By DON GRAYDON
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

Index is small -- its population of 141 is the smallest of any incorporated city in Western Washington. But it still has too many people to qualify as the smallest in the state. Index ranks only fifth. In first place is the Grant County mini-city of Krupp (also known as Marlin), population 53.

To hear the townspeople tell it, though, the 141 residents are enough to encompass a universe of lifestyles and opinions.

"I've never seen such a diverse community," says Louise Lindgren.

"Yes," echoes her husband, David Cameron. "Except for blacks."

"That's right," Lindgren says, "although we did have a black family in the '70s."

"It's a very cliquey town," says Karen Sample, who publishes the down-home Index Eagle. Her husband, Pat, runs his Paradise Sound Recording studio next to their home on the forested slopes behind town.

Karen Sample, 37, juggles her work on the monthly paper with teaching music at the three-room Index School and caring for her 6-year-old daughter, Erin, who has cerebral palsy.

In Index, Sample says, "You've got your very straight young people, your older residents, your alcoholics, your dope-smoking group, your gay clique, your rafting clique, your South Fork clique."

But a sense of community conquers all: "Everyone pulls together for times of great celebration and times of great emergency."

Some people claim to see a darker side to their community. "There are about 12 people here who rule this town," one resident says, "and if they don't like you, they'll get you."

Dan McLaughlin says Index is "kind of a mecca for people in transition. I see these people crossing the bridge (into town) with an aimless look in their eye."

On the whole, folks here view their town as a live-and-let-live kind of place. The late-April vandalism at the Wiccan church south of town is seen as an aberration rather than the norm.

Pastor Pete Davis blames desecration of the outdoor sanctuary on people who ignorantly view Wicca as a devil-worshiping faith rather than what it is: a pre-Christian, nature-based religion that preaches respect for all life.

People prefer to cite the town's acceptance of the gay clientele of Triangle Campground, which operated on leased state land just north of town until a couple of years ago.

A former campground habitue, a portly professional in his mid-50s, remembers it as a "glitzy" place with lots of rainbow flags, Japanese lanterns and Sheik of Araby tents. Gas-operated generators powered VCRs and TVs, and nude sunbathing was the norm.

He says the gay men from the camp always felt welcome in town.

"The myth of the redneck? We didn't find it."

Postmaster Cheri Fleming, at her wee office just beyond the dairy case in the general store, says she misses the earthy humor of the guys from the camp. The store misses their business.

Continued:

• Small town 'on brink of change'
• Small populace has no shortage of activists
• Mother Nature is the real power here
• Progress may bring end to isolated splendor