This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, March 14, 2011 - Inside Casey Croy's kitchen, the cheery windows and a mid-century dinette stay true to the home's post-war 1940s period. But outside her front door, it's a new day in the neighborhood.
When her parents bought this compact two-bedroom with the "expandable attic" in south St. Louis in 1952, the families who lived on the street were all white. Most of them were either Catholic or Lutheran, says Croy, 68, who acquired the house after her mother died several years ago.
Today, as Croy looks down her street in the North Hampton neighborhood she still counts white Catholics but also families of African American, Asian American and Hispanic descent.
"My dad is probably spinning in his grave, but change is good," Croy says, smiling.
Croy offered a thoughtful take on the St. Louis of her youth as one of dozens of Beacon readers who responded to a recent query about class. Back in the day -- the 1940s, '50s, and '60s -- the city was "organized" by class, she says. And the St. Louis Question -- Where did you go to high school? -- cut right to the bottom line.
"When people said that they went to either Southwest, Cleveland or Roosevelt high schools, you just knew some basics about them," explained Croy. "Southwest families had a bit more money than those from Cleveland or Roosevelt."
Croy's father was a salesman and her mom sold socks at the old Southtown Famous-Barr, a landmark until it was razed in the early 1990s. But many of the dads in the neighborhood worked for Anheuser-Busch, Union Electric, Laclede Gas or one of the city's dairies. Moms mostly ran the households and school-based groups, says Croy, a retired writer who has a way with words and memories aplenty.
"South side Dads were mainly white-collar guys or cops," Croy recalled in her response to the questionnaire. "The social hub was the corner saloon, which sponsored bowling teams. South siders smoked cigarettes. Rich folk lived in the Central West End, sent their kids to private schools, golfed and played tennis, worked downtown, socialized in private clubs and smoked cigars or pipes. They attended formal balls where they were photographed in finery for newspaper pix. North side Dads were mainly blue-collar and worked in one of the automobile factories, at Emerson or at McDonnell Aircraft. They hunted and fished and built their own (and their kids') hotrods."
Croy is, of course, generalizing -- but isn't that what the St. Louis Question is all about?
'Us' and 'Them'
Croy, who attended elementary school in St. Mary Magdalen parish, says Catholics had their own version of the St. Louis Question: What parish do you belong to?
"Parishes were a denominator of class," she says. '"People who belonged to St. Gabriel were better off than people who went to St. Mary Magdalen. Parishioners who lived east of Kingshighway were good Catholic people on hard times. And St. Raphael -- if you lived in the city and were Catholic in St. Louis Hills -- you had money. You had class."
Croy has fond memories of the old neighborhood of her youth. But she also recalls that racism was passed along by generations of St. Louisans who felt they had paid their own dues and that it was now someone else's turn. She remembers the connotation of the word "they" and how some white residents were obsessed with moving west before "they" moved in.
The North Hampton neighborhood where Croy lives has not seen severe population loss. The neighborhood declined 3 percent in the past 10 years -- to 7,892 in the 2010 census, down from 8,097 in 2000. The neighborhood had 7,763 residents in 1990. The neighborhood is still largely white, though in the 2000 census, 8 percent were black; 4 percent were Asian; and 2 percent were Hispanic.
"I was raised to be racist," Croy says, matter-of-factly. "My father's father and my father had come up in north St. Louis and looked for work and they saw signs 'No Irish Need Apply' and apartments for rent: 'No Irish.' The fact that it was happening to African Americans, well, hell, that was just their turn."
Croy credits a personal experience for opening her eyes to discrimination: She says she couldn't get into journalism school at the University of Missouri in the early 1960s because she was told she lacked the requirements of women journalists of the day: cooking, nutrition, fashion and needlecraft. That bout with unfairness drove her to join the fledgling civil rights demonstrations on campus.
"I realized that we as a country were telling women, 'You can't do these things because of who you are.' And we as a country were telling African Americans, 'You can't do these things because of who you are,' " she says. "I decided if it was wrong for me, it was wrong for them, and I have been a flaming radical ever since."
Croys says people grow up with the values, hopes, fears and hatreds of their class, but that it is possible to grow beyond them. That said, she believes that class continues to have a major impact on education and opportunity.
"Talent and effort count a lot; upper-class parents have valuable resources and connections for their offspring. Lower-class youngsters have to rely solely on talent and effort. And luck," she says.
Croy believes that money defines class and determines where people live and shop.
"It takes more money to live in a gated community than on a public street, in west county than in north city," she says.
These days, Croy describes her economic status as "lower middle class," based on her limited income as a retiree. She says she can afford her small house, pay her bills and occasionally go to dinner with friends.
"I'm happy, but that's not what a lot of people would construe as a worthwhile retirement," she says. "The advertisers tell us that retirement is beachfront property with a golf course and a Mediterranean cruise in February -- and it's not. It's a backyard tomato patch, a rosebush and a couple of dogs."
Croy worries that the working- and middle-class lifestyles she knew in her younger years is in danger and that her grandchildren will have fewer opportunities than she did.
"It really isn't just the upper class, it's the uber class and the rest of us," she says. "CEOs used to make 10 or 11 times the average pay of people who work for them; now it's like 300 times. The rich really are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. And the middle class is disappearing. We're all sinking down the economic ladder."
