New writer, new slogan, new fliers

Who knew?

Who knew Mark Kneer, the capable circulation director of the Southeast Missourian, could write such a well-received column?

And who knew he would say such nice things about the editor?

And who knew Brenda would really spike the ticket when we tried to pay for breakfast one morning this week?

And who knew Mark's writing muse would squeeze a second column out of him so quickly? (Patience, dear reader. It will see the light of day eventually, I'm sure.)

Let me say a big thank you to Mark for filling in for me last week while my wife and I spent a few days in and around Great Smoky Mountains National Park -- a vacation destination I heartily recommend before or after the crush of summer.

It was Mark's first writing effort. Pretty good, huh?

You would think that, after the thousands of telephoned, faxed, mailed and e-mailed Speak Out comments I've read and edited over the past 10 years, nothing would surprise me.

Not so.

Almost every day I see something that makes me scratch my head or raise my eyebrows or shrug my shoulders. The best Speak Out comments, though, are those that are unintentionally humorous.

Like the one this week complaining about women found sunbathing on the Cape Girardeau riverfront -- topless.

Now I'm as much for decency and propriety as the next person, but I have to think topless sunbathing could be a good thing for Cape Girardeau.

Can you imagine the crowds of gawkers that will be heading for the riverfront now that Speak Out has spilled the beans about what you might see once you get past the floodwall? Surely they'll want souvenirs.

Folks, we've been searching for the right drawing card. Is this it?

I'm also trying to think of a good slogan for the CVB, if this topless sunbathing catches on.

Maybe something like:

"Where the river turns a thousand eyes."

I feel obliged to give you an update on the feathered boarders at the Sullivan household. My wife says I've strung you along this far, and I might as well tell you how everything turned out.

On May 2, my wife made her once-a-week trip out the front door to give our fertilizer-addicted ivy its weekly fix. It was time for the puffy little finches in the nest in the front-door wreath to strike out on their own. In unison, they flew from the only home they had ever known and sailed across the street to a tree in the neighbor's yard. My wife was delighted to have been a witness to the leave-taking.

A week later I was sitting on the patio near the back-door wreath where the four young wrens were waiting for their next meal. Instead of the police-whistle call the adult wrens usually made, they were making all sorts of whistling and clicking sounds. But they wouldn't go near the nest.

One of the little wrens climbed onto the wreath and stayed there while I went in the door to get my wife.

As we watched, the adult wrens kept calling until the first brave little wren flew to the hedge a few feet away. One by one, the other three little wrens did the same thing. Soon the adult wrens were prancing and dancing on the roof, enticing their brood to follow. It was quite a sight.

Oh. Did I mention it was Mother's Day?

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