By SUSAN PARK

You could say that I was born in the town that cigarettes built - Winston-Salem, N.C. (No, the cigarettes were named after the city, not vice versa.)

OK, the city isn't literally built from cigarettes. But most of our truly lovely public buildings, parks, and schools were funded, if not in whole, then in part by RJ Reynolds Tobacco Company along with Hanes Hosiery and other corporations.

The names were everywhere. I even graduated from - you guessed it - RJ Reynolds High School (Yes, there's a Hanes High, too!).

Companies donated to everything. Schlitz Brewery underwrote our annual Carolina Streetscene festival. A corporate conference center was created out of the Graylyn estate. RJR and Hanes even helped to build a huge North Carolina Art Museum that puts the Seattle Art Museum to shame - it's got to be at least 10 times bigger. And admission is free! Just like almost every other public museum, park, road, and agency in North Carolina.

RJR donated land and building costs to move Wake Forest University from Wake Forest, N.C., to Winston-Salem, just so they could have a high-quality private college in town for their employees and family.

My dad, Dr. Robert W. Brehme, was one of the benefactors - his first and last "real" job after graduating from the University of North Carolina was to teach astrophysics at Wake Forest.

When the Reynolds family moved from their North Carolina estate, their luxurious grounds and gardens were opened to the public free of charge as Reynolds Gardens.

The idea of corporate sponsorship isn't new to Seattle. Over the years, individuals and companies have been immortalized in names like Benaroya Hall, Key Arena, and Safeco Field. It's a win-win for everyone involved. The public gets a much needed amenity they could never afford. The company gets great publicity, improved lives for their employees who live in town, not to mention a tidy tax write-off.

However, many of the donations become anonymous. A hundred years from now, will anyone other than history buffs remember that the Experience Museum was paid for by Paul Allen? Or that Boeing sponsored Seafair? That Rick's Night Club in Lake City donated $11,000 to help build Cedar Park and is planning to donate even more?

And will anyone remember that the Lake City Rotary donated $40,000 plus many hours of labor to the "Last Open Space of Lake City" if they are unable to get their wish and name it the Bill Pierre Rotary Park?

Perhaps not. Not if their names don't end up in the name of the project. I'm ashamed to say that I honestly don't know how many of Seattle's public projects were originally funded.

Since I've written for the Jet City Maven, I've learned that Licton Springs Park was created on land donated by the David Denny family and that Woodland Park Zoo rests on land donated by the Guy Phinney estate. I've also learned that, despite all of its flaws, the Lake City Community Center was built entirely by private money and labor courtesy of the Lake City Lions Club on land they purchased themselves. Although the center was later donated to the Seattle Parks Department, it is still operated by private money raised by the Lions.

I've witnessed Lake City resident Anne Paisley rescue an abandoned school black-top to create Cedar Park; Suzie Burke create a neighborhood museum in Fremont called History House; and one of the dozens of Meadowbrook resident Cheryl Klinker's volunteer projects: "The Last Open Space in Lake City" come to fruition after five, long, laborious years.

Many of these projects were funded, if not in whole, then in part by private money. The money was donated quietly, without fanfare, in hopes of making the city a better place for all of us.

But with all of the Seattle area's immense wealth, I wonder why more is not given by the "haves" to finance projects for the general public of "have-nots." And why more individuals don't volunteer. Perhaps the answer is as simple as: it's all in a name.

I may be right. I may be wrong. But it's the way I see it.