream of a home of one's own and two cars out front seems to have obliterated all else. Energetic people from worldwide have come to work in the tumultuous, expanding juggernaut of jobs on San Francisco Bay's southern shores. Most things that distract from that job, that home and the daily trip between them often evoke apathy or annoyance.

The schools Huibregtse's two children attend declared bankruptcy recently, creating embarrassing national headlines about a city unable or unwilling to pay teachers their full contracted wage. But even now, bank manager Huibregtse, 39, and his neighbors have little sympathy for teachers. To earn the salary that has given his family a four-bedroom home surrounded by well-trimmed gardens, he said, "I'm leaving at 7 in the morning and I rarely get home before 6 or 7 p.m., sometimes working six days." Teachers, said neighbor Ed Christiansen, 32, "have a neat part-time job, . . . five hours a day with an hour of office hours. They go home at 3:30 in the afternoon."

This is the great California dichotomy. People here were given the choice of higher taxes or bankrupt schools, stiffer real estate assessments or dirty streets. On nearly every occasion they chose to keep their money and suffer declining public services. San Jose wallows in the result: unhappy teachers, shut-down libraries and crowded streets. Many people here bemoan the sad decline of services in one breath, then in the next say it hasn't really affected them much and they wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

In contrast to residents of Los Angeles and San Francisco, where tennis, theater and other spare-time pursuits seem to fill a bigger part of people's lives, San Jose residents focus on work and home. Urban planner Gerry De Young, 34, and his wife, Susan, say they like the new theaters, concert hall and shops rising in San Jose's revitalized downtown. But often, when he has spare time, "I work on my house," De Young said.

Several of his neighbors in love with the old houses of the Willow Glen district laughed at this. "Lately," said Toni Evans, "we all work on Gerry's house."

San Jose's people display all the extremes of private affluence and the drive for personal possessions that have historically set Californians off from big-city easterners, who often live in apartments and ride a bus or subway to work. More than 62 percent of San Jose homes are occupied by owners rather than renters. More than 91 percent of the city's residents drive cars to work.

Since World War II, after nearly two centuries as a historic but somewhat backwater farming center, the city has become a vast and expensive bedroom community for the comparatively young and affluent.

The chances it has offered newcomers have kept it growing wildly, gulping down more unincorporated land on its borders each decade to provide more space for growth and a greater tax base. Now some residents feel the city may be in danger of collapsing under its own weight. A Washington Post poll shows 89 percent of residents complaining about the rising cost of housing, 76 percent voicing concern about crime and 69 percent noting the growing traffic congestion. By nearly 2 to 1, city residents say growth is excessive and, by a much narrower 41 to 39 percent, say the city is becoming a worse, not a better, place to live.

None of this necessarily means people here are going to change their life styles, or insist on any social services but those that get them to work on time. City officials estimate the average commuting time at about 22 minutes, although a large number of people driving the crowded freeways north into Silicon Valley take much longer. Traffic tops nearly every list of complaints about life in San Jose, but the city's figures show that only 9 percent take buses or bicycle, walk or even car pool to work.

"I personally don't think public transportation is a heck of a good idea," said Christiansen, a computer production manager who drives his car a slow 50 minutes each way to work in Sunnyvale.

"I look at it and see a tremendous waste ....Look at those gigantic buses blowing all that smog all over the place." He talked about car pooling with a colleague, but the ever-changing Silicon Valley work pressures made that "ridiculous. I'd have to sit and wait for him an hour one night, he'd have to wait for me another day."

The rising housing prices have only increased the need to spend every waking hour on the job, and sometimes two or three jobs. Darcy Sorensen, 30, works as aircraft mechanic and flight instructor at two airports. He would prefer to move someplace less crowded, he said, "but this is where most of the available jobs are." Houses in Tropicana Village, once a refuge for young couples getting a start, have risen from $19,000 to $80,000 in 10 years.

The average price for a home in San Jose is now about $130,000, but many cost much more. Frank Stanton, aide to Rep. Norman Y. Mineta, said one executive moving here sold his Massachusetts home for $80,000 and found comparable housing in Saratoga, one of the suburbs to the northwest, at $300,000.

Such shocks fall into the category of risks of the marketplace, a watchword in San Jose and environs. People have to be "very creative and innovative because the product they made a year ago isn't made anymore," said Peter B. Giles, president of the Santa Clara County Manufacturing Group, a collection of high-technology firms. "People just tend to work better when there's a sense of acceptance and a little risk-taking."

Unions are weak or nonexistent in many Silicon Valley firms. Companies are free to enforce temporary pay cuts in bad times without labor resistance, but also tend to reward people for good work and expand so quickly that workers like Luis Mandry, 28, a maintenance worker at Solectron Co., can often say, "I'll get a promotion pretty soon." Christiansen recently quit one high-paying job because "I was becoming stagnant," and is now confidently looking for another.

