RIVER CITY JOURNAL: IF YOU'VE NEVER BEEN THERE, YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND

Let's just say that place names don't always tell you where you are.

I waged a losing war this past week to convince reporters and editors across the state that the late governor of Missouri was not -- not -- buried in Ellsinore.

Why bother? After all, most of the world won't be sitting around a hundred years -- or even a year -- from now saying, "Herb, what was the name of that town where Carnahan was buried?"

My guess is the location of the cemetery won't ever be a "Jeopardy" answer.

Wouldn't that be something?

A "Jeopardy" category called "Where leaders are buried."

And the answer in the $200 slot:

Ellsinore.

Most contestants would buzz in and say, "Who is Hamlet?" But they would be wrong.

Story after story from The Associated Press and other news organizations informed newspaper readers, TV viewers, radio listeners and Internet Web site visitors that the governor was buried "in Ellsinore."

Some of those misinformed news providers went so far as saying Carson Hill Cemetery was "in Ellsinore."

Even if you took into consideration the Greater Ellsinore Metropolitan Area and its suburbs, you'd still be a long hike up and down rocky Ozark hills from the cemetery.

If you are in the center of Ellsinore, you are about a hundred yards from the edge of town in any direction. Ellsinore is small, if you get my drift.

Sure, there are big dimensions to Ellsinore. It's big-hearted. It's big on family reunions. It's the place to go for a big breakfast if you're really hungry in the morning. It's the biggest town on U.S. 60 between Poplar Bluff and Van Buren.

And, at the risk of offending just about everybody west and south of my favorite hometown, neither of those towns are exactly what you'd call a metroplex.

So why didn't all those news organizations -- the ones churning out thousands of words an hour about every detail they could get their hands on regarding the death of our governor -- get the location of the cemetery right?

Well, first you have to know understand how our minds work when we talk about where we live. People in Webster Groves, for example, will tell curious Spaniards while visiting Spain that they are "from St. Louis." But those same Webster Grovians would rather be dunked in acid than to claim any association with Arch City if they're in Kirkwood or Clayton.

The Carnahan family is closely tied to Ellsinore. There are more connections there than knots in a 4-year-old's shoelaces. It doesn't matter if your farm is several miles outside town. If you get your mail from the Ellsinore Post Office, if your children attend Ellsinore schools, if you shop in Ellsinore and eat in Ellsinore restaurants on a regular basis, you are "from Ellsinore." And if you are from Ellsinore and are buried in a cemetery 8 miles away where a lot of other people from Ellsinore are buried, then most folks from Ellsinore would likely say the cemetery is "in Ellsinore."

But the cemetery is a lot closer to Mill Spring, which is in an entirely different county. Folks from Ellsinore would never dream of saying the cemetery is "close to Mill Spring," much less "in Mill Spring."

Actually, the cemetery is about as close to Kelo Valley as anywhere, but I didn't hear a single mention of that.

The plain fact it that most of the people who work for those news organizations didn't go to the cemetery when the governor was buried. Nor did they look at a map. Nor did they separate Ellsinore loyalties from accurate reporting. They all heard that the cemetery was "in Ellsinore," so that's what they reported.

Come to think of it, none of those folks have ever heard of Kelo Valley, much less been there. What will they say when I win the Pulitzer prize or publish my first best-selling book?

They'll probably tell the whole world I'm the kid from Leeper.

Well, at least Leeper is close to Kelo Valley.

What's left of it.