The state of relative tranquility which the campers were enjoying in the spring of 1998 was about to come to an abrupt end.
Along about May Day our camp was visited by TV reporters, as it had become visible enough by then to draw attention. As is often the case, the positive attention was closely followd by the negative: our next visit was from the Eugene Police. I came back from my daily errands on May 4th to find everyone's tires adorned with yellow grease chalk. One of the business owners had complained that "those campers" were feeling too much at home here, and two of Eugene's nastiest cops had been sent out to frighten us into dispersing.
The campers were divided on how to respond. Some were saying it was all bluff and insisted on holding their ground and refusing to move. Others were not able to move. The mobile ones who drove their rigs around every day had no problem re-parking in a slightly different location and still remaining part of the community. I chose my usual tack of asking one of the licensed drivers to move my truck just far enough so the cops could see I'd moved, after which I would resume my normal daily business.
I had it parked around the corner on West Seventh and about half a block down, where I stayed for a couple of weeks. During this time there was no return visit from the cops, but my truck did fall victim to a couple acts of vandalism on two successive weekends. The first time the left rear-view mirror was smashed, the second time the driver's seat window.
Some of the campers had seen some kids running around with a baseball bat, and mine was not the only vehicle that had been targeted. These may have been deliberate hate-crimes against the homeless, or just random acts by a few angry drunken teenagers on a rampage. In any case I was getting uneasy about remaining out there where my camper was more exposed, and thought it was time to retreat back to the relative safety of the cul-de-sac. So I moved back, and some of the campers who had never budged from their spaces all that time seemed glad and welcomed me "home".
Before long there was another concern on all of our minds: the industrial zone camping provision had a sunset clause and was subject to review at the end of June. The camp was abuzz with speculation as to whether we would get an extension or be recriminalized.
There was a meeting coming up in town on June 3rd, of the City Council's Committee of Homelessness and Youth which was working on this, and public input was invited. If none of us were there to speak in our own behalf, we could be sure that plenty of the NIMBY business owners would be, like the one who had brought about the unpleasant events on May 4th. We decided to call a camp meeting to see how many of us were willing to go to bat on this.
Now my new partner John found himself elected a temporary leader as he attempted to moderate the meeting, which consisted of a handful of us standing around in the middle of the second cul-de-sac. It was decided that we should deliver a written statement on behalf of the campers to the council committee. And I, being the most literary of the bunch, was elected to do the writing, although it ended up being a collaboration between me and John.
Besides wanting the camping provision extended, we
made three additional points:
1) about the need for more portable toilets as the
one we had was overflowing,
2) about the need for a trash dumpster,
3) about the need to get rid of the 24-hour clause
as many of us couldn't move every day.
Once we were satisfied with the handwritten draft, I read the epistle aloud to the assembled campers. Then I made a typewritten copy, which John and I took around to all the camping rigs for people to sign. We got 20 signatures altogether, which represented about half the total number of campers.
I was the one who read the statement in City Hall of June 3rd before hand-delivering it to the committee, and John also spoke a spontaneous piece of his own. The concerns we both raised were entered into the record, but the ever-present NIMBY faction remained strong as well. Too many of the business owners and empoyees were either afraid of us or simply didn't like us being in their faces, and were flat-out opposed to extending the provision.
One such person was so bold as to say, "I'm going to arm my employees and there's going to be dead bodies in the street if something isn't done!" John turned around to face him and said "Whose dead body are you talking about, Sir?!"