Eugene Ain’t What It Used to Be—And That’s Not All Bad

Eugene’s been through some shit. If you’ve lived here a while, you’ve seen it: the slow, steady shifts that crept in like moss on a sidewalk—easy to ignore until you’re slipping. The city’s always been a little weird (in a good way), a little scrappy, a little stoned. But depending on when you showed up or how long your roots go back, your Eugene probably looks different from mine.

Some people still see it as the groovy college town with tie-dye and tofu. Others see it as a city on the edge—of a crisis, of an awakening, or maybe both. So yeah, let’s talk about what’s changed. And what hasn’t. And what’s straight-up broken.

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The ’60s: When Eugene Found Its Voice (and Grew Its Hair Out)

Back in the ‘60s, Eugene was a flashpoint for the counterculture. This town burned with student protest—against war, against injustice, against whatever the establishment was trying to sell that week. The University of Oregon was a protest pipeline. Students marched. People occupied buildings. The energy was electric, idealistic, sometimes naive, but always real.

But let’s not act like it was paradise. If you weren’t white, or straight, or a dude, the “peace and love” stuff had limits. There were entire parts of town where you’d be warned not to go. But still—change was happening. And it was loud. Eugene built its reputation on standing up and speaking out, and that’s something we shouldn’t forget.

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The ‘90s: Grit, Punk, and Trees on Fire

Then came the ‘90s, and with it came rage, music, and Molotov cocktails. Not kidding. The environmental movement exploded here—sometimes literally. The Earth Liberation Front (ELF) made headlines by torching SUV lots and development sites in the name of saving the planet. Whether you agreed or not, you couldn’t ignore it.

Punk bands played in garages, anarchists organized in co-ops, and the Whiteaker bloomed into this raw, chaotic utopia for people who didn’t want to “grow up and sell out.” It was political, it was loud, and it was hella local. Rent was cheap. You could be broke and still make art. You could start something without a startup fund.

It wasn’t easy, but it was real.

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The 2000s: Trying to Grow Up Without Losing the Soul

By the 2000s, Eugene started putting on a cleaner shirt. The city leaned into its “progressive” branding. We got bike lanes, roundabouts, farmers markets, and the kind of kombucha bars that make Portland jealous. But the edge started to soften. Activism got a little more palatable for the grant funders. Street art got regulated. Protests got permits.

Still, we made gains. The Pride Festival got louder. The city started to acknowledge its queer history, even if it was decades late. New nonprofits popped up, trying to fill the cracks our systems left behind. But the truth is, those cracks just kept growing. And now?

Now we’re living in them.

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Healthcare’s Gone. Literally.

In 2023, PeaceHealth shut down the University District hospital in downtown Eugene—the only hospital in the damn city. Gone. Just like that. It had been around for nearly 90 years. They said it was losing too much money, about $2 million a month. So now if you need emergency care, you’ve got to get hauled over to RiverBend in Springfield. Six miles away. That might not sound like much—unless you’re in a crisis, without a car, or unhoused.

That hospital wasn’t just a building. It was part of the city’s heartbeat. And when it closed, it left a gaping hole in our safety net.

There’s talk of a 12-bed satellite ER opening eventually. Cool. But it’s not here now. And “eventually” doesn’t stop someone from dying today.

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Homelessness Is Not Just a Crisis—It’s a Collapse

You don’t need stats to know homelessness in Eugene is out of control—you can see it on every street corner, every park bench, every underpass. But let’s talk numbers anyway:

As of early 2024, there were over 3,085 people experiencing homelessness in Lane County. Of those, more than 2,000 were unsheltered. That’s not just tents—that’s people living in cars, on sidewalks, in alleys, with no access to heat, bathrooms, or safety.

And that’s just the snapshot. The monthly By-Name List tracked 4,295 individuals in January 2024. That’s the real number we’re talking about.

And here’s the gut punch: nearly half of them are chronically homeless. A huge percentage are struggling with mental health conditions. Many are veterans. Many are youth—kids, basically.

Yes, the city added more shelter beds. We’re up to about 1,088 now. But over 2,000 people still don’t have a place to go at night. Do the math. It’s not enough. It’s not even close.

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Even CAHOOTS Is in Trouble

And just to kick us while we’re down, the one program that actually made Eugene famous for doing something right—CAHOOTS—is barely holding on. You’ve probably heard the name. It’s the mobile crisis team that sends medics and crisis workers instead of cops to mental health calls. A model that the rest of the damn country looked at and said, “Yo, we want that.”

But guess what? Funding’s dried up. Coverage has been slashed. There are hours of the day—whole chunks of time—when CAHOOTS can’t even respond. The program that was literally saving lives is being left to die from a thousand budget cuts.

Things have gotten so bad, Cahoots has suspended operation in Eugene, all together.

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Deady Hall Is Just Called “University Hall” Now—And That Matters

There are small signs of change. Like when the University of Oregon finally stopped pretending Matthew Deady was just some “important judge.” Dude was openly racist and pro-slavery. Students and faculty pushed for years to get his name off the campus’s oldest building. In 2020, they finally got it done.

Sure, it’s symbolic. But symbols matter. It’s about who we honor. Who we listen to. Who we believe deserves to shape our stories.

And yeah, I’m glad they changed the name. I just wish we didn’t have to scream about it for so long.

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So Where the Hell Does That Leave Us?

It leaves us in a city with a big heart and a busted infrastructure. A town that prides itself on being progressive, but too often leaves people out in the rain—literally.

We’re still weird. Still beautiful. Still full of people trying to build something better. You can feel it at the market. At community forums. At late-night shows in tiny venues. We’re not gone. We’re just exhausted. And we’re ready for something real.

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Here’s the Bottom Line

If you love Eugene, you fight for it. That doesn’t mean pretending it’s perfect. It means calling it out when it fails, and showing up when it counts. We’ve got a long way to go—and yeah, the rent’s too high and the winter’s too cold—but this town still pulses with possibility.

You just have to dig through the noise. Through the bureaucracy. Through the empty platitudes and the performative politics.

Because underneath all that? There’s still a city worth saving.

And I plan to keep shouting about it until they start listening.

Listen to Patty Rose

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