Warday

-	1993	1992	1991
AGREE	31%	27%	29%
DISAGREE	62	66	63
NO OPINION	7	7	8

Again, there were substantial differences between East and West:

-	East/War Zones	West
AGREE	23%	51%
DISAGREE	71	47
NO OPINION	6	2

When asked what more the Western region could do to assist in recovery, or in what different ways it could do so, the responses were as follows:

-	East/War Zones	West
DO THE SAME	13%	41%
DO LESS	2	22
PROVIDE GREATER CAPITAL ASSISTANCE	31	13
PROVIDE WORK TEAMS	12	10
ACCELERATE/INCREASE SUPPLIES AND MATERIEL	42	14

Are America’s allies doing all they can to assist this nation to recover?

-	1993	1992
AGREE	39%	34%
DISAGREE	57	61
NO OPINION	4	5

As in 1992, there were significant regional differences in response to this question:

-	East/War Zone	West
AGREE	17%	39%
DISAGREE	79	57
NO OPINION	4	4

Does the continued use of the U.S. Armed Forces to control the War Zones (approximately .7 million servicemen) pose a long-term threat to the return of constitutional authority to state and local governments in these areas?

-	1993	1992	1991
AGREE	23%	21%	26%
DISAGREE	68	69	67
NO OPINION	9	10	7

Significant differences again appeared between regions:

-	East/War Zones	West
AGREE	22%	35%
DISAGREE	71	55
NO OPINION	7	10

Should the center of the national government once again be reestablished on the East Coast, that is, moved from Los Angeles?

-	1993	1992
AGREE	38%	39%
DISAGREE	45	42
NO OPINION	17	19

Do you support the recent demands made by some groups for dividing the United States into two permanent regions, e.g., West and East?

-	1993	1992
AGREE	47%	47%
DISAGREE	50	48
NO OPINION	3	5

Los Angeles

It is the greatest city in the United States. In size, San Francisco isn’t even close.

Jim and I found it nostalgically complex, a vast mechanical toy full of buses and clanging trolleys and more cars than either of us have seen in one place in years.

It looks like fun, and the tension in the air reminds me a little of New York.

As much as there are things that are here from the past, there is something from the present that is missing. It is the sense of having suffered—the subtle tension that hangs between friends and strangers alike, everywhere else we have been so far. California didn’t suffer too much from the famine, and few people here were weak enough to be killed by the Cincinnati Flu. Radiation sickness is almost unknown, except among refugees.

On our first night in the bright streets of Los Angeles, I found myself returning to my old metropolitan habits, moving with quick anonymity and never meeting anybody else’s eyes.

There is a much stronger Japanese influence than ever before.

The streets are packed not only with Japanese businessmen but also with clerks and factory workers and children with American nannies. And there are cars: new Nissans that whistle when they accelerate and get 130 miles to a gallon of gas, sporty Toyota Z-90s, Isuzus and Mitsubishis and the occasional Mercedes-Benz.

There are also a few Fords, big and beautifully made at the new plant in Fullerton, and a great improvement over the notorious Consensus with the plastic windows. Despite its size, the new Thunderbird gets sixty miles per gallon. It also has a sensor that sounds an alarm if any radioactive particles should be taken into the air-conditioning system.

More, though, than its prosperity, L.A. has the feeling of prewar America, the cheer, the confidence, the cheek that one associates with former days.

I indulged myself shamelessly. In Little Tokyo there are dozens of open-air fruit and vegetable stands where melons and tomatoes and lettuce and carrots and squash and dozens of other things are stacked in abundance. Little Tokyo, by the way, now extends all the way to Sixth Street. It must be four times its prewar size. In Little Tokyo I bought an enormous vine-ripened tomato for two cents and ate it like an apple. I have not eaten such a thing in years. It was rich beyond belief, dense with a flavor that swept through my nostrils, heavy with juice. If I could design hydroponics that would grow tomatoes that flavorful, I’d get rich.