Like other businessmen, Phillip R. Boyce, 39, board chairman of Pacific Valley Bank, says, "If you're not successful it's because you're trying very hard not to be."

If the booming job market weakens unions and pushes housing costs into the stratosphere, it also opens new worlds for many people--especially highly educated women. Former mayor Janet Gray Hayes, one of an unusual number of women who have held high office here, sometimes calls San Jose the feminist capital of the world. Outspoken local feminists like Katy Kay and Joyce Sogg of the National Organization for Women shudder at the title. They see problems everywhere, from low-paying jobs to the failure to put into effect proposals for "comparable worth," a complete recasting of city salary structures so that female librarians with the same education as male pollution analysts could receive the same salaries.

"This is a good place in some ways," said Kay, a secretary, "but many people have to work two jobs just to pay the child care costs." Few other parts of the country have even considered comparable worth, but the demand for female workers also creates new strains on family life.

California divorce rates have always been high, but they hit a peak in San Jose. In July, 1981, the latest period for which figures are available, there were 7.1 divorces per 1,000 persons in Santa Clara County and only 5.8 per 1,000 in the state. One local newspaper recently reported there were more divorces than marriages last year, making Santa Clara the only county in the state to record such a figure.

The emotional distress such family ruptures cause produce a surprising corollary to the highly scientific, high technological atmosphere of many San Jose lives: church attendance is climbing, particularly in the more fundamental, nondenominational congregations.

Marvin Rickard, pastor of the Los Gatos Christian Church, has arranged for buses to transport his congregation from outlying parking lots--8,000 or more worshippers descend on his services each Sunday. Chapter IV: THE BOTTOM RUNG

Of every three people on a San Jose sidewalk, one is Hispanic or a member of another minority group: Vietnamese, Japanese, Indian or black. But the faces in high City Hall, school board and county offices are overwhelmingly Anglo. And the jobs, the city services, the new construction and the landscaping are in the areas where minorities are not.

For this, San Jose Hispanics do not blame President Reagan or the Republicans. They blame liberal Democrats. They also blame themselves.

Activist attorney Tony Estremera, a Puerto Rico native and high school dropout who put himself through law school after a Job Corps stint, ran for City Council last year. His district was 48 percent Hispanic, but the council had just redrawn it to include the home of a white liberal Democrat. She outspent him to win by 500 votes out of 12,000 cast. Fewer than 35 percent of eligible Hispanics voted.

It wasn't conservative old boys who redrew the district, Estremera said: "It's the liberal Democrats keeping us out. They're making it legitimate for us to back Republicans, driving us right into Reagan's arms."

The problem, he continued, is not racism, but "the old boys' game. They suspected I wouldn't look at the city the same way they did, and they were right."

School board member Victor Garza, a former field worker and welder, lobbied last year to be appointed to a vacancy on the Santa Clara County Board of Supervisors. Garza is a liberal Democrat, but the board's liberal Democratic majority named a conservative white Republican instead.

Garza, who has a walrus mustache as thick as his accent, was "just too Hispanic," said a veteran political analyst.

"It was prejudice, that's all," Garza said. "They know we're not organized enough to be able to hurt them when they run again."

Hispanics make up 20 percent of this city, but they focus on family and church, they distrust politicians, they rarely vote and even more rarely run. They came here early, after the U.S.-Mexican War and again in the 1930s to pick the tons of peaches, apricots and cucumbers that made this area known as "The Valley of the Heart's Delight."

As a result they are generally better off than their compatriotas in other parts of the country, but 35 percent still live in poverty in one of America's richest areas. Part of eastern San Jose used to be known as the "Sal Si Puedes" district, which means "get out if you can." One who did was United Farm Workers organizer Cesar Chavez.

Then the high-technology laboratories of Silicon Valley paved over the fields for the computer chip. Mainly unskilled and weak in English, the minorities were left out.

The big wooden vats of the old Del Monte pickle factory, a remnant of that earlier age, sit black and silent under a shed that runs half a block along North Ninth Street. Soon it will be a shopping center.

For minorities in prosperous San Jose, jobs are the biggest worry.

"The city has the ability to provide technical jobs that in many respects we don't have the people for. Instead, new people come in," said Blanca Alvarado, the only Hispanic on the City Council.

Budget cuts chopped training programs as well as bilingual aides in the schools, she said, and hit the recreation, parks and housing code enforcement funds that low-income renters need most.

"You can tell you're in east San Jose by looking at the freeway: there's no landscaping, nothing," said community organizer Sofia Mendoza. "The city allowed this town to grow over the last 15 years without making any provision for more services, and it's been a disaster for us."