Croy says the nation's elite could take a lesson from her childhood -- that her working-class family and neighbors were willing to help one another. She recalls an uncle who wouldn't loan anyone his tools because he believed that if they didn't own tools, they didn't know how to use them. Instead, he would bring his tools and help perform the repair.
"You might not have everything, but you have enough to share," Croy says.
Where Are You From?
Stephanie DeChambeau, 39, and her husband are "newcomers" to St. Louis who moved to the city in 2000 so he could attend Covenant Seminary. She's originally from a small farming community in Michigan and he is from Seattle so the St. Louis Question doesn't apply.
The couple met and married in Nashville, Tenn., where a different question was the standard, she says.
"Because the music industry pulls people from all over the place to Nashville the question there is 'Where are you from?' The assumption is that you're not from Nashville," she says.
DeChambeau says the St. Louis high school question is clearly about class.
"I will instantly know a whole lot about you if I just know where you went to high school," she said. "I'll know the general socio-economic level of your family."
In her response to the Beacon's questionnaire about whether class distinctions matter today, DeChambeau said a lot depends on how "matter" is defined.
"I don't think there are many people who would, for example, prevent or look down upon an upper-class person marrying a person from a lower economic class the way they did 100 to 200 years ago," she wrote. "But there are natural consequences of the class you're in, such as the opportunities you may have (or not) to attend a better school, live in a nicer/less crime-ridden neighborhood, travel, etc. These things then impact the friendships and connections you make, which then impact career/business opportunities, higher education opportunities, marriage prospects, etc."
DeChambeau believes it is easier for middle- and upper-class Americans to broaden their horizons.
"If your dad is a CEO or an executive at a business, your family will naturally have friends and colleagues in those circles. By default, that's going to be your base group and you will have to actively seek out other relationships," she said. "For somebody at the bottom of the spectrum, it's a lot harder to make those relationships that will translate into entree into the upper echelons of society or the workplace."
DeChambeau believes class is a greater predictor of economic success than race, but adds, "I'm saying that as a white middle-class person."
"You can rise above the class you were born into, but it's a combination of being very proactive and having a little bit of luck and good fortune," she said. "You have to overcome the fact that you are not born into the society of the community leaders. And there's plain old prejudice that unfortunately is still around. It's going to determine how well educated you are and that has a huge impact on your career and your future."
DeChambeau said the illusion of the middle class is the belief that everyone can be a part of it.
While she believes that people can move up economically through hard work and determination, she points out that social mobility is easier in good times. During an economic downturn, class can play a bigger role in finding good jobs because of the importance of connections -- who you know.
"Hard times just accentuate the pitfalls that are already there," she said.
DeChambeau says she and her husband have always insisted on living within their means. She questions bailouts for people who are frivolous with their money.
"When we were still in the midst of the boom economy, my husband and I would have these conversations -- that this is not sustainable. What's happening in our economy is insanity," she said.
DeChambeau wrote that she has "been blessed with many opportunities that those in lower economic classes don't have, such as graduating from a respected liberal-arts college, having a decent-paying job, being able to pay our bills each month (unless something major and unexpected arises), never being hungry, having a decent functioning car, etc."
But she recalls hearing stories about people who got subprime loans to buy houses they couldn't afford.
"There's nothing that makes sense about that, either on the consumer side or on the lender side," she said.
DeChambeau said the emphasis on corporate profits has seemed out of kilter -- stock prices go down not because the company didn't make a profit but because it didn't make a big enough profit.
"So they would lay off workers while still paying out bazillions of dollars to the CEOs or even paying that to the CEOs who ran them into the ground," she said.
DeChambeau is also concerned about the economy's dependence on consumer spending.
"We're really caught in a no-win situation because our economy is dependent on us spending money, money, money," she said. "The whole thing about trying to stimulate the economy is all about trying to get people to spend when, over the last 20 years, people have been lamenting that Americans aren't saving any money and are in debt over their heads and they're not saving for retirement. Cost of living continues to go up, health-care costs are just ridiculous."
DeChambeau, a nonprofit fundraiser, said she and her husband have chosen to live in St. Louis and send their daughter to a magnet school because they want her to grow up in a diverse environment.
"I'll be interested to see how class plays out for my 7-year-old daughter as she grows up," DeChambeau wrote. "When I was an adolescent, it was clear who had money and who didn't, based on the clothes they wore to school and what part of town they lived in. Those kids tended to flock together. City schools have uniforms and, unless you live in Ladue, it's hard to peg someone's economic class based on where they live."
DeChambeau said that she accepts that she will always be middle class -- and she is OK with that because it is based to a large extent on personal decisions that she has made. She and her husband are comfortable with their shared Christian faith and modest backgrounds.
"I see some people who are doing everything they can to see and be seen and to climb the ladder. That's not my choice," she said.
St. Louis then and Now
For a sense of how the city has changed demographically since Casey Croy was a teenager, here is U.S. Census Bureau data from 1960:
1960: The city had 750,026 residents: 534,004 "white"; 214,377 "Negro"; 448 "Chinese"; 211 "Filipino"; 466 "Indian"; 275 "Japanese"; 245 "other"; 105,755 "of foreign stock."
2010: The city has declined by more than half -- to 319,294. Demographic reporting has changed. Now the breakdown is:
311,732 city residents classified themselves as being of one race: 140,267 said they were "white alone"; 157,160 said they were "black or African-American"; and 9,291 said "Asian alone.''
