Recently, Eugene, Oregon may have used up its allotted 10 minutes of fame when it became a prime candidate for "Anarchist Capitol of the World".

This nomination, made by a media bored comatose with a presidential contest that rivals choosing 'Miss America' as a meaningless voting exercise, was based on local demonstrations of civil disobedience by hooded protestors, some of whom seriously propose regression to pre-history as a cure of modern society's inequities.

While to the rest of the world, whose familiarity with the state consists primarily of mispronouncing it 'Ore-GONE', Eugene may seem an unlikely arena for contention, those of us who live here are not surprised. This is a community overflowing with activists organized in varying degrees of ardent support for or against everything from the positioning of new traffic lights to disrespect for microscopic plant life. Our state motto is "Form a Committee!".

Consider our reactions every time the subject of a topographical elevation of anything over 3 feet arises ... Confronted by mountain or molehill, with almost psychotic determination half the population will insist something be put on it, while the other half will ferociously present scores of reasons why such an idea is unacceptable. The Case of the Bare Butte was a recent example.

Skinner's Butte, which would barely qualify as a hill in San Francisco, rises slightly over downtown Eugene, providing a nice view for those who remember to ascend it. It was crowned for years by an enormous cross before it occurred to a group, usually occupied with more urgent battles such as saving the spotted owl or recovering from having elected Bob Packwood, that such a blatantly religious symbol might be considered a violation of the separation of church and state.

The usual round of forums, editorials, letters to the editor, and protests immediately ensued. The legendary Hatfields & McCoys argued less than the local Pro-Cross/Con-Cross factions, and arbitration is rarely forthcoming from our City Council, which at one time was forced to hire communications experts to teach them how to play well with each other. 

The cross's fate was finally resolved when a local Christian college agreed to put it up on their grounds where it avoids any implications of publicly sanctioned religion.

Naturally, since salvaging of the Constitution left Skinner's Butte bare, that segment of the community suffering from aversion to unadorned higher elevations was roused. Spotting an opening he had apparently been awaiting for years, a zealously patriotic local philanthropist proposed flying a U.S. flag of battleship proportions from a pole which would add considerably to the Butte's modest height. Naturally, this plan was greeted with renewed outrage.

Battle lines were drawn, committees were created, rallies ensued. Ultimately, petitions were signed to place an initiative, Eugene's answer to executive, legislative, and sometimes even judicial branches of government, on the ballot. The flag eventually won.

This victory was followed by a begrudging truce which was broken one morning when the Butte's stars and stripes were discovered replaced by what the local  media described as an 'activist' flag.

No activist claimed, or even recognized this banner, which was distinguished primarily by its vomit-yellow hue, although admiration was expressed for the agility of the perpetrator who had managed to climb a 90' pole, apparently without aid of a ladder, to install it. With no evidence to support a theory against their usual suspects of choice, the police uncharacteristically refused to investigate the crime, a back-up flag was run up the pole, and peace descended once again on the Butte.