Developer Ellis Ivory, the would-be savior of This Is the Place Heritage Park, has never toured the 450-acre historic site in the mouth of Emigration Canyon in Salt Lake City.
In less than three months as board chairman of the purged and reorganized This Is the Place Foundation, Ivory admits he barely has had time to visit a few of the dozens of historic buildings in the state park that was created 50 years ago.
On the other hand, Ivory grapples with a new administrative headache nearly every day at the park that has been operated as a private-public partnership for eight years.
"I didn't realize how deep the problems were until I got here," he says, sitting in his office in a 19th century clapboard replica of the Brigham Young Academy. "Every day I see it's even more complex and tougher than I thought."
The park, with its $2 million yearly operating budget, has spun out of financial control. State legislators in March appropriated an emergency $2 million bailout, and may have to substantially increase the park's $700,000 annual taxpayer subsidy.
Ticket sales and the annual grant from the state have failed to cover maintenance and operation costs, even though the park also has sucked in $563,000 in county Zoo, Arts & Parks (ZAP) funds from 2001 to 2004.
At the end of the 2005 season, the situation had deteriorated to the point that foundation leaders warned the Utah Legislature's Republican leadership that, unless the park got an additional $2.9 million grant, the foundation would return to state control what threatens to become a 450-acre money pit.
Going private: The park, also known as Deseret Village, celebrates the entrance of Mormon pioneers into the Salt Lake Valley in 1847 and has an almost sacred status with members of The Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints. Eight years ago, lawmakers were convinced public giving to the historic park would be encouraged if it were a public-private operation.
When the nonprofit This Is the Place Foundation assumed management of the park from state Parks and Recreation, it had fewer than a dozen structures. But the foundation did a spectacular job, raising $17 million and increasing the number of 19th century buildings from a dozen to 43. The buildings have been filled with an estimated $5 million to $6 million worth of historic artifacts and antiques.
The private benevolence was driven by the centennial celebration of Utah statehood.
"Everyone wanted to be a part of it," Ivory says.
The foundation, however, did a poor job of raising money to maintain those buildings and pay for day-to-day park operations.
"It's easy to get people to give money for buildings - something they get their name on," Department of Natural Resources (DNR) Director Mike Styler says. "It's a lot harder to get money for M&O [maintenance and operation]."
Salt Lake County Councilman Joe Hatch says well-run nonprofits ensure they will have maintenance endowments to sustain building projects.
"Their [the foundation's] business model was goofy, strange," Hatch says. "They expanded too fast with insufficient resources."
In 2005, 800,000 visitors flocked to Hogle Zoo, which shares the canyon mouth with the heritage park. More than 350,000 tourists stopped at the nearby monument that commemorates Brigham Young's entrance into the valley. But fewer than 100,000 of them ventured into adjoining Deseret Village.
"Think what the number would have been without the zoo," Hatch says.
In desperation, the foundation dipped into private donations set aside for new structures in order to cover operating and maintenance costs.
"They told us they are in a very difficult financial situation and may have to turn the park back to the state," Styler said. "We didn't want that to happen."
The foundation went to Gov. Jon Huntsman Jr., whose office advised it to pitch its needs to Republican legislative leaders, former Chief Executive Paul Williams said in an interview during the lawmaking session. "Normally, we go through the appropriations committee, but the counsel we got was to go through the leadership."
Deseret Village's financial woes have never been discussed before the Legislature or even in committee. Instead, Republican leaders in March slipped a $2 million This Is the Place Foundation appropriation line item into the state budget bill.
Calls for new accountability: When the Legislature agreed to appropriate $2 million to the park in March, it called for accountability, new leadership at the foundation and a freeze on all plans. The strings attached to the money required the foundation to reorganize its board and develop "a new economic model" before it would get the grant, on July 1.
"As we talked to legislative leadership, it was clear they would help, but only under certain conditions" to be set by the DNR, says Styler, adding, "I would not give the $2 million unless they made substantial progress."
Those requirements exist on a one-page memo handed out at a meeting with the Utah Department of Natural Resources. No specific legislation was passed, nor was a contract signed in connection with the agreement.
The 1998 contract with the foundation already calls for DNR oversight, including an annual private audit. That makes the DNR ultimately responsible for any mismanagement of the park, says State Auditor Auston Johnson.
"I think you have to go back to the contract," Johnson says. "My understanding was the state's protection was through Parks and Recreation."
Ivory, who resigned his position on the zoo board, accepted the job as the foundation's board chairman and immediately consolidated control to a small executive board that includes Salt Lake City Councilman Dave Buhler, state Sen. Karen Hale, DNR Deputy Director Robyn Pearson, Salt Lake attorney Robert Reeder and Salt Lake Chamber of Commerce Director Robin Riggs.
