Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Cottage Grove sentinel. (Cottage Grove, Or.) 1909-current | View Entire Issue (Oct. 24, 2018)
COTTAGE GROVE SENTINEL OCTOBER 24, 2018 11A Off beat Oregon: Stubbornness led to Oregon’s ‘Bottle Bill’ By Finn JD John For The Sentinel L ongtime Oregonians may remember a time, in the mid-1970s, when the “Welcome to Oregon” signs at the state’s southern border were superfl uous. One could tell the diff erence be- tween Oregon and California by the amount of litter on the side of the road. Th e diff erence had mostly vanished by the mid-1980s; by then California litter lev- els had dropped to match. But during the time it existed, the phenomenon was — ac- cording to those old enough to remember it — stark and startling. Social scientists never stud- ied this, of course. But its most likely explanation will be found in Richard Th aler and Cass Sunstein’s book, “Nudge.” In it, Heath points out that when an authority wants to encourage diff erent behavior, it can change the “choice ar- chitecture” so that although people still have just as many choices as before, the “right” choice is easier to make, or more obviously better, or fi ts in with established habits. Th eir example is making organ donation an “opt-out” rather than an “opt-in” choice when people apply for drivers’ licenses. It’s still your choice; but if you don’t much care one way or the other, you’re a do- nor rather than a non-donor. Most likely, Oregonians in 1978 littered less than Califor- nians because they had been NEW EXPANDED HOURS Mon- Th urs 11- 9 • Fri - Sat 11 - 10 • Sun 11 - 7 Locally Sourced PIG & TURNIP EST 2015 UNITE German Inspired nudged, and Californians had not (yet). Th e default behavior for the average Oregonian was to stick that empty beer or pop can into the back seat to dis- pose of it later; the default for the average Californian was to toss it out a window — just as it had been for the average Oregonian before the nudge. And with the habit of hang- ing onto pop cans came the habit of hanging onto other litter as well, reinforced by the same public-service advertis- ing campaigns that had been largely ineff ective before that nudge came. Th is nudge had been deliv- ered in 1971, when the Or- egon State Legislature over- came the ferocious resistance of the beverage and bever- age-container industries and passed the nation’s fi rst bot- tle-deposit law. It was virtual- ly bulldozed into the Legisla- ture by a laconic square-jawed logging-equipment salesman named Richard Chambers; and despite the resistance, its supporters managed to keep it alive long enough to be no- ticed and adopted by legend- ary Oregon governor Tom McCall. No multi-billion-dollar in- dustry stood a chance against those two. Fo o d Beer Wine R Cider 60 Gateway Blvd. Cottage Grove, Or 97424 541-942-6130 • pigandturnip.com 418 A St., Springfi eld, OR 97477 • 541-968-2403 ichard Chambers was a near-perfect example of a classic sort of mid-century Oregon man: independent, stoic, unostentatious, and utterly unimpressed with things like prestige and status. He grew up in Salem, then dropped out of college aft er one year to join the Navy. Th at didn’t last long; one day an offi cer dressed him down for some silly violation, and Chambers cold-cocked him with one punch. Th e Navy decided it was better off without him, so he went into the Merchant Marine service. By the mid-1960s he was back in Salem, working as a salesman for a logging-equip- ment company and diving into the wilderness with his family — he was married by now, with three kids — every chance he could. Always he would come back from these hiking and kay- aking adventures with bags and bags of garbage that he’d picked up along the trails. “Litter drove him wild,” his daughter, Victoria Berger, told writer Brent Walth. “He’d come back with these bags and wave them and say, ‘Why do people have to do this?’” Th en one day, while staying at the family’s beach cabin in Pacifi c City and just back from his customary early-morning walk on Nestucca Spit, Cham- bers opened a newspaper and learned that activists in Brit- ish Columbia were pushing a law that would ban non-re- turnable bottles and cans. He immediately bounded to the telephone and called State Rep. Paul Hanneman, who happened to be a friend of his. Hanneman promised to in- troduce a bill in the next Leg- islative session. Th at would be 1969. Chambers didn’t wait. He Spend what you earn on what you love. Switch to Banner Bank Connected