Not that long ago, Idahoans aspired to open government.

But they had no guarantee.

The only thing on the books was a brief statement "That all meetings, regular and special, of boards, commissions and authorities created by or operating as agencies of any county, city or village not now declared to be open to the public are hereby declared to be public meetings open to the public at all times; provided, however that nothing contained in this act shall be construed to prevent any such board, commission or authority from holding executive sessions from which the public is excluded, but no ordinances, resolutions, rules or regulations shall be finally adopted at such executive session" (emphasis added).

The message to any Idaho mayor, county commissioner, state legislator or executive administrator was clear: If you're not too busy or bothered, how about conducting the public's business in public? Of course, if you choose to operate in the dark, there will be no consequences. You have nothing to fear. Anything goes.

That changed in the winter of 1974 when freshman state Rep. Gary Ingram, R-Coeur d'Alene, proposed a revolutionary idea.

"The people of the State of Idaho in creating the instruments of government that serve them, do not yield their sovereignty to the agencies so created," Ingram's proposed legislation declared. "Therefore, the legislature finds and declares that it is the policy of this state that the formation of public policy is public business and shall not be conducted in secret."

Only under a limited set of exemptions - such as personnel matters or litigation - would elected or appointed officials be allowed to convene behind closed doors. Even so, they'd have to provide the public with due notice of the executive session and at least some explanation for taking that step.

In any event, all final decisions would occur within an open, previously announced meeting.

Violators would be punished with fines and their decisions declared invalid.

Ingram was no headline grabber. He wasn't flirting with the good government types. Friends describe him as a rock-ribbed conservative, an occasionally cranky one at that.

This was no contradiction. Ingram's political outlook imbued him with a healthy skepticism toward government. The fact his own Republican Party was out of power in Idaho - at the time, the governor, Cecil D. Andrus, was a Democrat - may have given Ingram added incentive to insist on another check on authority.

Timing worked to his advantage. The public was fed up with the Watergate scandal. Within months, President Richard Nixon would resign in disgrace, fueling a wave of reforms. By November, Idaho voters would enact their own Sunshine Initiative, requiring public disclosure of campaign finance and lobbying efforts.

So a freshman lawmaker from northern Idaho became the father of Idaho's Open Meetings Law.

The law has flaws. Critics say it's not tough enough. The Legislature operates under its own rules and conducts caucus meetings in private.

Recently, however, the price of violating the measure has become tougher - $250 for violating terms, $1,500 for "knowingly" breaking the law and a $2,500 fine for frequent offenders.

Earlier this year, a unanimous House tried to plug a loophole by extending open meeting requirements to those commissions formed under a governor's executive orders - although the measure died in a Senate committee.

At the same time, the spirit of Ingram's preamble - a presumption in favor of openness and public access with relatively few exceptions - carried over more than a decade later with passage of the state's Public Records Act.

Although Idaho's openness in government laws put the Gem State in the national mainstream, it's not all that difficult to imagine the reverse.

A state that has resisted wave after wave of reforms adopted elsewhere - such as financial disclosure for public officials - might still be debating whether to insist on open meetings and access to government records had Ingram not prevailed.

Ingram retired from the Legislature in 1980, although he'd occasionally publicly blow the whistle on government secrecy or legislative attempts to dilute his signature act.

Meanwhile, his achievement has become so ingrained in the public life of his state that it's virtually taken for granted - even if the man behind it was largely forgotten. Trying to explain how government operated without an open meetings law would a bit like describing polio

epidemics and black-and-white television to millennials.

Last week, Ingram died at age 84.

As Attorney General Lawrence Wasden put it, the state owes him a debt: "His legacy as the father of Idaho's Open Meetings Law ensures our republic will carry on. Through his work, he brought light to Idaho government at every level." - M.T.