RIVER CITY JOURNAL: POTHOLES, BRIBES AND A HORROR STORY: WHAT A COLLECTION

I have to tell you about three things at once. Otherwise, I'll forget to tell you some really good stuff.

There are three things I want to talk about, and I don't want to keep you in suspense about any of them:

1. Potholes.

2. How my mother tried to bribe me.

3. A teacher's frightening story.

Let's take them in that order. OK?

First, I feel really crummy, because some folks thought last week's column took unnecessary potshots at the city street department.

Au contraire, as they say in one of those foreign countries.

At the end of the column, I mentioned the growing pothole at the corner of Broadway and Sprigg, right where Broadway was blocked off for more sewer work.

That was last Friday. Last Monday, when I went home, the pothole had been filled in.

I'd like to think it was the awesome power of my words that did the trick. But I know those guys at the public works department. They're nice folks. I know some of them by name. How? Because when you call them, they very politely tell you their names, that's how.

Last fall some out-of-town visitors saw the huge mounds of leaves I had raked to the curb from my yard. They wanted to know what I was going to do with all those leaves. I explained the city would send around a truck with this gigantic Hoover on it and swoosh all the leaves into the truck and haul them away.

The visitors looked at me real funny.,

Then I told them about wind storms. I told them the wind goes crazy in Cape Girardeau from time to time, which means a lot of trees blow over and limbs fall in your yard. I told them I just pile the limbs up near the street, and the city comes along with a big dump truck and hauls them away.

The visitors coughed and smiled, but I could tell they didn't believe me.

I told the visitors about the annual spring cleanup when everybody puts all their unwanted junk on the curb and people come around and take what they want. Then the city sends around a dump truck and some really strong men who pick up anything that's left and haul it away.

The visitors nervously looked at their watches and picked invisible pieces of lint off their clothes.

And then I told them about ice storms. The visitors wanted to know if the city would come pick up ice if we piled it by the curb. No, I said, but if the street crews forget to put sand on your street, all you have to do is call, and this nice fellow who answers the phone gets a truck headed your way as soon as possible.

By the way, in case you didn't notice, not only did the city fill in the pothole. They opened Broadway back up.

Wow! That's service. Wait till I tell those visitors.

* * * * *

Recently a total stranger sent me an e-mail asking questions about ancestors from the area where my mother grew up. I responded that she should call my mother. And, I said, even if my mother didn't know those people, she would be happy to share the latest gossip from the beauty parlor.

I told my mother to expect a call. And I told her what I said about the beauty parlor.

My mother responded by getting her beautician to go out in this sweltering weather to pick 10 pounds of fine, ripe tomatoes from her very own garden to give me -- to get me to stop saying things about beauty shops.

Not only does my mother's beautician grow great tomatoes, my mother told me how she comes to the house when my mother is ill and fixes her hair. And how she is always there to help if help is needed. And how my mother has never heard a single thing from her beautician that didn't turn out to be the gospel truth.

So, my mother said, she would take it as a great favor if I'd eat these tomatoes and stop making snippy remarks about beauty shops.

OK, Mother. It's a deal.

But ... would it be asking too much to see if the beautician has any more tomatoes?

* * * * *

Finally, a teacher in this area called a day or two ago. She said she not only reads my columns, but she really likes them. Well, she had me right where she wanted me.

She also had a frightening story. She recently took a job in a new district teaching language arts. She wanted to get the Missouri Assessment Program material for the 7-to-12 grade level. She called the Department of Elementary and Secondary Education several times with no results.

The teacher wound up talking to someone in Jefferson City who has a doctorate. He said he would personally take care of sending the MAP information. He asked specifically which area and which grade level.

She wanted to be sure she would get the material before school starts next week, so she called to speak to someone even higher up, another someone with a doctorate -- and a title. This person also assured her the material would be sent, making sure he had the right subject area and grade level: 7-12 language arts.

Lo and behold, the very next day the teacher got a thick packet of information sent by overnight express. Inside the official envelope was MAP material for elementary (not 7-12) language arts, fourth-grade math and intermediate math.

What makes this such a frightening story is that these are the folks in Jeff City who are telling local districts how to run their schools.

We should all be scared.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.