The Nation: Attica in the Aftermath

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THE neat lines of American flags being flown in salute to the dead lent a cruelly false holiday air to the streets of Attica, N.Y. All was grimly silent. On Main Street, there was a long line of cars parked in front of the Marley Funeral Home. On the front porch, small knots of people somberly watched the steady stream of mourners pass in and out the front door or stared vacantly at the state police cars cruising the otherwise deserted streets. Seven of Attica's men were dead. All three public schools were closed, yet few young people were to be seen. There were no loiterers at the corner drugstore. Above a sign in a liquor store saying "I'm proud to be an American," hung another: "Sorry, closed today."

Attica mourned its dead amidst undercurrents of anger and fear. The prison—the community's largest employer—had suddenly become not a source of income but of anguish, the focus of events beyond understanding and beyond control. Now police, reporters from large cities and assorted strangers poked around and asked questions, spreading rumors, raising new fears before the old ones had subsided. "We've been told to expect more trouble," explained Warren Peck, the local barber. "We don't want reprisals taken here," said a man near by. "But if they come in from Buffalo and start trouble, I think they'll find there's a very bitter atmosphere that could explode into violence."

Attica (pop. 2,900) is in Wyoming County, in the heart of New York's productive farm belt, lush with acres of sweet corn and rolling green hills. Red barns and tall silver silos sit fat amidst fields of goldenrod and purple wild flowers. Along Route 98, small, white clapboard farmhouses ringed with zinnias and neatly clipped lawns are spaced with the regularity of mileposts. Route 98 cuts from north to south and connects the New York State Thru way with Attica about twelve miles to the south.

Despite the towering presence of the prison, Attica in many ways is the archetypal upstate New York community. Its ambience is one of spare Yankee economy distorted by the proximity of metropolitan Buffalo and the lure of markets (and profits) made available by the Thruway. There are old, elm-shaded Victorian homes hard by one and two story frame houses of no particular distinction; in the commercial district the new Citizens' Bank, done in businesslike red-brick modern, contrasts with the clapboard charm of Timm's Hardware. Attica has a variety of fraternal, youth and religious organizations, in addition to seven churches, all well attended on Sundays. The only movie theater, though, closed its doors a few years ago for lack of business. In normal times the most popular pastime is cheering on the Attica Central High School football team. Says Salesman Jim Hall, president of the local Lions club: "I'd consider Attica a good old U.S.A. town."