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One
Country singer Jerry Reed had a hit song back in 1982 called “She Got the Goldmine (I Got the Shaft).” The novelty song had nothing to do with the Idaho Statehouse, but it comes to mind, nevertheless.
During the major renovation of the Capitol building in 2007, construction workers moved a big bookcase to discover a long-lost elevator. The elevator car behind the bookshelf had been used by Idaho Supreme Court justices for decades to reach their third-floor courtroom. Installed in 1905 when the central part of the building went up, the Otis elevator served the court until the Supreme Court building opened in 1970. Today, the old courtroom is home to the Joint Finance and Appropriations Committee (JFAC), sans elevator.
Over the years, various offices appropriated the elevator shaft, one floor at a time, until it disappeared completely. The only remaining section of the shaft is on the first floor, where someone shoved a bookcase in front of the elevator car, where it came to rest during its final ride.
The car is old but well-preserved. With its golden, sliding brass gate and polished scrollwork, it looks made for a luxury hotel. In a nod to history, the state left the elevator car where it was found, polished it up, and put it on display. You can see it today near the entrance to the legislative library on the first floor.
Two
The statehouse underwent a smaller renovation after a fire caused damage on New Year’s Day, 1992. A smoldering cigarette caught a garbage can on fire. About $3 million later, everything was back in order and updated.
The fire had started in a second-floor space in the attorney general’s office. The JFAC hearing room (see above) mainly received smoke damage. While cleaning that up, workers took down a false wall and found… no, not an elevator. A clock!
The old clock was likely unreliable and little valued for its ability to keep track of time. Covering it took care of that embarrassment. Uncovering it led to the installation of a new mechanism that today keeps time well. The renovated clock is a focal point in the room.
The statehouse underwent a smaller renovation after a fire caused damage on New Year’s Day, 1992. A smoldering cigarette caught a garbage can on fire. About $3 million later, everything was back in order and updated.
The fire had started in a second-floor space in the attorney general’s office. The JFAC hearing room (see above) mainly received smoke damage. While cleaning that up, workers took down a false wall and found… no, not an elevator. A clock!
The old clock was likely unreliable and little valued for its ability to keep track of time. Covering it took care of that embarrassment. Uncovering it led to the installation of a new mechanism that today keeps time well. The renovated clock is a focal point in the room.
Three
If you write on a statehouse wall with a Sharpie, someone will slap it out of your hand and probably see that you’re charged with vandalism. Unless you’re a page.
Senate and House pages are not immune to vandalism charges in general, but they are allowed to leave their mark on a particular statehouse wall. You’ll find that wall if someone with key-card access to room C410 lets you through the door.
Up a short flight of stairs from the door is something like a fifth floor of the statehouse. This room is behind the scenes. It is where those in charge of lowering flags to half-staff do their work, and it’s a staging area for tours that go up to the walkway around the capitol dome. You won’t see marble in that room. The painted brick walls are covered with penciled names and dates going back more than 100 years. The newer names are in Sharpie.
Getting to write your name on the wall is one of the benefits of serving as a page. Certain elected officials and celebrities who have found themselves in that room have also signed the wall. Rumor has it that actress Geena Davis autographed it. Look up high. Ms. Davis is six feet tall.
If you write on a statehouse wall with a Sharpie, someone will slap it out of your hand and probably see that you’re charged with vandalism. Unless you’re a page.
Senate and House pages are not immune to vandalism charges in general, but they are allowed to leave their mark on a particular statehouse wall. You’ll find that wall if someone with key-card access to room C410 lets you through the door.
Up a short flight of stairs from the door is something like a fifth floor of the statehouse. This room is behind the scenes. It is where those in charge of lowering flags to half-staff do their work, and it’s a staging area for tours that go up to the walkway around the capitol dome. You won’t see marble in that room. The painted brick walls are covered with penciled names and dates going back more than 100 years. The newer names are in Sharpie.
Getting to write your name on the wall is one of the benefits of serving as a page. Certain elected officials and celebrities who have found themselves in that room have also signed the wall. Rumor has it that actress Geena Davis autographed it. Look up high. Ms. Davis is six feet tall.
Four
Children are welcome in Idaho’s statehouse. During school tours, the marble and scagliola hallways echo with the excited voices of children asking a million questions. One that comes up occasionally is whether kids are allowed to slide down the broad marble banisters that curve enticingly down to the floor below.
No.
In December 1926, nine-year-old Grant Ward learned why it was a bad idea. Young mister Ward had just finished delivering newspapers to offices on the fourth floor when that marble banister called to him. No one saw him mount the wide handrail, but finger tracks in the dust told the story.
The boy slid down next to the first flight of steps where the stairway turns sharply. The marble banister drops abruptly, then turns to follow the stairs. It was at that point that Grant Ward lost his balance and his life. He scrambled to hang on but slipped over the edge, dropping four stories to a table display of rocks set up on the first floor.
Children are welcome in Idaho’s statehouse. During school tours, the marble and scagliola hallways echo with the excited voices of children asking a million questions. One that comes up occasionally is whether kids are allowed to slide down the broad marble banisters that curve enticingly down to the floor below.
No.
In December 1926, nine-year-old Grant Ward learned why it was a bad idea. Young mister Ward had just finished delivering newspapers to offices on the fourth floor when that marble banister called to him. No one saw him mount the wide handrail, but finger tracks in the dust told the story.
The boy slid down next to the first flight of steps where the stairway turns sharply. The marble banister drops abruptly, then turns to follow the stairs. It was at that point that Grant Ward lost his balance and his life. He scrambled to hang on but slipped over the edge, dropping four stories to a table display of rocks set up on the first floor.
The enticing marble banister looks like fun.
The fun gets a little tricky when the banister turns sharply and drops.
A view from the banister to the bottom. The display of rocks was located about where the bench is today in the center of the picture.
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