A BEAUTIFUL TIME IN JACKSON, MO.

"Well, just where is Jackson, Mo.,?" I asked.

Just being a big-city fella, I wasn't familiar with lots of the smaller cities in outstate Missouri.

From now on, I may hesitate on exactly where Sedalia or Bowling Green are, but I'll never forget where Jackson is.

It's a small town two hours south of St. Louis nameds after one of our legendary heroes. And, for at least an evening, it can transport a visitor back to 1952.

No, not a Rod Serling time machine to a place you never knew of, but rather to a place you once loved but didn't know existed. It was wonderful.

My friend Jackie has a son playing on the football team this fall, and his high school's (also my alma mater) first game was against the Jackson Indians.

Jackie and I started out at about 4:30 p.m. last Friday heading south down Interstate 55.

Our first stop was Ste. Genevieve, a beautiful little town, where we stopped at the Old Brick House for dinner -- $5.95 for a terrific buffet of real country cooking. Just a sign of things to come.

At about 6:30 p.m., we rolled into Jackson. Way up on the hill was the county seat, the courthouse and City Hall -- all placed in the middle of the town square in a beautiful, old columned work of art.

We passed some parks with numerous and well-kept playing fields and tennis courts for the public. Couldn't have looked friendlier or nicer. By being just a few miles off the main highway, Jackson seemed to be in a world of its own rather than a newfangled interstate town.

As we took our seats in the stands, we began to get a feel for Jackson's people. The stadium looked like it held several thousand folks, and it was immaculate. The field was a nicely groomed as a major college's, and it was only for football. There was no track surrounding this field of battle.

Then, the Jackson High School marching band took the field.

They were dressed to the teeth, played music with the big leagues and went into intricate formations.

There were a whole lot of folks in the band. The stands, both sides, became full, but 90 percent with Indian fans.

The teams were milling around their respective sidelines. It looked as if there were twice the players for Jackson.

Football meant a lot in this town.

Then, and announcer offered a gracefully said prayer. After that, the national anthem was played, and it seemed as if the entire stadium was singing.

The Indians has constructed a sort of tepee on the field, which their players all ran through.

And then, just a moment before kickoff, one of the Jackson players (presumably the captain) picked up this feathered and decorated spear. The band started playing this fearsome and resounding war beat, and the fellow ran up and down the field holding the spear aloft.

In a final moment in this ritual, he faced our players and, to the deafening sounds of the drum beat, thrust the spear into the ground.

It was fabulous. A beautiful night with the moon over the field. Two high schools from very different parts of the same state and an evening spent where there were cheers and laughs and excitement.

If you blinked twice, it was the fall of '52, and it was Adlai vs. Ike, and the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Yankees were about to square off in old Ebbets Field, and all was well with the world.

We all ought to stop by Jackson on some Friday night in the fall -- and just follow the cheers, the kids sitting on the curb sipping root beer and the spirit of America at its best.

Mark Vittert is a columnist for the St. Louis Business Journal. This column originally was published Sept. 14, 1992, and was recently reprinted in the Business Journal.