Batt By Any Name Is Governor

When Gov. Phil Batt was on the state Transportation Board, he was just plain Phil Batt.

He still is. But now that he’s governor, his official correspondence calls him “Philip E. Batt.”

Only no one bothered to tell the Transportation Department that when Batt took office. So officials there had all their stationery and myriad forms printed up with just plain Phil Batt.

Then a member of the governor’s staff noticed the discrepancy, and mentioned it in passing to a Transportation official.

So the transportation department launched an effort to identify everything it had with the chief exec’s name on it. When it’s time to restock any of those items, the department is switching over to the longer, more official-sounding name.

They’re not throwing any forms or letterhead away, despite rumors to the contrary. So the switchover isn’t costing the state any money.

But the rumors it’s caused have led to a few red faces around the Statehouse, especially after Batt said he really didn’t give a hoot about how his name appeared.

“I’ve never heard anyone call him Philip, never,” said Batt’s spokeswoman, Amy Kleiner. “They either say Governor or Phil.”

“He told me he doesn’t care what they put on there. They can make his name any way they want.”

She added with bemusement, “When I do his press releases, I write ‘Phil Batt.”’

The Transportation Department may have lucked out, because its switchover on the governor’s name would be a lot more costly if it had to change scores of roadside signs. Former Gov. Cecil Andrus had his name listed on signs throughout the state, welcoming folks to Idaho, identifying “Gem Communities,” and announcing that Idaho is “Too Great to Litter.”

When Batt took office, he decided he didn’t want his name on the signs. “He thought it was a frivolous way to spend money, to go around and change all the road signs,” Kleiner said.

So the Transportation Department came up with a form of tape in colors to match the signs, blocked out the former governor’s name and left the spot blank.

That doesn’t bother the cost-conscious Batt, Kleiner said. “He’s just really tight.”

Taking it back

Boise’s gracious, Spanish-style train depot has a sweeping, close-up view of the city’s skyline. A beautifully restored great hall with soaring ceilings and impressive woodwork. A smooth, modern elevator that carries visitors to the top of the depot’s tower, where they can gaze at a view that stretches in every direction and see the four big, black, iron bells of varying sizes that hang in archways facing north, south, east and west.

It even has Amtrak service still, though the trains now pass through in the wee hours. In the old days, said local historian Arthur Hart, “It was one of the most important places in town, where everyone came and went.”

Clearly, the depot is a community treasure. That’s why the city is scrambling to come up with $2 million to buy it before a mid-November deadline. They’re selling T-shirts, posters and commemorative bricks, and scheduling gala fund-raisers.

Morrison-Knudsen Corp., the troubled construction giant, bought the depot in 1990 from Union Pacific Railroad, and changed the name on the tower to its own. The company, under flashy chairman William Agee, spent $3.7 million lovingly restoring the historic building, after paying more than $1 million for it.

But Agee’s out and M-K is focusing more on rebuilding its own business concerns than its leader’s pet projects. So it’s willing to sell the depot to the city at a loss. And the giant plaque with the likenesses of Bill and Mary Agee has been removed from the great hall.

The depot isn’t just a great building. It’s a symbol for Boise. That’s because when the railroad first came through, it passed the town by, running 7 miles to the south. For a time, Boiseans had to carry their freight by wagon from the tiny farm outpost of Kuna.

Then Nampa, 18 miles east of Boise, became the railroad hub, causing the residents of metropolitan Boise no end of dismay. Their budding city was consigned to a stub railroad line.

After decades of serious agitation by the Chamber of Commerce, Boise finally was put on the main railroad line via a loop in 1925, and the depot opened with rejoicing. “It was a grand masquerade party celebrating one of the great points in Boise history,” Hart said. Former Idaho Gov. James H. Hawley came in a western costume complete with six-guns. “Everyone dressed up.”

Now they’re dressing up again, hoping to keep the depot open as a city treasure forever.

, DataTimes MEMO: North-South Notes runs every other Sunday. To reach Betsy Z. Russell, call 336- 2854, FAX to 336-0021 or e-mail to bzrussell@rmci.net.