Two councils, one big question: Who runs Magna?

Township tiff » Dual panels can lead to dueling policies.

By Jeremiah Stettler
The Salt Lake Tribune

Magna » One town. Two councils -- each claiming to be its voice.

These governing boards have become the straitlaced father and protective mother of this former mining town, overseeing the same geographic area, conferring with the same Salt Lake County officials and enjoying similar privileges to review development proposals.

But one is bound by statute, Roberts' Rules of Order and democratic elections. The other is concerned less with procedure than with passion for restoring Magna to its decades-ago status when Main Street sizzled with shopping and entertainment. Its meetings are conversational. Its board members come mostly through appointment and longevity, not by popular vote.

And while the county devotes attention and deference to both groups, one is official and the other is not.

This is Magna, population 25,000, where governance is shared by a democratically elected town council and a privately run community council, dating to the late 1920s. It's an odd couple in which both partners (which act as advisory boards to the county) somehow have remained equal players after more than two decades of operating in the same town.

The two councils, officials insist, mostly see eye to eye. But what happens when they don't -- as they did earlier this month over whether a junkyard belongs in a manufacturing zone across the street from a residential area?

Which body, then, speaks for Magna?

"Frankly, we tend to listen to them both," Salt Lake County Councilman Randy Horiuchi says.

That duality of government has proven perplexing -- and sometimes frustrating -- for residents of this west-side suburb who find their community directed by an elected board and also by a coalition of longtime business and civic leaders (some of whom no longer live in Magna).

Nowhere is that confusion more pronounced than in planning and zoning matters in which developers traditionally present their proposals to both councils.

The county perpetuates these parallel panels, sending staffers to both and offering each an equal voice on planning recommendations -- a de facto recognition of the community council that the Magna Times last week criticized as a violation of the "basic principles of representative government" and an impediment to the township's planning and zoning process.

But it wasn't always that way.

Seeing double » The community council emerged in the late 1920s as a volunteer coalition of business, industrial and civic leaders.

With the financial backing of the then-Utah Copper Co. (now Kennecott), it replaced Main Street's wooden sidewalks with concrete ones, introduced the community's first street-numbering system and helped build Cyprus High's swimming pool and a senior center.

But the community grew increasingly apart after World War II as tensions appeared between Magna's older west side and the newer east side.

Finally, in the 1980s, a fracture surfaced that ultimately would cleave community leadership in two. The division was no better defined than in the debate over building a Magna library.

Residents wrestled with two options: Construct a library on Magna's historic main drag or expand its existing location in the newer Arbor Park shopping center to the southeast. The council favored Main Street. An east-side opposition group lobbied for Arbor Park, where it stands today (although a new one now is planned for Main).

The duel wasn't just about books. It was about old versus new. It was about representation on Magna's largely unelected community council.

As the library squabble simmered, a broader campaign began for an all-elected town board. That movement gained traction in early June 1987, when the community council expelled three members for advocating the new panel. During an animated town-hall meeting days later, about 75 residents stormed out and declared in an impromptu parking-lot rally that they would pursue a democratic board, according to Salt Lake Tribune archives.

And so it happened. While the two councils have grown considerably more congenial and collaborative since then, distinct perspectives on how to govern Magna remain, as illustrated by the tale of one man, Donnie Sweazey.

Law or long-term vision? » Tugging open a chain-link gate on the western edge of Magna, Sweazey gestures to his guests to enter what he describes as a "refuge for endangered automobiles."

It's a wrecking yard, really, with broken-down Mustangs, Blazers and Camaros covered in a powdery layer of snow. The engines still turn over on some of them. Others are salvaged for parts.

Sweazey pauses near a 1939 Dodge -- a long-retired Salt Lake City dogcatcher truck with faded flames now running along the side panels. He lifts the hood.

"This took a Camaro to build," he boasts, rattling off improvements such as power brakes, power steering and independent suspension.

But Sweazey needs a place to keep his stockyard -- a spot he believes he has found on 9200 West in a manufacturing zone across the street from homes.

Legally, Sweazey can operate an impound lot on the property. But he wants a junkyard that would allow him to keep unlicensed autos on-site. For that, he needs a conditional-use permit.

The straitlaced town council recommended approving the junkyard. "As long as Mr. Sweazey is in compliance [with the law]," Councilman Mel Palfreyman says, "he should be given the right to do whatever he wants to do."

And the community council vigorously rejected it as unfitting for Magna's long-term future. "We disapproved it," Community Council President Dan Peay explains, "not because legally he couldn't do it, but because the council felt it was inappropriate for the community."

Sweazey is left in the middle with two influential councils arguing opposing cases to the Magna Township Planning Commission, which hears and recommends planning and zoning changes to the county.

And so the duality of government continues in this town -- a condition that some county and township officials believe has provided the community a broader, more inclusive, approach to policymaking.

"I don't think the system is broken." Horiuchi says. "As a decision maker, [by] listening to both of them, you get a fresh perspective."

Others disagree, arguing the two councils create unnecessary confusion and inconvenience, particularly for developers seeking to satisfy both.

Magna » One town. Two councils -- each claiming to be its voice.

These governing boards have become the straitlaced father and protective mother of this former mining town, overseeing the same geographic area, conferring with the same Salt Lake County officials and enjoying similar privileges to review development proposals.

But one is bound by statute, Roberts' Rules of Order and democratic elections. The other is concerned less with procedure than with passion for restoring Magna to its decades-ago status when Main Street sizzled with shopping and entertainment. Its meetings are conversational. Its board members come mostly through appointment and longevity, not by popular vote.

And while the county devotes attention and deference to both groups, one is official and the other is not.

This is Magna, population 25,000, where governance is shared by a democratically elected town council and a privately run community council, dating to the late 1920s. It's an odd couple in which both partners (which act as advisory boards to the county) somehow have remained equal players after more than two decades of operating in the same town.

The two councils, officials insist, mostly see eye That's what Sweazey thinks. So does former Community Councilwoman Marlene Norcross, who criticizes the county for its middle-ground approach to the two boards.

"The county's waffling is the real problem," she says. "In my opinion, they are trying to appease, which doesn't work."

But County Mayor Peter Corroon stands behind the current approach. The two-council tradition, he says, "enhances the input we get from the community."

Any plans to change? No.

"We don't want to take sides on who is legitimate or not legitimate," Corroon says. "We think they are both legitimate organizations."

jstettler@sltrib.com

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