It's hard to put a price on some land deals.

Byline: GUEST VIEWPOINT By Steve McQuiddy For The Register-Guard

Much talk recently has centered around Eugene land use issues: the Willamette riverfront properties, the Santa Clara "land swap" decision, logging in the McKenzie River watershed and building houses off Dillard Road.

The dominant questions nearly always seem to be economic: how resources can be exploited, how land can be developed, how to make it pay.

These are relevant questions. But we might also consider asking who exactly will be paid, in what form will that payment be and how long might the benefits be sustained.

We have an example from Eugene's history showing that "payment" need not be exclusively money, and that today's sacrifice can indeed become tomorrow's dividend. What makes this tale particularly poignant is that it took place during the darkest economic time in U.S. history: the Great Depression.

It was 1937. Times had been tough, really tough, for almost a decade. Jobs were scarce, banks were shut down, money often was replaced by barter.

That year, a piece of land came up for sale. It was a nice piece of land: 240 acres with a grand view, lots of trees and natural springs that were the sources for three different streams. The owner had an offer from a private party who wanted to log off the trees and set up a giant pasture for goats.

Then a group of Eugene business people - headed by former mayor F.M. Wilkins, who by then was 90 years old - proposed that the city buy the land and turn it into a park. But this was the Depression, and even a former mayor couldn't find a bank to lend the money.

So they launched a campaign to raise public donations for a down payment of $1,000 on a $7,000 total. A committee headed by the young dean of the University of Oregon Law School, Wayne Morse, joined with the city's two newspapers, The Register-Guard and the Daily News, to raise awareness and solicit contributions no greater than $5, so that everyone who wanted to could "buy a piece" of the land.

The papers ran articles on the land's history, geology, plant and animal life, and potential for recreation. They kept a daily tally of the contributions, some coming in the amount of 1 cent.

The landowners' representative dropped the asking price to $500 less than the goat owner's offer, calling it his contribution to the campaign. On the final day, with the funds just $100 short of the goal, an anonymous "elderly gentleman" posted a bond to guarantee the fund. In less than a week, the full amount was raised and a contract signed.

The city still needed $6,000 to complete the purchase. City officials put a measure on the May 1938 primary election ballot, asking Eugene residents to approve a tax to pay for the park.

A second publicity campaign called on the area's citizens to consider the long-term benefits over any short-term consequences. The Eugene Daily News printed a letter from former Mayor Wilkins on its front page.

The choice was clear, Wilkins said: "A logged-off and ruined old landmark" or "a park for our people, generation after generation."

The measure passed with more than 60 percent of the vote. In the depths of the Great Depression, a city of 20,000 residents voted to tax themselves for the benefit of future generations.

That piece of land is today one of the crown jewels of Eugene's park system, rising up south of town like the landmark it is: Spencer Butte.

So next time you leave a store and walk out to a parking lot somewhere in Eugene, having done your bit for economic growth, stop a second before you get in your car and look south at that tree-covered hill. Then close your eyes and imagine it completely bare.

You can almost hear the bleating of the goats.

Steve McQuiddy teaches academic learning skills at Lane Community College. He writes about Oregon history and other subjects for a variety of publications.