LEADERSHIP: THE VITAL INGREDIENT

Every year, some 20,000 new residents settle around Seattle. Mainly well-educated professionals, they are drawn to the area by good jobs, good schools, and the prospects of the good life -- sailing on Puget Sound, skiing in the high Cascades, hiking in the Olympic ranges. But the cherished countryside is disappearing, being swallowed up by grim housing developments whose sewers overflow with every heavy rain, scarred by highways that are often choked with cars, and blotched by grey industrial "parks." This is one toll of urbanization, and the price is being paid by prosperous cities across the U.S. Unlike most other cities, however, Seattle is doing something about the mess mainly because one man refused to put up with it.

James Reed Ellis, 47, looks like a university professor: compact, neat, with greying hair and blue eyes behind horn rimmed glasses. Ellis is, in fact, a corporate lawyer in the firm of Preston, Thorgrimson, Horowitz, Starin &; Ellis. He is also that rarest of citizens, a practical leader.

For the past 15 years, Ellis has devoted himself, at the expense of his family, his health and his legal career, to the betterment of his home city. "Our job as citizens," he says, "is to set up some viable alternatives for the next generation, not paint these kids into a corner."

Back in the late 1950s, Ellis was one of a handful of Seattleites who decided that the waters of Lake Washington were so polluted that a cleanup was overdue.

They drew up a supergovernmental agency, called Metro, of 94 separate taxing districts around the lake and built big new sewage-treatment plants. "He won't tell you he was responsible," says a friend, "but Jim put Metro together. He didn't worry about the problems involved in creating another level of government. He just felt it had to be done."

40,000 man-hours. Metro succeeded in less time and at less cost than had been expected. "We're probably ten years ahead of any other city in the U.S. in cleaning up our waters," says Ellis. By 1965, he had conceived an other, even more ambitious countywide program of cap ital improvements that would represent the nation's first truly comprehensive effort by private citizens to cope with rapid urbanization. He knew it had to be big to make a difference and had to start soon rather than wait for the glacial processes of governmental action.

"We have a great idea here," Ellis told the area's leading businessmen, "but it's not going to move an inch with out financial backing." The businessmen responded with $100,000 for preliminary studies. In early 1966, a committee named Forward Thrust, consisting of 200 civic leaders -- and all the power of their organizations -- was formed to determine what needed to be done. The committee canvassed Seattle and its surrounding King County, welcoming all suggestions. One woman wrote: "I wish every time I came out of a downtown office building that I could see a little greenery." Replied Ellis: "A very good idea, but too expensive."

After putting in 40,000 man-hours of work, Forward Thrust developed a working program that would cost $5.5 billion to realize--also much too expensive. While part of the committee pared this down to essentials--like a new stadium, storm sewers, a rapid-transit system and parks--other men prepared bills for the state legislature to enable the thrust to move forward. Of 19 proposed bills, 18 passed. Most important were measures to double King County's debt limit and to enable the county to borrow on behalf of its 30 cities. They permitted the county to finance its capital improvements with long-term bonds, which the area's 1,000,000 residents would pay off through modest increases in real estate taxes. All minorities. Something else came of all the careful preparation. The people of King County discovered a new sense of commitment. "From the beginning," says Ellis, "Forward Thrust rejected the idea of compulsion, as implied in a plan imposed from above. Communities can never be compelled to do anything they don't want to do. There has to be some element of civic involvement."

That involvement is achieved, he continues, "through face-to-face give and take. In a fragmented urban society, the need for honest communication is critical. We are all minorities. Some of us like the stadium; others want electric utilities buried out of sight. Only by agreeing on one group of aims can we become a majority."

In Forward Thrust's case, a 51% approval did not pass a bond issue; it took a clear 60% majority. When the voters went to the booths last year to consider twelve separate issues, costing $820 million, they passed seven of them, costing $334 million. Seattle's central area, a Negro slum, supported the entire program and will receive benefits from a $12 million street-improvement bond issue, plus new parks and swimming pools. The most expensive single item to be rejected--a $385 million mass-transit system--will be presented to the voters again next year, when traffic in Seattle thickens even more. It got 51% approval in 1968, stands a good chance of passing.

To get Forward Thrust's program this far, Ellis had to deal with 30 city governments and King County. He readily concedes that it would have been more difficult to act if there had been many more governments to convince of the need for the improvements. Too, the problems in the Seattle area are not as grave as they are in other parts of the country--and there is more land, water, good air and scenery left to save. Yet Forward Thrust's precepts and example can serve many other cities. "We're a pluralistic society," says Ellis. "We certainly ought to be able to find ways of sitting down together and working out these problems." True enough, as long as a city has an Ellis to supply the vital ingredient--leadership.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.