| NIMBY'ism IN EUGENE, PART FOUR |
| For the remainder of June the debate raged on downtown as to what should be done with "those homeless campers" in the industrial zones. There were more meetings in City Hall, which were attended by different combinations of the campers at different times, who all put their two cents in one way or the other. We knew from experience what could happen if we didn't speak our minds to the city government. The temporary relaxation of the camping ban had been but a small step forward, and we knew it could be followed by several backward steps if we weren't careful now. There was clearly a NIMBY backlash going on in which too many business owners were determined to drive us out of the industrial areas, and preferably out of town altogether. They were continuing to typecast us as irresponsible lowlifes who were sponging off the system, no matter what we said. They kept saying how afraid they were of us, seeming to have no conception of the endless fear we lived in because of their attitudes. Actually John and I would have been quite happy to "get out of Eugene" if we could afford some place in the country where we could live legally. But in lieu of this, John was fond of making frequent retreats to the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) areas southwest of town. There was also a time limit on how long people could camp there, but it wasn't too heavily enforced. The area was only patrolled regularly by one sheriff, and close tabs were not kept on how long campers remained in one place or how frequently they returned. As long as they were mobile and didn't trash the campsite or otherwise call undue attention to themselves, there was generally no trouble. After John had given his presentation at that meeting, there were no further obligations keeping either of us in town for a while, and he was itching to go to the woods and get away from all the city madness. I was also quite happy to take a break from it myself, so I hastily packed a few essential items into his Toyota Chinook motorhome as we prepared to take off for at least a couple of days. My camper would sit in the cul-de-sac where our neighbors had agreed to keep an eye on it while were were gone. The little Chinook was nimble enough that it could negotiate the rough, gravelly roads in that wooded area with relative ease. We pulled into a campsite and began to unload, then built a fire. It was glorious being here. I could appreciate what John had said about being able to hear the birds singing from a mile away. This wouldn't be such a bad place to make a new temporary home. So when he started talking about bringing my camper up here also, it sounded like a fine idea: to have all the comforts of "home" that it provided in this quiet wooded setting. After a day or two we decided to check back in town, just to see how things were going at the other camp. We knew something was up when we saw a police car in the third cul-de-sac. This cop, they said, had already visited the other two cul-de-sacs and had told everybody they would have to move in 24 hours or be cited. When the cop turned around and parked on W. 7th to make some notes, John and I decided to go talk to him. John asked if the rumor was true that everyone had to leave in 24 hours. The cop said no, but that he was going into his two-days-off period, during which he would study the anti-camping ordinance, because he didn't know the specifics of how far people should move and such. John asked if he would also look at the U.S. Constitution, to which he replied, "I don't give a damn about the Constitution. My job is to enforce the city ordinance." I pointed out ot him that if the ordinance doesn't agree with the Constitution, then, it's an unconstitutional law. He said he understood that, but it was still his job to enforce the city ordinance. When we reported this conversation to the other campers, they were rather shocked at the part about the Constitution. It certainly did not bode well that a cop would say such a thing. And something about that little exchange had pushed John's stress buttons to the max. He recalled the statement about "dead bodies in the street" made by the businessman who seemed to think he was above the law, and thought it was quite conceivable that some of those business people might turn vigilante and pull a midnight hit at the camp. When he voiced this thought to the others,they were doubtful at first, saying, "Come you don't think they would really..." But the more he fleshed out his mental picture, the more alarmed they became. After all, we were relatively isolated and unprotected out here, with little activity going on at night, and it seemed that these cops who "didn't give a damn about the Constitution" were much more interested in harassing us than in protecting us from crime. With the help of a little bribe they could be persuaded to look the other way, or arrange to be in some other part of town at the time of the hit. Now John was fully ready to put into action our next plan of taking both of our campers out to the woods, so that at least we would be out of harm's way should the worst come to pass. He would first drive my camper up there, then bicycle back to town and get his (a distance of some 20 miles or so). I thought that now was as good a time as any to begin this next phase of our shared life, to nurture our new love away from all the city insanity. My camper didn't have working taillights, nor did I have any insurance. But the truck was in good enough working order to make the trek out to the woods, after which it wouldn't have to be driven any great distances for a while.. And in the present circumstances, the risk of keeping it here seemed greater than that of driving it out of town. After all, that was what the NIMBY's were trying to get all of us to do. So once I had made my camper ready, the neighbors made their farewells and we were off on our new adventure. During the time that we absented ourselves, the wave of NIMBY hysteria continued to be felt; the pendulum of public sentiment would swing yet further to the right before swinging back the other way. There were newspaper accounts in which the isolated unruly acts of a few drug-crazed campers were reported in a way that implicated all of us, including the actual murder of one homeless man by another (not in our camp, and not anyone we know.) and there was one violent fight in the second cul-de-sac, incited by outsiders who were widely suspected of being plants. So John's premonitions had been partially correct, but no across-the-board massacre ever took place. There were also more meetings at City Hall which he wanted no part of, feeling that he had done his share and the other campers could have their turn to speak their minds--which they did. The industrial zone camping provision was extended for another three months, during which the City Council would have to come up with some "final solution". But for now it was better for our own mental health to keep a distance from all of this, tending to our personal lives, practicing at domestic cohabitation against this wooded backdrop until we could find a more permanent home in the country. We still made daily runs which included water fetching, food shopping and letter mailing, but chose to do these in the nearby towns of Crow and Veneta unless we had other business that necessitated driving into Eugene. In the Crow Country Store was a table that always had the current issue of the Eugene Register-Guard on it, for customers to read at their leisure while sipping coffee, and this was how we were kept posted on the camping situation whether we checked back in town or not. It was different reading about our friends in Eugene from this comfortable vantage point, as if we were laid-back country folk who rarely set foot in the "big city". There were no homeless campers on the few streets of Crow; every square foot of land in that tiny town was privately owned. So this was a whole world apart, and the change was undeniably refreshing. (click here for next page) |