by Jay Walljasper

It all came down to Cleveland. After 18 months of heated combat, countless millions of dollars, and 24-hour-a-day media attention, the presidential election was decided in this town on the shores of Lake Erie.

And I sincerely hope that when it was all over--after the last ballot, cast by someone standing in line for five hours, had been counted--the packs of reporters and camera crews who descended on the place took a good look around. Because Cleveland is a surprising, interesting city that shows us a lot about what's gone wrong in urban America and offers some glimpses of what we can do to make things better.

Wandering around town for a few days, I was surprised how much there was to love about Cleveland.

When the vice-presidential debate was held here in October, journalists and candidates both somberly noted that it was America's poorest city. The town that launched the Rockefellers on the road to fortune, and where rock 'n' roll was first embraced as the soundtrack of teenage America, is now widely dismissed as "the mistake by the lake" -- a dull, decaying industrial burg that no one would visit without a very good reason.

So why was I there a few months back? To give a talk at the city's majestic Trinity Episcopal Cathedral on "How to Fall Back in Love with Our Cities." And wandering around town for a few days, I was surprised how much there was to love about Cleveland. The downtown and residential districts were full of handsome old buildings. Inner-ring suburbs exuded turn-of-the-20th-century charm. Trees line the streets, even in the poorest areas.

I saw handsome, affordable townhouses rise on what were once notorious housing projects. I soaked up the energy of Wade Oval, a town common of sorts on the East Side that was brought back to public life with help from PPS. I relaxed in sidewalk cafes, visited a bustling public market, rode efficient trains, heard a locally-based music legend play the blues at a downtown club, and generally sampled urban experiences you would associate with any great city.

Yet in spite of these assets, Cleveland faces big problems. New jobs are scarce, racial divisions persist, the public schools are in sorry shape. It is also one of the few cities that is actually losing population. Cleveland was once America's fifth largest city but now ranks 33rd -- right behind Las Vegas, Nevada.

Las Vegas, by contrast, is America's fastest growing city. As an entertainment Utopia designed to let tourists escape the cares of everyday life, Las Vegas is exciting. But so many of its attractions try to confuse you into believing you are somewhere else, like New York or Italy. Cleveland, on the other hand, is a place that doesn't pretend to be something else. It has vital street life all its own, including a colorful Little Italy district complete with old guys standing on the corner telling stories, which actually feels like Naples or Rome. Meanwhile, Bellagio, the Las Vegas hotel that spent tens of millions of dollars conjuring an Italian seaside town out of the Nevada desert, is ultimately fake. As a lover of cities, I find it hard to accept that Las Vegas stands as an urban success story while Cleveland is widely considered a lost cause.

Even some Clevelanders seem to have given up on the place. When asking one well-connected local authority where he saw hope for the city, he answered, "sea monsters." Seeing my puzzled look, he explained how rumors of a Loch Ness-style monster in Lake Erie could revive the local economy with tourism. It was a joke, of course, but he volunteered no further sources of hope.

Glitzy Las Vegas will always attract throngs of thrill-seeking newcomers, but I believe Cleveland can thrive in a different way.

Cleveland seemed finally to outlive its bad image a few years back when it was hailed as America's comeback city--based largely on the success of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Jacobs Field ballpark, and the Flats, a stretch of trendy bars along the once-flammable Cuyahoga River. But the comeback didn't stick. The Flats appear to have washed out as an entertainment zone. As nice as Jacobs Field is, it only brings life downtown on summer nights. And the Rock and Roll Hall is an island apart from the city, rising between the lake and a waterfront freeway. Tourists can pop in to see Jimi Hendrix's guitar without setting foot anywhere else in Cleveland.

Glitzy Las Vegas will always attract throngs of thrill-seeking newcomers, but I believe Cleveland can thrive in a different way: by inspiring its own residents to pitch in to revitalize neighborhoods, boost small businesses, and create great places that make local folks proud once again. I met an interesting array of Clevelanders who were doing just that--revitalizing the Slavic Village neighborhood, creating a new school for ghetto kids based on the principles of citizenship; establishing a network of local entrepreneurs committed to environmental principles; opening new shops and an inviting public garden at Trinity Cathedral in a part of town that hadn't seen any significant commercial development for thirty years; launching a jam-packed web magazine covering all that's happening in arts and culture (see coolcleveland.com).

That's why I hope the national media took some notes on what was happening around town before clearing out after John Kerry's concession speech. I'm rooting for Cleveland. It's a gutsy, real place that can show the world the only mistake would be to give up on this city by the lake.