There is prejudice here. Many Hispanic businessmen still anglicize their names, said Angeles Garza, an official of the Mexican American Chamber of Commerce. "Even after people get trained they don't get hired because of the discrimination," she said.

Instead, companies often hire Vietnamese. Many here work on computer assembly lines, the lowest-tech--and lowest-paid--of the high-tech jobs. Like the Hispanics, they cannot afford to buy houses, but four or five families pooling their incomes often crowd together in a rented home, paying more than the Hispanics can and causing resentment.

"We are really putting our poor under bridges," said Ann Stahr, past president of the League of Women Voters. New industry, she said, "requires a large number of low-paid people, but we can't house people at the pay they are willing to put out."

Like the Hispanics, the Vietnamese tend not to register or vote, and they are similarly frustrated in search of training and English classes. Many yearn to return to Vietnam.

"The extortion rackets and the gang fighting started in the Vietnamese community about two years ago, possibly because of that frustration," said Troc Ba Nguyen, 41, a University of Southern California graduate in public administration who works to help the Vietnamese community get along with the Hispanics and the city power structure.

The gangs meet on weekend nights to watch the "low-riding" at King and Story streets, where Hispanic "car clubs" cruise slowly by in long, early-1970s cars altered so their chassis nearly graze the pavement. Responding to residents' complaints, Police Chief Joseph D. McNamara organized a youth services detail to work with the gangs, reroute traffic and defuse the situation.

They worked partly through the Mosquitos Club, composed of former Hispanic gang members, single-parent teen-agers and other troubled youngsters. Founder Bill Ramos is one of several prominent Hispanics who have declined chances to run for public office.

"Hispanic leadership doesn't exist here because people are either busy doing their own thing or afraid to get out front," he said. "The Anglo world is a different society. You can get to the top of the ladder in the Latino society, but you go in there and you're at the bottom rung again."

McNamara gets general credit for lowering the city's crime rate and tension level since he arrived in 1976. "People in the car clubs rarely commit crimes," although the crowds watching do, McNamara said.

A recent Washington Post poll found that minorities now think police give them equal treatment. Most of those polled, however, also say city officials "care more about serving a few special interests" than about serving all of the people.

Attorney Fernando Chavez, 33, son of Cesar Chavez, is trying as his father did to buck that trend. Now head of the Mexican American Political Association here, he said Hispanics are beginning to look for political role models and learning how to win.

President Reagan's efforts to woo Hispanics by courting their middle class will fail, Chavez said. "His policies are so blatant that they have generated an atmosphere of activism . . . ," he said. "People are angry and they will find their voice." Chapter V: SUN BELT REALISM

Two political facts with national implications emerge in San Jose.

The budget-cutting impulses that have had such a severe effect on basic public services were not an aberration. Even liberal Democrats do not favor going back to the Great Society big government programs of the 1960s. This predominantly Democratic area, served by two of the most respected Democratic members of Congress, Reps. Don Edwards and Norman Y. Mineta, bought Ronald Reagan's views on the need to cut back government and voted for him in 1980.

At the same time, Reagan has lost strength here since he was elected president. Registered voters polled by The Washington Post say they chose Reagan over Jimmy Carter by 46 to 37 percent. They now slightly favor former vice president Walter F. Mondale over Reagan and rate Sen. John Glenn (D-Ohio) and the president at a virtual draw. This adds up to a problem for Reagan.

But in a larger context, the lessons of San Jose extend far beyond the 1984 election and reflect on problems everywhere. The potential for resolving them here is greater because of the kinds of resources and the high quality of leadership available, but San Jose is caught in a series of dilemmas.

The city must strike a balance between economic growth and the quality of life for all of its citizens, between providing good public education to enable the next generation to compete and making do with less public funds.

Some put the stakes even higher. "If you look what's happening in the world, if you look at what's happening to the economy, you could probably say that San Jose is inextricably bound up with the future of Silicon Valley," said Mayor Tom McEnery, "and as Silicon Valley goes, so goes a good portion of the western economy. I mean, the second industrial revolution happened here.

"We've seen the future, and it doesn't work in many ways in this eek them. In fact, thepolitical and business leaders believe they are in the enviable position of worrying not about job market contraction but rather about accommodating all the jobs they foresee coming to this area in the next 10 years.

At the same time, they say they are convinced that Proposition 13 and the anti-government mentality are here to stay. "I think they would approve it again," said former mayor Hayes of Proposition 13.

A Washington Post poll suggested otherwise. A majority said they believe Proposition 13 is working out "unfavorably" for most people, apparently reflecting fear that the prosperous life style they sought and found here may be changing.