Headless

From time immemorial--or at least since the first U.S. census was taken in 1790--the head of household has been identified for every house, hovel, plantation, apartment, coop, condominium, igloo and wigwam to which an intrepid census taker could wend his way.

And what could be simpler? The husband and father, the old man, the breadwinner was readily identifiable. With rare exceptions, he was a he who brought home the bacon, the caviar or the grits. His income, his education, the number of his progeny, his occupation were pondered by sociologists, planners, politicians and merchants. No matter how henpecked, he was undeniably the head of household in the Census Bureau statistics.

No more. In recent years, census takers have rung doorbells and had their own bells rung by what they found inside. In 1% of the households, male and female partners are not married. Even when they are, very often both work. Sometimes she earns more than he. So who is the family head? Ask and you sometimes hear "he," sometimes "she," but most often "neither."

The Census Bureau knows when it is whipped. In 1980, head of household will disappear from Census forms.

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