Williams and other key board members voluntarily bowed out, Ivory says. "Everyone realized we needed completely new direction."
Board vice chairwoman Hale says the board must find creative ways to stabilize the park's finances.
"No one wants to see the park become solely dependent on state funding," she said. "It simply will not exist if we don't find those other ways to bring money in."
Ivory's first actions were to cut the park's staff from 24 to 13 people and put out a call for increased volunteer support.
After that, solutions became increasingly thorny.
Sacred place: "Everything up here has lots of delicate issues," Ivory says. "There are lots of people who have interests in this park from lots of different angles. Not only opinions - but strong emotions."
Consider the thousands of artifacts and antiques filling the buildings, says Ivory. "To some people they are sacred objects."
Ivory, who is scrutinizing the park "as a very practical land developer," already has learned the park's would-be historical sticklers made a fundamental reconstruction error that is a root cause of the park's problems.
"Why is it on a hillside? Pioneers put their settlements in a flat place, near water," he says. "But this is spread out - and it's steep! Some people are pooped by the time they get to the first bench.
"We may have to 'compact' the village," Ivory says. That could mean actually dragging the buildings closer together, or figuring out a 21st century way to haul people around the park.
"This park has to be more user friendly. We've got to get that ugly automobile in there," Ivory says. He also feels that the period-accurate dirt roads may have to be "brown topped" to keep the dust down.
But the over-arching challenge is making This Is the Place Historic Village financially sound.
"It's got to stand on its own," Ivory says. "We may have to reduce the scope of the park. The focus was as a monument to the pioneers. Let's focus on that and not every piece of Utah history."
Utah's pioneer heritage, of course, is inseparable from the LDS Church, which operates a similar living-history park at Historic Nauvoo in Illinois with no government support.
Church spokesman Dale Bills said in an e-mail that the LDS Foundation, which is funded by the profit-making businesses associated with the church, has made donations to the park.
"If funding is needed, park leaders may ask The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Foundation to consider an additional donation request," Bills wrote.
Proselytizing allegations "just make me tired," Ivory says. "The park stands alone and independent of the LDS Church. I don't want to turn this into a church."
Though Ivory has slashed staff and put a moratorium on new building, it might surprise even the Legislature's supportive all-LDS leadership team to learn his long-range plan for the park "standing on its own" likely will include asking the state to significantly increase the $700,000 annual grant for maintenance and operation on what he describes as a "$30 million state treasure."
"It seems like the state of Utah has a responsibility for the care and maintenance [of the park]," he says. "I do believe it is going to require adjustments of our contract with the state."
Ivory also says he may push for a county or multi-county bond.
Down the road: Up until the purge of park leadership, the foundation directors continued to dream big. As usual, their plans had involved getting philanthropists to pay for more construction. Williams said donors are lined up to give the foundation $6.5 million for future building. But the money was contingent on the foundation getting on firm financial ground.
About half of the promised $6.5 million would have built a 700-seat "performance barn," Williams said, where concerts and theatricals, complete with dutch oven feasts, would pull tourists and repeat visitors to the park. Yet another idea would have provided those visitors with boutique retail shopping. The concept could be summed up as Historic Williamsburg-meets-Branson, Mo.
But in the long run, Ivory says, This Is the Place Heritage Park's only hope for survival will be as part of the cultural-recreation development of its neighbors, the canyon, the Bonneville Trail and, most important, the zoo.
Hatch agrees, adding to that mix nearby Red Butte Gardens, Fort Douglas and a natural-history museum under construction. "You have an entire band across the bench of extremely significant culture resources," Hatch says.
He compares its potential to San Diego Zoo-anchored Balboa Park, which bills itself as an "urban cultural park." In any event, the park's best hope is Ivory, Hatch says.
"I have a lot more faith in the the future of This Is the Place knowing Ellis is at the helm. His word is his commitment."
With little more than a month left to come up with a plan to secure the state's $2 million, that may be more optimism than even Ivory himself can muster.
"I'm committed, but I know my neck is out," Ivory says, then jokes. "I ran for county mayor and lost. People think this is Ivory's next folly."
This Is the Place State ParkA look back
1847
Brigham Young enters the Salt Lake Valley and declares it the "right place."
1917
Boy Scouts erect a wooden marker commemorating the pioneer arrival.
1921
The wooden marker is replaced with a small stone monument.
1947
At the centennial of the pioneer arrival, 50,000 people celebrate the building of a massive This Is the Place Monument.
1957
Prominent citizens buy the land surrounding the monument and give it to the state as a park.
1975
Young's Forest Farmhouse is moved to the park and restored.
1997
52,000 people witness a re-enactment of the pioneers' arrival.
1998
The state transfers park management to nonprofit This Is the Place Foundation.
2006
State lawmakers appropriate a $2 million bailout to the foundation, pending approval of a new master plan.
