BY JIM RICKMAN
Los Alamos

I’ve read with interest all the hype and hullaballoo regarding the conversion of North Mesa openspace into a bike park and other things. I’d like to offer one more perspective on the issue.

Back in May 2000, the National Park Service negligently ignited an uncontrolled inferno that incinerated the homes of some 400 Los Alamos families and forever altered the physical landscape of our community. Perhaps unbelievable to present-day citizens, the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) was highly functioning and nonpartisan, and politicians of both major parties actually worked together for the benefit of their constituents. Within weeks of the Cerro Grande Fire, FEMA and the Army Corps of Engineers erected a large trailer park—later dubbed “FEMAville”—to provide temporary housing for the families who lost their homes to the fire.

FEMAville was located on the North Mesa open space area.

Perhaps also unbelievable (or not), a mass of locals showed up at a public hearing to protest construction of FEMAville, even though many of their fellow townsfolk were homeless and devastated in the aftermath of the fire. While some could chalk up this debauched stinginess as evidence of the inherent perversity of the Human Spirit, I don’t believe the answer is quite that simple. I was a member of the Los Alamos County Council at the time and the only councilor who lost a home to the fire. And I have contemplated this unsavory footnote of Los Alamos history many times. By my estimation, residents were reacting to the lack of trust they held for our tiny local government.

At that time (like always) our community was wrestling with “a lack of affordable housing.” At that time (like always) a handful of seemingly favored entities ended up with seemingly sweetheart deals to develop housing or other amenities, some in areas held dear by long-time residents. Understandably, I suppose, many of those protesting FEMAville’s development believed that once the crisis was over, the County would turn FEMAville over to a favored developer at a bargain-basement price so the developer and (maybe) a couple of choice county insiders could unscrupulously profit from a former community asset.

In an attempt to assuage skepticism and to facilitate timely construction of FEMAville, the Council promised to do the best we could to return the area back to the way it was, and to keep the North Mesa area as Open Space after FEMAville was no longer necessary. It was a promise I intended to keep, and I have no reason to believe that any of my Council colleagues were being disingenuous.

To be clear, the policy-making body in place at the time of the Cerro Grande Fire promised the community that the North Mesa open space occupied by FEMAville would return to Open Space.

But time, or convenience, I suppose, sometimes makes us forget our promises.

This begs the question of whether the proposed bike park and other items in the County’s new master plan constitute “development” of the area. In my mind they do. Larger than that, however, is the question of whether Open Space has any value in the modern world—where an inherent perversity of the Human Spirit tries to convince us that anything that is not generating revenue is “value-less.”

Back a quarter of a century ago, when we were still arguing about “a lack of affordable housing,” and County officials were still hiring consultants to generate spiral-bound reports and white papers validating the wishes and whims of those who would profit from the sale or conversion of County (read “community-owned”) assets, the most cynical of profiteers would routinely denounce Open Space as a detriment. Phrases such as “Opportunity Cost” or “Highest, Best Use” were tossed about in an attempt to shame the “Tree Huggers” and the “NIMBYS” who argued on behalf of Open Space at public hearings.

After Cerro Grande, families who lost their homes to the fire learned the true value of Open Space each time they came “home” to their FEMAville trailers during the interminably long and terrible limbo that stretched between total loss and recovery. As a FEMAville resident myself, I can’t help but think that such value reaped incalculable dividends to our community over the years.

Once the backhoes and bulldozers begin chewing up the land for bike parks and bathrooms, the landscape can never be the same. The area can never return to Open Space. It’s not hard to imagine someone within County government using the new bike park in the very near future as an excuse to give the developers of the area east of the Middle School a pass on a required playlot or other intangibles so the developer can shoehorn a few more millions in profit into their master plan.

It’s not hard to argue that the credibility that comes from a government entity keeping a promise to its constituents is priceless. Los Alamos right now has the opportunity to become the richest community on the planet.