Checking ® . Use any ATM in the country, and we’ll refund the fees. knew the bill would have plenty of competition for House members’ attention — nearly 2,000 were introduced, as it turned out — and he also knew that most legislators’ fi rst response to his bill would be to think it trivial. So he got busy coordinating and fi nanc- ing a sort of “Grassroots Cam- paign of One.” First he educated himself by requesting information from the bottlers and manufactur- ers who would, he knew, be his main opponents — and who would never talk to him once they learned what he was up to. Once he had all the information he needed, he launched his campaign. Letters from Rich Cham- bers, typed on diff erent col- ored paper with diff erent typewriters and stamped with odd combinations of postage and always hand-addressed, poured forth. Th e bill did not survive its baptism of fi re. But it came close enough to leave the in- dustrial concerns badly rat- tled. Indeed, it might have worked out — but when Hanneman reached out at the eleventh hour to McCall to ask for support, McCall re- sponded by squashing it with a letter sent to all parties that simply said he wanted no bot- tle legislation “in the current session.” Boom: Th e bill was dead. But Hanneman did not at fi rst realize why McCall did it. McCall knew that if he threw his support behind the bill now, it might not fl y. Its momentum was all down- ward; lawmakers would have to weasel out of freshly made promises to constituents and contributors; it was far from a sure thing. And if it died now, it would be very hard to revive. So with an eye on 1971, Mc- Call coyly threw the project into the freezer and set about convincing the opposition that it was actually dead. He seems to have been pret- ty successful at this. When, two years later, it roared back to life with McCall’s name emblazoned all over it, it took the opposition very much by surprise. Th is would be a sig- nature piece of legislation for him, a follow-up to his success with 1967’s Beach Bill. Th e industries that opposed the bottle bill now made some very signifi cant mistakes — mostly in the form of hiring decisions. Th e lobbyists and political operatives they hired to represent their interests in Salem seemed to regard the Beaver State as a cultural backwater peopled with igno- rant hicks, and behaved ac- cordingly. “Th ey did the most awful job,” Sen. Betty Roberts told Brent Walth. “It was like, ‘Here we are from back in the East, and this is little dinky Oregon.’ Th at was their atti- tude: ‘You don’t understand this bill. Trust us.’” Apparently working on the theory that these rubes were too ignorant to know better or too poor to be able to resist the temptation, several lobbyists actually off ered to straight-up pay legislators for “no” votes. One called Roberts the night before the vote and promised “plenty of money for Demo- cratic candidates” if the bill died. Roberts, shocked, sim- ply hung up on him. Th e same night, Sen. Ted Hal- lock got a phone call from a lobbyist who actually named a fi gure: $5,000 for each “no” vote. Hallock, doubtless both off ended by the attempt and insulted by its diminutive size, cussed the caller out and slammed down the phone. Aft er word of that got around, there could be no doubts about the outcome. And the next day, Oregon became the fi rst state in the country to require a deposit on beverage containers — and to experience the “halo eff ect” of this little nudge on its cit- izens’ attitude toward litter in general. As for Richard Chambers, he refused all requests for interviews or other forms of media attention. He just wanted to live in a less-litter- strewn state, and he’d gotten what he wanted, so he was done. People urged him to campaign for bottle bills in other states; Chambers replied that he didn’t care what other states did — he’d mind his own business and they could mind theirs. Several years later, McCall heard he was dying of cancer, and recognized him with the state’s new Clean Up Pollution Award. He must have been pleased to receive it; but, stoic to the end, all he would say on the subject was, “I am in no way qualifi ed to receive this award.” He was almost certainly the only person alive to hold that opinion. S entinel C ottage G rove bannerbank.com/connected-checking www.cgsentinel.com No-Fee ATMs Mobile Banking with Snapshot Deposit ® No Monthly Service Charge Unlimited surcharge rebates from non-Banner-owned ATMs in the U.S. @ cgsentinel @cgsentinel #cgsentinel Cottage-Grove-Sentinel