Plans for the Minnesota Sesquicentennial -- late, lame and underfunded -- continue to limp forward.
If it weren't for Ann Rest, I'd say it's time to pull the plug. But she may save the day. By letting us celebrate our great state.
On our license plate.
Rest, 65, a retired CPA, is a DFL state senator from New Hope. Born in Virginia and raised in the South, she has lived in Minnesota since 1970 and is one of biggest boosters of her adopted state. She even named her two West Highland Terriers Tasca (after Lake Itasca, the source of the Mississippi River) and Moli (for Paul Molitor, the former Twins hero from St. Paul). But she readily admits that the state should have started preparing for the Sesquicentennial long ago.
"We should have done it a whole lot sooner," says Rest. "But here we are, trying to make up for lost time, and trying to make it a meaningful celebration on a shoestring budget."
The biggest events are scheduled for "Statehood Weekend," May 16-18. That's a week after the May 11 anniversary of the day Minnesota was admitted to the Union in 1858 (the previous weekend is already booked for the fishing opener and Mother's Day). But in addition to the delay, there is another problem: The Sesquicentennial Commission, operating with a bare-bones staff, will be out of money before Statehood Day gets here, unless something changes soon.
Granted $750,000 by the Legislature after budget battles between lawmakers and Gov. Tim Pawlenty resulted in the original $2 million proposal being slashed, the Commission is almost broke. (Half of its money went, as intended, to community celebrations around the state; none of those grants has exceeded $5,000.)
Still unfunded, despite hopes for sponsorships, are ideas such as: Sesquicentennial signs welcoming visitors to Minnesota (estimated cost, $45,000); a Sesquicentennial Chautauqua at the State Fair ($200,000); and a 17-day steam train tour of the state, mimicking a popular train tour during the 1958 Centennial (another $200,000).
With a recession looming, businesses retrenching, and a political climate in which some feel spending on a state party is frivolous, and studying state history -- especially the darker chapters -- feels like having to do homework, not many folks seem to be getting their Sesqui buzz on.
But Ann Rest won't rest. She authored the original bill establishing a Sesquicentennial Commission, and she doesn't want it to end with a whimper.
"I'm real committed to our state recognizing its history," she says. "Unfortunately, that doesn't come without cost. Let's figure out how to do it."
Rest plans an 11th hour Sesqui Rescue by asking the Legislature, which begins its session Feb. 12, to authorize a Sesquicentennial license plate. Feb. 12 is just three months before statehood day, so a lot would have to happen in a hurry, and a lot of Minnesotans would have to buy the special plates.
A couple of suggested versions of a commemorative plate have been prepared, each featuring the Sesquicentennial logo -- a blue pennant with the state in the middle and red and white stripes on the right. Pretty basic graphics: Minnesota taking its place in the flag. But it just might work.
Wisconsin raised $5 million selling a Sesquicentennial plate in 1998, and Iowa raised about $4 million with its Sesquicentennial plate in 1996.
Whoever decided we could go without one should be flogged. A license plate should have been designed two years ago. At this late date, there is no way Minnesota will raise $5 million. But if the state could get an extra million or two -- the special plates would cost an extra $25 -- it would go a long way toward breathing life into what right now shapes up to be a lifeless birthday bash.
"People have a lot of worries about the future," Rest says. "But we can use the past to think about our future. It's important we have a chance for celebration and reflection."
Rest is right. The only way to turn the Sesquicentennial from a Big Bust to a Big Bash is to get these plates minted and bring in some dough.
In 2006, the state tried to foist a fake fish on us, giving us a Critical Habitat license plate featuring a "fish" of unrecognizable species (it was later changed into a fish God made, not a computer). Over the years, Critical Habitat plates have raised almost $20 million. So a Sesquicentennial plate could at least get us a big birthday cake. Maybe Carol Molnau and Jesse Ventura could reenact their famous beer-keg-throwing competition. The one Jesse lost. Hey, now we're talking a party!
So give us a Sesquicentennial license plate, boys and girls.
If you do, I'll take two.
Nick Coleman • ncoleman@startribune.com
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