Harry F. Magnuson: North Idaho’s Own

Harry F. Magnuson was a successful capitalist, a local hero. He was also a controversial figure.

It was said there were two Harrys; the warm-hearted, community-minded philanthropist and the shrewd, hard-nosed businessman. He was a Wallace native with a lifelong affection for his eccentric little mountain hometown. Yet, he was also active in North Idaho’s history more broadly and even beyond.

Tributes to Harry, on the occasion of his death Jan. 24, 2009, noted his many contributions to the public institutions he loved, including Gonzaga University, the Old Mission at Cataldo and the city of Wallace. At the latter, his crucial role in deflecting Interstate 90 around and above the town’s perimeter is commemorated in a monument on Sixth Street in front of the Northern Pacific Depot Museum in Wallace, to which he also lent his support.

No honor Harry received over his long life pleased him more than Gov. John V. Evans’ invitation May 10, 1985, to chair the Idaho Statehood Centennial Commission. The centennial date would fall on July 3, 1990, thus providing Harry and his commission a five-year head start. Gov. Evans called for a yearlong event and for Harry to gather “a committee of 1 million,” roughly the state’s population at the time, for the celebration.

“Dad essentially checked out of his businesses to go 24/7 on the centennial,” recalled his son, James.

In March of that year, the Legislature authorized a mere $6,000 to Harry’s enterprise. Some commission members, mindful of the very tight budget situation, paid their own way to its first meeting July 29, 1985.

But something unanticipated happened.

Like the five other states celebrating statehood centennials in 1989-1990, Idaho’s Legislature authorized the creation of a special centennial license plate. For a surcharge of $25 (renewable annually for $10 thereafter), Idaho’s drivers could outfit their vehicles with a fresh, new, tri-color plate. Proceeds would go to the Statehood Centennial Commission. What hadn’t been foreseen was that sales of the special plate in Idaho, which commenced Jan. 1, 1987, would take off like a rocket, far exceeding prevailing expectations and sales levels in other states.

Why?

Well, the “FAMOUS POTATOES” slogan that had long adorned Idaho’s standard plate wasn’t popular with everyone. In its place, the special plate substituted the single word, “CENTENNIAL.” Poking fun at Idaho’s standard plate’s humble message wasn’t new. “60 Minutes” humorist Andy Rooney gently mocked it in the late 70s.

“How’d you like to work hard for 10, 15 years, save maybe $18,000, buy yourself a Cadillac,” remarked Rooney, “and then drive around all day with a sign on the back that says ‘Famous Potatoes’?”

A decade later, Boise resident Andrew Freese sued Idaho, arguing the slogan forced him to carry advertising on his car without compensation. The court ruled that Freese was free to tape over the slogan. An enterprising company calling itself “Famous Choices” soon marketed stickers designed specifically for that purpose. Disaffection for the slogan powered a huge windfall for Magnuson’s commission.

And he proved to be the right man for the job. Under his leadership, the Idaho Statehood Commission blossomed into a well-funded collection of 17 topic-driven committees, each chaired by one of the commissioners. Like a U.S. president’s cabinet, these committees became the workhorses of the commission’s far-flung and vast array of enterprises. Harry was no mere titular head. He traveled the state, encouraging citizen participation and the creation of commemorative projects great and small. Before long, a portion of the plate revenue was also made available to county-level centennial committees.

According to its final accounting, the statehood commission expended slightly more than $6 million over its five-year course, almost 90 percent of which stemmed from centennial license plate sales. Former Gov. Robert Smylie published an editorial in the Idaho Stateman in March 1991 reviewing the impact of the commission’s work.

“Attempting to give individual credit for any achievement of this caliber is impossible,” he wrote, “but it could not have happened without the driving vigor and vision of Harry Magnuson, the chairman.”

Ambivalence about a longstanding potato-promoting slogan had afforded Harry F. Magnuson a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to let the full measure of his administrative and leadership abilities shine. He’d seized it and shone, indeed.

Local historian and Wallace resident Ron Roizen is the author of “The Rossi Murder.” He’ll be making a presentation on Harry F. Magnuson’s life and times at the annual Fall for History event in Wallace in October.

The Museum of North Idaho is now open seven days a week through Labor Day. Tour the new exhibit through Oct. 28: “At War: North Idaho during WWII” captures the local stories of the men and women who aided the war effort and how the wartime era impacted North Idaho’s culture and economy.