AMERICAN SCENE: Barrow, Alaska: Cold Frontier

(2 of 2)

Another problem is unemployment, which stands at more than 50%. The population has doubled since the end of World War II, but jobs have not kept pace. Some people have moved away, but the close-knit community life in Barrow ties its residents to the city. The Prudhoe Bay oil strike, 200 miles to the east, has so far meant only about two dozen jobs in Barrow. The Government remains the biggest local employer; there is a branch of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, for example, and a Naval Arctic Research Lab just outside town.

The amenities that most Americans take for granted are hard to come by. Pipelines for natural gas, used to heat homes in Barrow, must run above ground, because the earth is permanently frozen from a few inches below the surface to a depth of 1,300 ft. Gas lines snake through the settlement resting on half-sections of 55-gal. oil drums; at intersections, the pipe is framed in wood and runs overhead on gateways that look like crude Japanese torii. The impenetrable ground also makes sanitation a problem. Although the U.S. Public Health Service has promised to help with sewers and a water system some time in the future, Barrow residents usually dump solid wastes —encased in the ubiquitous 55-gal. drums—near the Naval Lab. In the summer, however, the stench of open "honeybuckets" is almost unbearable.

Barrow's Eskimos worry about the influence of cultural and social change. "Our way of living, our mode of dress, our language are going," says Mrs. Neakok. "You hardly see anyone in furs any more; now they have fancy corduroy parkas." There are still a few in Barrow who carve the ivory tusks of walrus into artful figures, but that also is going, and the settlement's 400 snowmobiles have entirely replaced the dog sled. About the only thing that has survived from the old days is the hunt. The men still hunt whales from fragile little boats made from animal skins. They also stalk walrus, seal, polar bear and caribou. But now they use high-powered rifles to bring down their prey.

Barrow's postmaster, Lester Suvlu, 34, says wryly: "Our problems are just about like those in any other community—booze, delinquency and finances." The young are Barrow's main concern. Some teen-agers have resorted to petty thievery from shops and homes, and others once tried to form a teen-age gang. More than half the population is under 16, yet Barrow has no high school. The youngsters must go off to schools elsewhere in Alaska or even in the "Lower 48." They come back only to find nothing to do. One hope is that the U.S. Navy oil reserve surrounding Barrow may some day be opened for private exploitation, thus creating new jobs. Also, Barrow should profit from the $962.5 million Alaska native land claims settlement passed by Congress two weeks ago. "There is no reason why our people should have less of an opportunity for the good life than anyone else," says Jack Chenoweth, 27, a Harvard Law School graduate from New Jersey who became Barrow city manager after serving a stint as a VISTA volunteer. "It can be done, but it will cost money. Maybe somebody needs to help us."